The days following the raid blurred into a routine of classes, meals, and studying. Despite the lingering tension that hung in the air, life at the Academy continued as if the chaos outside its walls were nothing more than a passing storm.
Each morning began with the shrill chime of the Academy bell, summoning students to the central courtyard for roll call. By the time I reached the courtyard on the third day after the raid, I had begun to notice the patterns of life here: the flow of students to and from the library, the sparring in the training grounds, the way groups naturally formed along regional and social lines.
I stayed mostly on the edges, observing.
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The first-year curriculum was designed to cover the basics—reading and writing, math, mana theory, and the histories of both the Ash Kingdom and Minor Eden. While most of my classmates struggled with the academic workload, I found it embarrassingly easy.
Mana theory, for instance, was nothing more than an introduction to ambient mana absorption and basic channeling techniques. I’d already started experimenting with those concepts on my own under Hexa’s guidance. The rest of the material felt similarly elementary, especially with Hexa assisting me during lectures by offering real-time commentary.
“Mana flows resemble electrical currents,” she noted during one lesson. “Think of it as a circuit where resistance is dictated by your body’s affinity and experience.”
“That makes sense,” I thought back. “But I don’t think the instructor is going to appreciate me asking about Ohm’s Law.”
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One particular lecture stood out. It was the first session of our combat readiness class, a practical course meant to teach us the fundamentals of weapon handling and physical conditioning.
Our instructor, a towering man named Master Raegon, had us line up in pairs to practice basic stances with wooden training swords.
Reinfelt was immediately in his element, twirling the wooden blade with an exaggerated flourish before lunging at Marcus, who barely managed to block.
“Careful, Reinfelt,” Master Raegon barked. “You’re not here to show off. Focus on precision, not flair.”
I stood at the back of the group, my own practice sword resting awkwardly in my hands.
“Wolfhart,” Master Raegon called. “Why aren’t you paired up?”
“I... don’t have much experience,” I admitted.
“Then you’re here to learn,” he said, gesturing for me to step forward. “Marcus, pair with Wolfhart. Show him the basics.”
Marcus grinned as he handed his own sparring partner over to Reinfelt and approached me. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you,” he said with a wink.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
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The first few exchanges were humbling. My movements were clumsy, my blocks poorly timed, and Marcus’s strikes, while controlled, left me scrambling.
“Focus, Wolfhart,” Master Raegon said, his sharp eyes narrowing as he watched. “Your instincts are there, but you’re hesitating. Confidence is as important as technique.”
Hexa, ever the coach, added her own advice. “Adjust your grip. You’re holding the sword too tightly—it’s restricting your movement.”
I adjusted, and while I still fumbled, I felt a flicker of improvement. By the end of the session, I was sweating and sore but no longer completely hopeless.
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Later that evening, we gathered in one of the lecture halls for a special session led by the headmaster, Magister Arlan.
“Your first year at the Academy is foundational,” he began, his deep voice echoing through the room. “It is not about mastery but exploration. Here, you will build the framework for your future paths—both academic and martial.”
He explained the Academy’s approach to education, which emphasized balance.
“All students are required to divide their time equally between training, research, and personal development,” he said. “This ensures that by the time you reach the age of 15, you will be prepared to select your specialization.”
The mention of specialization piqued my interest. I’d read about class evolution in the Academy’s introductory materials, but hearing it discussed so openly made it feel more real.
Hexa chimed in, “This approach is logical. Specialization ensures adaptability, but the enforced flexibility prevents early stagnation.”
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The headmaster’s speech also touched on the importance of mana attunement. “Every student must discover their elemental affinity,” he said. “This will influence not only your future class but your approach to combat, magic, and even daily life.”
The thought of elemental affinity fascinated me. Back in Valda-Ashdock, magic was rare and rudimentary. Here, it was woven into the very fabric of existence.
“Hexa,” I thought, “do you think I’ll have an affinity?”
“Unlikely to be significant,” she replied. “Your physiology and soul alignment suggest neutrality. However, exposure to specific mana types may influence this over time.”
That was both disappointing and intriguing.
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One of the more surprising aspects of the Academy was the ranking system. While it wasn’t formally introduced in our lectures, I began hearing whispers about it from older students.
Apparently, every student was ranked based on their performance in mock raids, sparring matches, and academic achievements. The rankings weren’t just for bragging rights—they determined everything from dormitory privileges to future career prospects.
Reinfelt, naturally, was already obsessed with the idea.
“Did you see the rankings board near the training grounds?” he asked over dinner one evening. “I’m going to crush everyone in the first round of matches.”
“Matches?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Yeah, the ranking matches,” Marcus explained. “They happen three times a year. Students compete in mock raids, defending against waves of monsters conjured by the faculty. It’s all about teamwork and individual skill.”
“That sounds...” I hesitated. “Dangerous.”
“It’s perfectly safe,” Reinfelt said, waving off my concern. “The monsters are illusions. No one’s going to get hurt—unless they’re too slow to dodge, of course.”
Eren, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up. “The rankings matter more than you think,” he said quietly. “Low-ranked students get overlooked. If you want opportunities, you need to stand out.”