"Haaa~ finally, we reached our damn destination. My ass feels like it's been ironed flat after sitting in that damn carriage for so long," Nyx grumbled as he stepped out, stretching his arms with all the grace of a drunk skeleton.
"Try to show at least a shred of dignity," Samantha remarked as she descended with all the poise of royalty. Her movements were elegant, her expression calm, and her voice clipped with that 'noble-born, blade-sharp' edge. "You may be a noble, but right now, you're wearing the badge of the Mercenary Guild, so act like it."
"Yeah, yeah, I hear you, Duchess of Doom," Nyx muttered, cracking his back and glaring at the ground like it owed him money.
Valon stepped down next, followed closely by Ruby. Both of them moved differently—more rigid, more aware, almost like they'd crossed an invisible line the moment they arrived. Their usual relaxed swagger was gone, replaced by cold focus.
Nyx noticed it immediately, the shift in atmosphere, the tension hanging between their shoulders like drawn wires. At first, he thought it was just road fatigue, maybe carriage sickness—but then he looked around and saw it.
Dozens of eyes. Not just glancing. Not just curious. Staring.
Measuring.
Judging.
Nyx frowned, instinctively puffing his chest and preparing to snap back with something sarcastic, until he realized none of them were looking at him. Their gazes were fixed on the trio beside him—Samantha, Valon, and Ruby. He wasn't the main character in this particular theater. Not yet.
And that's when the penny dropped.
"So that's how it is," he muttered under his breath, voice tinged with irritation and a grudging hint of amusement. "I'm the only bastard here without some secret royal bloodline, criminal background, or shadow society tracking their every move."
He walked toward them, hands in his pockets and mood slightly sour. The trio didn't even flinch. Their eyes were still scanning the plaza like seasoned spies expecting a knife from the crowd at any moment.
Nyx just sighed, his smirk twitching at the edge of his lips.
"Guess the academy's not just for geniuses. Seems we've walked straight into a damn chessboard."
---
So, shall we finally check out the academy—or would you three rather keep circling the courtyard for the thirty-third time like paranoid pigeons?" Nyx asked, his voice laced with irritation as he lazily followed behind the group.
Samantha didn't answer his jab. She simply took the lead, her expression unreadable as she walked toward the towering gates ahead. "Let's go," she said, her tone clipped and businesslike.
When they arrived, all four of them paused.
The view was something out of a dream—or more accurately, a royal wet dream sculpted into reality.
The academy grounds weren't just massive. They were regal. Lavish. Impossibly well-designed. Polished marble walls lined with enchanted ivy that shimmered like stardust, towers tall enough to kiss the clouds, and golden spires that reflected sunlight like they were trying to blind you with glory. Honestly, it made the actual royal palace look like a well-decorated pigsty in comparison.
"Damn... this place is gorgeous," Nyx muttered, eyes wide as he took in the sheer scale of the place.
"Well, yeah. It's run by the combined funding of nobles, the royal family, the Mercenary Guild, and every major faction worth a damn in the kingdom," Valon replied with a shrug, clearly trying not to look impressed. "What were you expecting? A shit-stained warehouse with creaky floors?"
Before Nyx could fire back, a group of men in matching uniforms approached them, their robes trimmed with symbols of the academy and polished badges of rank. They moved with that annoyingly practiced grace, the kind that screamed "overpaid, underpunched bureaucrats."
"Welcome to the Royal Academy," they said in unison, offering shallow bows more out of protocol than respect.
"The entrance exams will begin at ten sharp," one of them continued, clearly the spokesperson—or maybe just the loudest sycophant. "Until then, you're free to explore the academy grounds. However, I would advise you to conduct yourselves with discipline and grace. This isn't your back-alley training post."
His tone wasn't hostile. It was worse. It was condescending.
Nyx narrowed his eyes. The way that man looked at them—it wasn't just superiority. It was disgust, barely concealed behind a tight-lipped smile.
"Tell me something," Nyx said, stepping forward, his voice low and sharp. "Your mother forget to teach you manners? Or did you fry your last brain cell playing aristocrat for too long?"
The entire group went dead silent. Valon choked mid-breath. Samantha blinked. Ruby stared like she'd just watched someone kick a priest in the nuts.
But Nyx wasn't done.
"We didn't beg our way into this place. We were invited. So maybe try adjusting that crusty tone of yours before I decide to use your skull as raw material for an alchemy experiment."
The old man flinched slightly—but quickly recovered. He let out a dry scoff, his sneer returning.
"Oh? And what's the academy supposed to do with a disrespectful brat like you?" he said, puffing himself up. "You're a fallen noble. Forgotten. Replaceable. Don't overestimate yourself."
Nyx didn't say anything.
Instead, he raised his hand.
Six fire arrows manifested in a sudden, controlled flare—each one glowing hot enough to warp the air around them. They floated around the man like wolves circling a meal.
"I'll make this simple," Nyx said, his voice like ice over boiling lava. "Either the academy takes action… or your skull turns into molten pudding. Test me."
The air grew thick with pressure. A few of the academy aides took cautious steps back, while the loudmouth stood frozen, sweat forming at his temple.
"Nyx, calm down," Samantha said quickly, grabbing his arm before the situation could devolve into a crater-sized diplomatic disaster.
Nyx exhaled, slowly lowering his hand. The fire arrows vanished—but his glare didn't.
"I'm not trying to throw weight around," he said, stepping away. "But next time your sorry mouth gets ahead of your brain, don't expect a second warning."
He turned back toward the group, his expression smug and self-satisfied, the kind that silently screamed: See that? That's how you put a pompous asshole in his place without breaking a sweat.
---
They eventually made their way to a massive hall—wide enough to fit a small army, tall enough to lose sight of the ceiling. Students and candidates from every walk of life were already gathering inside, their voices low, their postures rigid.
Despite the variety of clothing and backgrounds, one thing was strikingly common across every face in the room: a shared weight pressing down on them, the kind that only comes before something monumental. Tension lingered in the air like a storm waiting to crack.
"Looks like it's finally starting," Nyx muttered as the group stepped through the threshold.
The murmurs around them grew louder, but no one sounded relaxed. No cocky shouting, no casual joking—just hushed tones, sharpened glares, and the quiet, suffocating pressure of what was about to unfold.