After leaving the arena, I began the long walk toward the Eastern Tower—the residence reserved for Class S students.
It was located far from the main campus buildings, but fortunately, we didn't have to make the journey on foot.
A dedicated train system ran through the academy grounds for students like us.
Not knowing the route to the station, I quietly followed a human boy who looked utterly average.
He moved with the casual confidence of someone who belonged, and I kept my distance, blending into the flow of students.
Eventually, we reached the station. Sleek, magical trains hummed on levitating tracks, each platform marked with floating holographic signs.
I scanned the schedule and boarded the one heading to the Eastern Tower, taking a window seat.
As the train glided forward, I found myself staring in awe.
The snowy peaks of distant mountains sparkled under the fading light, the train winding between frozen cliffs and glowing mana crystals embedded in the rock.
The silence in the carriage made the moment feel almost sacred.
Then—footsteps.
A tall student stopped beside me, violet eyes calm and striking against his dark hair. His presence was magnetic.
"Hello, my name is—"
"Zephyr Mooncaller," I said before he could finish.
His eyes narrowed slightly. "How did you—?"
"I saw your duel in the arena. You fought impressively."
He chuckled, modestly scratching the side of his head. "Ah, not much."
But his thoughts slipped past his mask.
"Obviously, I fought well. With the Reward System, no one at my level stands a chance."
I kept my face neutral.
A System? Is he the chosen one of this world or something?
He shifted the conversation smoothly. "Have you heard of the Mooncaller family?"
Before I could answer, another wave of thought bubbled behind his smile.
"He must have. My father's name alone commands respect."
I nodded. "Of course. The Duke of Natara is a war hero—everyone knows that."
Zephyr's pride swelled. "Yes. I'm his son."
So he was flaunting his pedigree. I gave a polite smile, but inside, I marked him: charismatic, powerful, and dangerous.
"And your name's Zevir, right?" he asked. "What's your last name?"
"I don't have one." My voice was calm, flat. "My family died not long after I was born. Their names… were lost with them."
Zephyr paused, perhaps registering the weight of my words. "Sorry to hear that. You're the transfer student, right? If you ever need help settling in, contact me."
"Of course."
But his mind whispered:
"I could use someone like him. Keep him close, then bend him later."
So that's your angle. You're not helping—you're recruiting.
I said nothing. I've dealt with people like him before, and unlike them, I can hear when a smile hides a chain.
The train slowed, and the red spire of the Eastern Tower came into view.
Elegant and imposing, it rose into the sky like a flame.
A colossal phoenix statue wrapped around its entire height, wings unfurled as if protecting the elite who lived within.
As we stepped out, the other Class S students gathered, eyes scanning their surroundings.
Everyone looked confident. Some looked dangerous.
Zephyr turned to me one last time. "There's a party tonight. A welcome event for the first years. Interested?"
"I'll think about it."
"Alright. Message me if you change your mind." He handed me his code and walked off without waiting for a reply.
I entered the tower and recalled my assignment—Dorm S-504. Fifth floor, room four.
The lift carried me upward in silence. The walls shimmered with red runes—protection seals, I guessed.
The air grew warmer the higher we went.
When I stepped out onto my floor, I heard a door click nearby.
A student exited their room at the far end of the hallway. Long white hair. Slim build.
Elara.
She glanced at me as she walked past.
I raised a hand to greet her, but she gave no response—only a slight narrowing of her eyes before she entered her room and shut the door with a soft click.
Strange. That wasn't indifference. That was recognition… and caution.
I shook the feeling off and walked to my door. I tapped my ID card, and the lock blinked green.
My room was modest but practical—single bed, a sleek desk, a 3D food printer in the corner, and a large bookshelf already stocked with a few beginner-level grimoires.
The wide window framed the snowy wilderness beyond.
In the distance, I saw lights dancing across the mountains—probably mana storms.
I considered decorating, but exhaustion tugged at me.
As for the party… I wasn't interested. I've never liked crowds, especially ones filled with hidden motives and polished smiles.
I loosened my tie, shrugged off my school coat, and collapsed onto the bed.
-------------------
In a vast, dark room filled with towering bookshelves and ancient tomes, the scent of old parchment mixed with the faint smoke of a cigar.
The space was quiet—eerily so. Dust danced lazily in the shafts of daylight that struggled through tall stained-glass windows.
Outside, an eternal snowfall blanketed the world, a silent curtain over the kingdom ofThalorion Arcanum, where snow fell year-round.
The room itself was timeless—an aesthetic blend of ancient mysticism and arcane academia.
A crimson velvet rug ran along the stone floor, and deep blackwood furniture stood like monuments of old power.
This was a place where secrets were studied, and decisions reshaped the world.
A tall, lean man stood near the window. His crimson hair, long and meticulously combed, shimmered faintly in the soft light.
His icy-blue eyes were fixed outside, unfazed by the storm.
He wore a fitted black suit with an overcoat that bore the Phoenix Sigil—wings wrapped around a burning star etched in silver.
Beneath the phoenix lay a single golden star: the symbol of an executive high-rank member of Academy.
He took a slow drag from his cigar before speaking.
"So… how is he?"
Standing behind him, Velmaria—the homeroom instructor of Class S-1—bowed respectfully. Her voice was composed, but there was the faintest edge of confusion.
"Fast reflexes. Observant. Adaptive under pressure. But nothing else noteworthy—he has a C-rank core."
Jareth exhaled, the smoke curling through the air like a ghost.
"Hmm… keep watching him."
Velmaria's brows furrowed slightly. "But, Sir Jareth, forgive me—I still don't understand. Why compare him to the Class S Students? Most of them have B-rank cores… and even a few with Legendary A-grade cores. That boy is talented, but average by comparison."
Jareth didn't respond immediately. Instead, he flicked a remote, and a large magical display lit up on the far wall.
A holographic projection came to life, showing a training simulation in one of the academy's arenas.
Dozens of enchanted combat drones—some armed with spelltech, others with blades—surrounded a single figure.
A Young Man.
Zevir.
For a few moments, the test played out like any other. The drones attacked. Spells were cast. Combat patterns engaged.
Then—everything stopped.
Not visually. But energetically.
All the mana-infused attacks fizzled, their enchantments dying mid-air as if something unseen had stolen their magic.
In that breath of silence, the boy moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
Steel shimmered in the simulation room.
Every single drone was dismantled—cut down with brutal precision in six seconds.
The evaluators watching the test on the side all exchanged confused, almost alarmed glances.
Velmaria's eyes widened. "What… what was that?"
Jareth answered calmly, tapping ash from his cigar into a crystal tray."His bloodline ability. He must have awakened it when he reached Rank 2. From what I observed, he disrupts mana around him—cancels techniques, steals energy for his movement. And he shows no signs of backlash."
Velmaria's lips parted slightly. "That's incredibly rare… most mana disruptors experience extreme internal damage if they use that ability even once."
"Exactly." Jareth turned back toward the window."That's why I assigned him to Class S. But it wasn't only my decision."
"Who else recommended him?"
He took a long drag from his cigar and answered flatly.
"The Sword Emperor."
Velmaria stiffened. She took a step back, stunned."The… Sword Emperor? He recommended a student?"
Jareth's gaze narrowed. "Are you suggesting he has a son?"
Velmaria hesitated. "I… I thought perhaps—"
His voice cut like a blade. "Watch your words. The Sword Emperor has no wife, and rumors will cost you your hand."
Silence returned for a moment. Snow fell heavier outside.
"He said he owes the boy. That's all I know."
Velmaria nodded slowly.
"Understood."
Jareth returned to the display. The frozen image of Zevir surrounded by the wreckage of arcane machines still hovered there.
"Now," he said, changing the subject, "among the S-1 students, who has the potential to lead? To be Yearlord of the First Year?"
Velmaria regained composure."All twelve prophecy students are exceptional. Each has intermediate Rank 2 strength already. Deciding among them will not be easy."
"Then don't decide now," Jareth said. "Conduct a hidden test. Watch them closely for the next month. Assess their strength, leadership, discipline, teamwork. At the end of the evaluation, we'll name the Yearlord."
Velmaria bowed again. "As you command." She turned and left the room, her footsteps echoing behind her.
Alone again, Jareth put out the cigar and muttered to himself.
"A talent that interferes with mana itself… if he survives, he'll be terrifying. But you were born in the wrong era, boy. In another time, you'd have been a legend."
He looked toward the snowfall.
"But in this generation… twelve monsters walk among us. Each one alone could shake the balance of the world. And now—there are twelve."
He pressed a rune on his desk, activating the academy's defense systems.
"Raise security to maximum. The Abyss won't sit still for long. Reports say they'll make their move soon."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Let's hope we're ready when they do."