The chill of the winter morning seeped into the stone walls of the academy as I stepped into the main hall. A month had passed since the chaos surrounding the Nergath Moss, and yet, echoes of that incident seemed to linger in the air. Whispers trailed through the corridors like ghosts, carrying fragmented tales of punishment, secrets, and grudges that refused to die. For most, the dawn of the second semester meant a chance to move forward, but I knew better. The weight of unresolved tension hadn’t dissipated—it had simply settled beneath the surface, waiting to erupt.
This semester brought changes. Nobles and commoners would be grouped into the same classes. It was, according to the faculty, one meant to foster cooperation and camaraderie. I could practically hear Lorian’s laugh in my head at that. Cooperation? Camaraderie? Among students who had spent months sneering at one another across the dining hall or throwing veiled insults during training sessions? The faculty’s optimism was either admirable or absurd.
The academy halls were alive with an energy that simmered just below the surface, ready to erupt at any moment. It was no longer just tension—it was a carefully orchestrated game of positioning, of alliances and maneuvering.
Mixed classes had only magnified the divide, making the lines between nobles and commoners both stark and unavoidable. Whispers spread like wildfire, and I could feel the shifting undercurrents every time I walked the halls. Nobles whispered strategies for reasserting dominance. Commoners shared stories of small victories, their defiance growing with each retelling.
I glanced around the hall, taking in the mingling students. Commoners gathered in small, tight-knit clusters, their voices low and wary. The nobles, on the other hand, carried themselves with the usual air of entitlement. They strolled through the crowd as if the academy halls were their personal kingdom, their silk-lined uniforms impeccable, their laughter sharp and intentional. Veylor’s voice stood out among them, smooth and commanding, his words always crafted to draw attention. He was surrounded by his usual entourage, and though he wasn’t looking my way, I felt the undercurrent of hostility radiating from his group like an unseen wave.
“Finally, the dreaded second semester begins,” Lorian muttered as he appeared beside me, his tone light but edged with sarcasm. He leaned casually against the wall, scanning the crowd with his sharp eyes. “Think this’ll work, Illiad? Peaceful integration and all that?”
I didn’t respond immediately, watching as a group of nobles exchanged smirks after deliberately bumping into a commoner carrying books. The commoner stumbled, but he didn’t retaliate, just lowered his head and kept walking. The nobles laughed as though they’d achieved something remarkable. My jaw tightened. “Not without a fight,” I said finally, my voice low enough that only Lorian could hear.
He grinned, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Good thing you’re already used to fighting.”
Our class placements were announced shortly after. My name was listed alongside several commoners I recognized, and a few nobles whose names I knew all too well. Among them, Veylor Rithane. I felt Lorian glance at me, and I met his gaze briefly before turning back to the board. Veylor’s name might as well have been a stormcloud hanging over the semester. I wasn’t naïve enough to think the integration of classes would stop him—or others like him—from trying to assert their so-called superiority.
The walk to the classroom was a silent one. The building was one of the older structures in the academy, its walls lined with faded banners commemorating past graduates. The room itself was simple, with long wooden desks and a faint smell of ink and parchment. I took a seat near the middle, not too far forward to draw unnecessary attention but close enough to observe. Lorian slid into the seat beside me, throwing his bag on the desk with practiced nonchalance.
It didn’t take long for the dynamics to settle into place. The nobles gravitated toward the front rows, their voices a mixture of hushed whispers and overconfident declarations. The commoners scattered throughout the room, many opting for the back rows where they could avoid scrutiny. A few exceptions—like myself—broke the unspoken rules, and I could feel the nobles’ eyes on me, appraising, judging. Veylor entered last, his steps deliberate, his expression as composed as always. He scanned the room briefly, his gaze lingering on me for a fraction of a second before he moved to take his place at the front.
The instructor, Lt. Garven, entered shortly after, his sharp gaze silencing the murmurs in an instant. He carried an air of authority that made even the most arrogant nobles sit a little straighter. He wasted no time launching into the semester’s objectives, outlining a schedule that promised to be both rigorous and unforgiving. His voice was steady, his words precise, but what struck me most was his emphasis on unity.
“You will succeed together or fail together,” he declared, his tone brooking no argument. “This academy is not a stage for petty squabbles. You’re here to become warriors, defenders of Valtheris. Leave your arrogance and your grudges at the door.”
The room was silent, save for the scratch of a quill as someone took notes. I couldn’t help but wonder if Garven truly believed his words or if this was simply a script he’d repeated over the years. Either way, the message hung in the air like a challenge.
As the session ended and we filed out of the classroom, I felt the weight of the semester ahead pressing down on me. The integration of nobles and commoners was more than a logistical shift—it was a battlefield, one where every interaction carried the potential for conflict. The nobles would push, the commoners would push back, and I would have to tread carefully between them, navigating the storm while keeping my own goals in sight.
“Looks like this semester’s going to be interesting,” Lorian said as we stepped into the hall. There was a spark of amusement in his voice, but I caught the seriousness beneath it.
“Interesting isn’t the word I’d use,” I replied. But as I glanced around at the students moving through the corridor—each one a piece in the complex game unfolding—I couldn’t deny it. The semester had barely begun, and the tension was already palpable. One way or another, this was going to be a turning point.
**
Introduction to Aura Training
The training grounds buzzed with anticipation, a strange mixture of excitement and tension hanging in the crisp morning air. Rows of students stood at attention, our uniforms neat, our breaths visible in the cold. But what stood out most was the palpable anxiety surrounding Aura training. The academy had finally revealed the cornerstone of its curriculum—the ability to harness Aura. This was the power that separated mere soldiers from masters of the battlefield, the force that elevated the academy’s graduates above all others. For the nobles, it was their birthright, a skill many of them had already begun to refine long before they ever set foot here.
The faculty had introduced the first stages of the Aura system, explaining its profound implications.
Lt. Garven stood before us, his commanding presence silencing even the boldest whispers. Behind him, a few instructors I hadn’t seen before were lined up, their expressions unreadable. They wore no insignias of rank but carried an aura of authority that was impossible to ignore.
“Aura is the essence of mastery,” Garven began, his voice steady and firm. “It is what separates a soldier from a warrior, the trained from the exceptional. It enhances your body, your mind, and your instincts, turning you into a weapon capable of surviving on the battlefield. It is not just about strength or speed. It’s about control. Focus. Balance. But do not be mistaken—Aura is not a shortcut. It is not a gift. It is a tool, one that demands discipline and focus. Those who lack the will to control it often destroy themselves before they can destroy their enemies. It will destroy you from the inside out.”
His words hung in the air, heavy with warning. A few students exchanged uneasy glances, while others straightened their postures, determined to appear unshaken. I kept my face neutral, though the mention of destruction resonated with memories I would rather forget.
Garven gestured toward the instructors behind him. “These are your Aura mentors. Each of you will be evaluated and assigned to a mentor who will guide your progress. The journey begins with understanding Core, the foundation of all Aura techniques. Without it, you cannot progress.”
Core. The first and most basic step in Aura mastery. It involved harnessing the energy within oneself and storing it in the heart—a practice that allowed the user to channel that energy throughout their body when needed. For most first-year students, this was an entirely new concept. For me, it was a memory from a past life, one I had already surpassed.
Ember Manifestation. The first active stage, where Aura begins to enhance the user’s physical capabilities. It appears faintly like glowing embers flickering along the body.
Flame Veil. The next stage, where the user’s Aura envelops them in a visible shroud, significantly amplifying their strength, speed, and agility.
As Garven continued to explain the process, I couldn’t help but notice the subtle shifts in the crowd. The nobles stood with a quiet confidence, their expressions betraying their advantage. Many of them had already mastered Core before arriving at the academy, thanks to private tutors and family traditions. They saw this as an opportunity to shine, to remind everyone of their so-called superiority.
The nobles were eager to demonstrate their superiority in this domain, as they saw it as another opportunity to reestablish their dominance. Their confidence stemmed from the fact that most of them had already mastered Core Activation before entering the academy. They would boast about it openly, loud enough for the commoners to hear.
“I wonder how long it’ll take the commoners to figure out Core Activation,” one noble sneered during a break. “Years, probably.”
The commoners, on the other hand, wore a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Few of them had even heard of Aura before enrolling, let alone practiced it. The disparity was glaring, and the nobles knew it. I caught Veylor Rithane smirking from the front row, his posture relaxed, his confidence radiating like a beacon.
“Show-offs,” Lorian muttered beside me, his voice barely above a whisper. He stood with his arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd. “Bet they’ve been waiting for this moment just to gloat.”
“They’ll have their chance,” I replied quietly. “But Aura training isn’t about who starts strong. It’s about who endures.”
I didn’t react outwardly, but I couldn’t help the faint smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. If only they knew.
Garven called for the first demonstration, selecting an older student from the third semester class. The boy stepped forward, his posture stiff but determined. At Garven’s signal, he activated his Aura, and a faint, shimmering glow enveloped his body. His movements became faster, sharper, as he executed a series of attacks against a wooden training dummy. Each strike landed with a force that splintered the wood, leaving visible dents and cracks.
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The crowd murmured in awe, but I watched closely, analyzing every detail—the way the Aura flowed through his limbs, the timing of his strikes, the faint tremor in his stance as he pushed his limits. He had good control, but his movements were predictable, his focus too narrow.
“This,” Garven said, gesturing to the student, “is the First Stage: Foundation. It enhances your strength, speed, and reflexes to a level that outmatches ordinary soldiers. But to reach this stage, you must first master Core. Without a strong Core, your Aura will falter, leaving you vulnerable.”
Foundation. The first true manifestation of Aura. I remembered the day I had first reached that stage in my past life. The rush of power had been exhilarating, but it had also come with a sobering realization: Aura wasn’t a gift—it was a responsibility. Misusing it could destroy not only the enemy but also oneself and everything nearby.
Garven dismissed the senior student and turned back to us. “Your training will be grueling. You will be pushed to your limits, and many of you will fail. But for those who succeed, the rewards are immeasurable. Now, let us begin.”
The mentors stepped forward, splitting us into small groups. As I moved to join mine, I felt the weight of the semester settle on my shoulders. This was more than just training. It was another battlefield, one where skill, determination, and secrets would determine who emerged victorious.
The journey into Aura mastery had begun.
**
Illiad’s Secret Technique
The first few sessions of Aura training passed in a blur of explanations and repetitive exercises. Garven and the mentors drilled us on the basics of Core mastery, explaining the importance of synchronizing our breathing and focusing our energy into the heart. It was a slow and methodical process for most of the students. For me, it was nothing short of a charade.
I sat cross-legged in the training hall, eyes closed, feigning concentration as the mentor assigned to my group walked by, occasionally offering advice to others. Around me, students grunted and groaned in frustration. Some struggled to feel their Aura at all, while others managed only faint flickers of energy, their inexperience showing in every trembling breath.
“Relax your shoulders,” the mentor barked at one student. “Stop forcing it. Aura flows naturally when you’re calm.”
I complied outwardly, keeping my breathing even and my posture perfect, but my thoughts were elsewhere. These techniques—the ones Garven and the mentors taught—were relics to me, outdated methods that were efficient enough for beginners but painfully slow for anyone who wanted to advance.
My own Aura training had begun years ago—in another life. By the time of my death in my past life, I had learned techniques far beyond anything this academy currently taught. Among them was a revolutionary method of channeling Aura, discovered during the twilight of humanity’s struggle. While the standard method involved storing and controlling Aura in the heart, this advanced technique expanded the flow throughout the entire circulatory system.
The result? Greater efficiency, faster breakthroughs, and an Aura that was not only more powerful but also more stable. It was a technique discovered out of necessity, born from the desperation of war. And now, it was mine.
It was a method born of desperation in the dying days of a war I had long left behind, one that allowed soldiers to break through their limits at an unprecedented pace. By circulating Aura through every vein and artery, the energy became an inseparable part of the body, enhancing not only strength and speed but also endurance and control. It was dangerous, experimental, and far more powerful than anything these mentors could teach.
Of course, I kept this secret close. Revealing it would draw too much attention, and I wasn’t ready for that—not yet. For now, I focused on maintaining the appearance of someone quietly competent.
I opened my eyes briefly, watching the students around me. Lorian sat a few feet away, his expression unusually serious as he concentrated on his breathing. A faint shimmer of energy flickered around him—proof that he was making progress, albeit slowly. Others weren’t as lucky. I saw one noble clenching his fists in frustration, his face red with exertion.
“Why isn’t it working?” he muttered, his voice carrying across the room.
“It takes time,” the mentor said, not unkindly. “Aura isn’t something you can force. Focus on your breathing and try again.”
I closed my eyes again, hiding a small smirk. Time. That was what they all needed. Weeks, maybe months, to master what I had already achieved. But time wasn’t a luxury I could afford. Every day at this academy was a battle against the clock, against Veylor and his schemes, against the shadow of House Rithane.
I mimicked the motions of someone just beginning to master Core Activation. I let my Aura flare briefly, keeping its intensity subdued. The nobles watching me seemed unimpressed, which was exactly what I wanted. Let them underestimate me. Let them think they had the advantage.
I felt the hum of Aura coursing through me, steady and controlled. I didn’t just focus it in my heart like the others. My Aura flowed through my entire body, carried by the blood in my veins. It was a secret I intended to keep for as long as possible. Revealing it now would only draw attention, and attention was the last thing I needed.
Still, the power it offered was tempting. My body felt lighter, my senses sharper, my reflexes quicker. I could feel every beat of my heart, every pulse of energy as it circulated through me. If I wanted to, I could easily surpass the First Stage: Foundation. But that wasn’t the goal—not yet. For now, I would bide my time, letting the others think I was struggling alongside them.
The mentor stopped in front of me, his eyes narrowing as he observed my steady breathing. “You seem calm,” he said, his tone neutral.
“Just following your instructions,” I replied, keeping my voice even.
He watched me for another moment before nodding and moving on.
Lorian leaned toward me once the mentor was out of earshot. “You’re too good at this whole ‘playing dumb’ thing,” he whispered, a faint grin tugging at his lips.
I raised an eyebrow. “And you’re too nosy for your own good.”
He chuckled softly, but his gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, as if he could see through the carefully crafted mask I wore.
“You’re holding back,” he said casually, wiping sweat from his brow.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I replied, keeping my tone neutral.
He grinned. “Oh, you know exactly what I mean. But don’t worry, I won’t pry. For now.”
His words were light, but his eyes held a knowing glint. Lorian was sharp, and I knew he’d figured out that I wasn’t showing my full hand. It didn’t bother me, though. If anyone could keep a secret, it was him.
As the session continued, I remained in my practiced state of calm, suppressing the urge to push myself further. The technique I used was too advanced to reveal—not just because it would raise questions, but because it would disrupt everything. If the nobles found out, they would accuse me of cheating, of using some forbidden method to gain an advantage. If the mentors found out, they might confiscate my freedom to experiment, forcing me to conform to their outdated practices.
And Veylor… well, I didn’t even want to imagine how he would react.
So I waited, letting the lessons progress at their slow pace. I would master Aura again, just as I had in my past life. But this time, I would do it on my own terms, in my own way, and with a power they wouldn’t see coming until it was too late.
**
Tensions in Mixed Classes
The second semester was supposed to mark a new chapter for the academy—a step toward unity and equality. That was the official story. For the first time, nobles and commoners were placed in the same classrooms, trained side by side in combat, strategy, and Aura techniques. But if the administration thought this change would magically erase the growing divide, they were sorely mistaken.
Tensions lingered like a storm cloud, ready to erupt at any moment. Walking into the mixed-class sessions was like stepping into a battlefield. The air was thick with unspoken resentment. The nobles—many of whom had spent the last semester sneering from their segregated privileges—now found themselves shoulder-to-shoulder with commoners. For the commoners, this was a chance to prove themselves. For the nobles, it was a perceived insult, a challenge to their status.
I felt the weight of those tensions every time I stepped into the classroom. Whispers followed me down the aisles, hushed murmurs from nobles who didn’t bother hiding their disdain.
“Of course he’s here. The academy’s little miracle.”
“Let’s see how long that commoner can keep up.”
I ignored them, as always, but their words hung in the air like poison. It wasn’t just me they targeted, either. Every commoner who dared to excel became a threat in their eyes.
Then there were the training sessions. Sparring had always been competitive, but now it was outright hostile. Every pairing between a noble and a commoner became a silent war. The nobles fought as if their very pride was on the line, their moves aggressive and reckless. The commoners, in turn, pushed themselves harder, refusing to back down even when their bodies screamed for rest.
It wasn’t just physical combat, either. The first mixed Aura training session was an absolute disaster. The mentors had grouped us in pairs to practice the basics of channeling Aura into our strikes. I was paired with a noble named Darion—a tall, wiry boy with a perpetual sneer.
“Try not to embarrass yourself,” he said as we faced off, his tone dripping with condescension.
I didn’t bother replying.
When the signal came, we moved. He came at me with a wide, sweeping strike, his sword glowing faintly with the energy of a barely formed Aura. It was sloppy, inefficient. I sidestepped easily and tapped the flat of my blade against his side—a clean hit.
Darion froze, his face turning red. “Lucky shot,” he muttered, resetting his stance.
The next round was much the same. I deflected his strike and countered with a precision that left him floundering. By the third round, his frustration was palpable.
“You’re just—” He cut himself off, his jaw clenching. “You’re cheating somehow, aren’t you?”
I raised an eyebrow. “If you say so.”
He didn’t take it well. His strikes grew more reckless, his Aura flaring erratically as he tried to overwhelm me with sheer force. But desperation isn’t a substitute for skill. I stepped inside his guard and disarmed him in one fluid motion.
The sound of his sword clattering to the ground was met with a few muffled chuckles from the commoners nearby. Darion glared at me, his chest heaving, but he didn’t say another word.
“Enough,” the mentor barked, stepping between us. “Darion, control your Aura. Illiad, well done. Pair up with someone else.”
It wasn’t just me. I watched as other commoners faced similar situations, their noble partners lashing out in frustration when they couldn’t dominate the match. The mentors tried to keep things civil, but it was clear they were fighting a losing battle.
Lorian summed it up best during a break between sessions.
“They hate that we’re getting better,” he said, leaning against the wall and gulping down water. “They hate that we’re proving them wrong.”
“They’re scared,” I replied.
He frowned. “Scared?”
I nodded. “They’ve spent their whole lives being told they’re superior because of their birth. Now they’re seeing that’s not enough. It’s not fear of us, exactly. It’s fear of losing their place.”
He was quiet for a moment, then smirked. “I think you might be right. Not that it makes it any less irritating.”
“Irritating is putting it lightly,” I said, glancing around the room. The noble students had gathered in small clusters, their voices low but their glances unmistakably hostile. A few of them were glaring at me outright, their expressions a mix of anger and unease.
This wasn’t going to get better anytime soon. If anything, it would only get worse. The academy had thrown us all into the same arena, expecting us to coexist, but they hadn’t accounted for the years of resentment and entitlement ingrained into both sides. It was a powder keg waiting for a spark.
And knowing Veylor, he was already searching for a match.
Meanwhile, the divide between nobles and commoners grew sharper with each passing day. The nobles, desperate to reclaim their sense of superiority, clung to their mastery of Core Activation as proof of their inherent worth. The commoners, on the other hand, were determined to catch up, their resolve fueled by a mixture of defiance and desperation.
The tension bled into every aspect of academy life. In the dining hall, nobles claimed the best seats, subtly excluding commoners. During training exercises, they formed cliques, leaving commoners to fend for themselves. And in the classrooms, their disdain was palpable, their whispers sharp and cutting.
I could see the cracks forming. This wasn’t sustainable. The academy’s attempt to integrate us had only brought the underlying issues into sharper focus.
As I observed the growing unrest, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of inevitability. Something was going to happen. It was only a matter of time.
And when it did, I would be ready.