Emil

The two weeks leading up to the Clash of Dawn passed in a blink of an eye. Following Petra’s suggestion, Emil spent most of his time recuperating his injuries and sharpening Bulwark into a more refined weapon. There wasn’t enough time to experiment with new ways of using his Gift, so instead, he focused on reducing the delay required to invoke Bulwark at longer ranges.

The work was tedious and uninspiring. Over and over again, he conjured stone projections at incremental distances away from himself, until he finally began to notice a tangible improvement in his cast speed.

The process was not unlike strengthening a muscle—the more he repeated a phenomenon, the more proficient his Gift grew at conjuring it.

Emil continued this arduous effort all the way until the second last day.

I’ve had enough.

He let out a heavy gasp of air and leaned back against the bench within his section of the training grounds. Sweat clung uncomfortably to his back. His chest burned. His arms were shaking, buzzing with adrenaline as his body worked overdrive to restore itself from the incessant exposure to mana.

Anymore and I might go into Overclock.

He reached for his water pouch and doused his face. The sensation of tepid water against his heated skin was soothing. The salty sweat coalescing on his skin washed away onto the ruined earth. His portion of the training ground was littered in stone projections and crevices of various sizes—a testament of the diligence and rigor of his training.

Emil wasn’t alone, however. A similar sight could be seen all around him as sounds of training echoed across the field. The training facility was composed entirely of freshmen like himself who were desperately trying to hone their Gifts and perfect their tactics before the Clash of Dawn.

He watched while taking his break, observing the people that he would likely have to contend against in a few days. His bold proclamation to Anna and Charlotte from two weeks ago suddenly echoed in his head.

“I’m going to make the finals.”

He smirked uneasily at his own words. His objective hasn’t changed—make the finals and gain access to the Consortium. It was the only lead that he had to further his Steiger investigations after the Sentinels elevated the security around the Hidden Laboratories. Still, after observing his fellow freshmen train for the past two weeks, he wondered if his confidence was misplaced

Maybe I was too arrogant.

Emil was beginning to realize why the Academy had the reputation it possessed. The level of talent here was beyond anything he had seen. He thought he had an advantage with his Steiger training and combat experience. But over the past two weeks, it quickly became clear that the Desperados he fought in the Lower Dannan slums could not compare to the Exalted attending this Academy.

Hmm?

The clamors of training suddenly quieted. A couple of freshmen in his vicinity stopped abruptly. Each one of them paused to stare at the entrance of the training field. Their eyes were immediately tense with anticipation.

Emil followed their gaze. There was a lone person who approached the training grounds, strutting forward with a poised and confident stride. Their posture was immaculate. A sharp glint danced in their eyes. Even from a distance, Emil could feel a subtle pressure radiating from their presence. Their composure instantly reminded him of the legendary heroes described in his childhood fantasy stories. They had the aura of a warrior born into high class society.

This must be Liesel von Belle. Ranked first amongst this year’s freshmen. And the current Prodigy.

He found himself enthralled. The noble girl had sleek black hair, dark as night, trimmed neatly right above her shoulders. Her face, slightly androgynous, had the perfect blend of femininity and ferocity. She was beautiful—in the same way that a tigress could be considered majestic.

An uneasy silence lingered. The frantic atmosphere of the training field quickly cooled as more people noticed her arrival. Liesel stopped a few feet before the training grounds, taking in all the eyes drawn by her magnetic pull. Her lips were curled in an arrogant smile.

She took a step forward. Mana rippled outwards with the ferocity of a tidal wave. A sheet of ice emerged at her foot. The ice spread, expanding rapidly, like a storm hungry to devour everything in its path. As it grew, the ice climbed in height, ascending laterally to form sporadic, intricate patterns. Like flowers, they bloomed and blossomed—each petal sprouted more, proliferating with exponential growth. Eventually, the complex ice structure towered to the skies.

Thud!

Liesel snapped her fingers—the sound seemed to resonate directly in everyone’s ears. The ice structure suddenly glowed a brilliant hue before it exploded into a gentle flurry of snow. Slowly, the snow flakes descended, swaying in the soft wind, until they vanished into misty vapors.

The jaw-dropping spectacle was over.

The entire training field was left speechless. A sullen gasp of air echoed from some of the onlookers as they finally had an opportunity to let go of their abated breaths. Emil watched in awe, reveling in the display of complex and precise mana control. It was unlike anything that he had seen before—even amongst the elites of Steiger.

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So this is the skill of the infamous Prodigy.

Liesel's talents were infamous in Ardair. Emil heard of her name many times over the years in hush whispers and private conversations between his Steiger colleagues. She was the scion of the Belle family, rulers of the Rosales province. At a tender pre-pubescent age, she earned herself a moniker just one year after her Awakening—the Ice Maiden.

What an unfitting name. There’s absolutely nothing maidenly about her.

Emil smirked. Unlike some of the people in the area, he wasn’t oblivious to her intent. The enchanting spectacle that she just drew up wasn’t some sort of welcoming ceremony for her fellow classmates.

It was a display of power.

It was a premonition of what awaited her competitors in two days.

It was a full-blown declaration of war.

How interesting.

His body grew hot, ignited by the outrageous and impertinent display. This arrogant behavior of declaring war to an entire group of competitors was only conceivable by someone who was convinced of their own superiority.

Emil noticed Liesel scanning the field. Their eyes suddenly met. The hairs on his skin stood up. His heart thumped with excitement. The sharpness in her gaze was dangerous. Immediately, he could tell that she was on another level compared to the rest of their classmates.

But at the end of the day, you’re just a girl from a rich family.

He sneered in return—undaunted by her fighting spirit. Liesel raise an eye. The side of her mouth curved up, likely amused at his belligerence. Then, without warning, she spun around, seemingly satisfied with whatever she sought to achieve here.

Life in the training field gradually returned in her absence. Emil stood up from his seat, suddenly fired up from the encounter. My mana exposure is still too high, so I’ll train my body instead.

He was getting ready to take off his sweat-stained shirt when someone decided to interrupt.

“Whoa there, time and place, my man. Don’t tell me you’re getting all hot and bothered after seeing the Ice Maiden in person.”

He instantly recognized the conniving voice. Emil turned around, seeing Kai stroll up to him with an unscrupulous grin.

“That was you who she was staring at, wasn’t it?”

“…What are you, a fan of mine?” Emil retorted, slightly creeped out. There were at least thirty other students on the training field, yet somehow, he still ended up being the one receiving the most scrutiny.

“I knew it. There is something special about you. I’m sure of it now, especially since you managed to grab the Ice Maiden’s attention.”

What the hell is he blabbing about?

“I didn’t realize the two of us were on friendly terms,” Emil said warily, “Last time we talked, you stormed off.”

“Oh please, don’t be so uptight. I was just doing what she was doing,” Kai said, beckoning on the trailing figure of Liesel, “My methods just aren’t as overt and flashy as hers.”

I see, so he was sizing me up in our first meeting for the Clash of Dawn.

“Well, then, the tournament is in two days. I don’t have the luxury of chatting, so if you don’t mind—”

“Hold on. Don't be so hasty.” Kai stopped him. “I came here to make a proposal.” The half-Gharian’s eyes suddenly gleamed with mischief. “Why don’t we make a bet, Emil Milligan? Something to make this Clash of Dawn a little more exciting.”

***

The last day before the Clash of Dawn arrived. To give ample time for participants to prepare, all lectures were cancelled for the day. Instead, the freshmen cohort were herded into the auditorium for a pre-event address.

Emil stood in the middle of the crowd. The ambiance of the auditorium was surprisingly tense. Even the students of his class known for their loud, joyous chatters were silent.

The lights of the auditorium suddenly dimmed. A few softer lights flicked on again, this time directed at the podium resting atop of the stage. Footsteps soon resonated along the quiet auditorium.

The Headmaster, Ivar von Tuatha, entered the stage. A short, roundish man with a plump stature, he walked up to the podium. Despite the slight hunchback plaguing his gait, he wore an air of dignity. A pair of specs covered his gentle face as he opened his address.

“The 75th class of Exalted Academy. I greet you once again as your Headmaster!”

Contrast to his diminutive appearance, Ivar’s voice rang across the auditorium with unmistakable authority.

“I’m here today to inaugurate you into one of the most prestigious events of our Academy.

It’s a tournament reserved solely for you to demonstrate your skills, your talents, and your determination.

It’s a spectacle attended by thousands of influential elites who are desperate to meet the next generation of Exalted.

It’s a place for you to seize glory and take the first steps to establishing your name as someone who cannot be forgotten in annals of history.

It’s the Clash of Dawn!”

The impassioned speech sent the crowd into a feverish excitement. As the students eventually calmed, Ivar began explaining the basic format of the Clash of Dawn.

The event began with an initial preliminary round where all contestants will participate. The top eight scorers in the preliminary stage will advance into the main tournament bracket where they will face opponents in one-on-one combat. The exact details of the preliminary stage won’t be revealed until minutes before the start of the event.

“Like every year, the two finalists of the Clash of Dawn will be granted access to the Consortium in addition to a multitude of other benefits. Do not fret, however, if you do not qualify through the preliminaries. As long as you try your best and demonstrate the full extent of your abilities, you will be presented with opportunities,” Ivar exclaimed, “Now! We have a guest speech from a surprise visitor. Please welcome Her Highness, Princess Aoife!”

A ripple of surprise crested through the students as they clapped with thunderous applause. Princess Aoife? Emil raised an eye.

Ardair’s royal family currently consisted of the King and his children—the Crown Prince Aidan von Astrea, the Second Prince Rory von Astrea, and Princess Aoife von Astrea.

The Crown Prince was currently being set up to inherit the throne while the Second Prince was also attending the Academy this year. In contrast, the princess was considered to be a black sheep. For one, she was the only Ordinary in a family of Exalted. Second, she was the King’s bastard child who was only recently legitimized. Allegedly, it was done out of necessity to provide the royal family with a daughter that could be married off to strengthen allegiances.

As a result, she had rarely showed her face in public or in the royal court. Today must have been one of her first public appearances.

I guess she is at the age now where marriage talks will become serious soon. In other words, the royal family was ready to shop her around for willing suitors. Emil winced, disturbed by the girl’s fate.

The crowd suddenly grew quiet. Emil glanced up at the stage. A girl around his age strolled onto the podium. Her steps were careful and precise. She had blonde hair—typical of the royal family, done up with modest curls. Her face was petite and cute with skin as pale as snow. With a surprising composure, she arrived at the podium and looked at the audience. Her sullen eyes were astoundingly sharp, lacking the fragility that Emil expected from the black sheep of the royal family. They glistened with a familiar verdant green.

Wait, that’s—

Their eyes seemed to meet. There was an instant. A fraction of second. The briefest of distortions. But Emil swore he caught of a flicker of recognition across the princess’ face.

Then, like it never happened, Princess Aoife began her speech.