For nobles, nightfall didn't mean the end of the day.
It meant important meetings, important people, and important decisions—always under the cover of darkness.
For the Crown Prince of the Thandros Kingdom, it meant a reprieve from low-tier nobles licking his boots for favor.
It also meant a bit of alone time.
His name was Alfred Robert Thandros, though he went by many titles.
Crown Prince. Wise Heir. Thorned Rose.
Classic light-brown hair, sharp hazel eyes, tall but lean. Handsome, too, in that composed, untouchable way.
He was bred for control—dominion over Soummara's largest territory.
But he wasn't heartless.
His little sister, only a year younger, adored her big brother.
His mother, the Queen, took pride in how her son wielded authority.
His father was… complicated.
Not that it mattered. Alfred knew his goals, his purpose, his dream.
He was currently a guest in the Sylwenne castle, awaiting his enrollment into Soummara Academy. And honestly, he loathed what was coming.
Constant nagging—from nobles, from peasants—it was all the same.
Everyone hoping to be noticed, praised, rewarded.
But what could he do? The kingdoms maintained a delicate relationship with the Academy, and appearances had to be kept.
The kingdoms funded the Academy; in return, the Academy pumped soldiers.
It was business, nothing more.
Alfred doubted he'd learn much—his education had been in the hands of the most prestigious tutors since childhood.
The Academy would be less a school than a stage for political warfare.
Now in his room, Alfred went over the day's events, as was his nightly routine.
The coastline had been attacked by monsters. Gold prices were rising. And the entrance exam had begun.
"The entrance exam…" he murmured.
In past years, the test had been one-on-one tournaments or obstacle courses. This time was far more entertaining.
He'd been taught to value restraint and precision—so this kind of barbaric spectacle should have repulsed him.
But it didn't.
He himself had trained in battle, though never with a sword. That was heresy for royalty.
No—he was a mage.
A powerful one.
With a core at the middle of the fourth stage, immeasurable talent, and a strong attribute, he was a force to be reckoned with—even outside diplomacy.
So, he enjoyed seeing people of different abilities and experiences clash.
It was exhilarating.
Today's battles had not disappointed.
Even beyond the fighting, the entire exam setup fascinated him.
First, the fall—how the weak panicked while the strong adapted.
Next, the tactics—those who lost their first life during the fall became cautious, preferring ambush over direct engagement.
Those still with two lives often sought straightforward duels, skill against skill, to the death.
And then there were the few who caught his attention.
He'd always thought nobles who dismissed commoners as weak were fools.
Today proved it. The top two—Serpes and Arconis—were locked in an endless chase for dominance. Several others in the top fifteen had shown incredible fights.
They didn't have noble privileges, but many had earned their strength through sheer grit.
It was something worth respecting.
Still, it had been a long day. The exam broadcast ran 24/7, and he would receive a summary of the night's events in the morning.
Alfred changed into more comfortable clothes—still elegant enough for a banquet—then closed his eyes, letting slumber claim him.