In the vast auditorium, all the first-year students of the Nalanda Institute had gathered, their chatter weaving into a restless hum that echoed off the high walls. Murmurs and whispers spread from one row to another as the students gossiped, speculated, and shared their excitement for the ceremony yet to begin.
Vern sat quietly with Charlotte, Edward, and Salena, their seats offering a clear view of the stage draped in banners. The anticipation in the hall was palpable, though Vern himself seemed calm, his posture composed as the others fidgeted restlessly.
Breaking the silence between them, Edward leaned toward him. "Hey," he began, his voice tinged with curiosity, "I didn't get the chance to ask about your sword earlier. But… does that sword have a will?"
"Yes, it has," Vern replied evenly, his gaze still fixed on the stage ahead, not wavering even for a moment.
Hearing their exchange, Salena leaned forward with quiet interest, her eyes attentive. Edward's curiosity only grew sharper, his excitement betraying the calm façade he tried to keep.
"What's its name?" Edward asked, his tone almost eager as he recalled the sword's striking image. It was a weapon unlike any other—white from hilt to guard, yet with a blade as black as midnight itself.
"Its name is Enkris," Vern replied calmly.
"Enkris…?" Salena echoed, pausing for a moment as if digging through her memory. She tilted her head slightly, trying to recall if she had ever heard of such a sword, but nothing came to mind.
"Yes," Vern continued, his tone steady, "it is the same sword once used by the First Sword Saint." His words cut through her silence, answering the unspoken doubt she carried in her eyes.
"Huh? Is it really true?" Edward blurted out, his eyes widening in disbelief. The name alone carried weight, but to think Vern was wielding that sword—he could hardly contain his astonishment. Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward, his voice tight with anticipation. "Then… what's the requirement to wield it?"
Vern's gaze remained composed as ever. "Although I can use it, I do not know what its requirements are. When I held the sword, it simply slid open from the scabbard." His explanation was quiet but firm, as though even he hadn't unraveled the mystery of the blade in his possession.
"Sigh… you guys should really talk about something else besides swords." Charlotte let out an exaggerated sigh, folding her arms as if she had been waiting for a chance to cut in. "By the way, when is it going to start?"
"I don't kno—" Salena began, but she couldn't even finish her words before movement on the stage drew everyone's attention.
A girl, dressed neatly in the pristine uniform of the third years, stepped gracefully into view and approached the announcing stand. The moment she appeared, the restless murmurs in the hall faded away. Her very presence commanded silence, not by force but by sheer grace.
Her appearance was striking—captivating, even. Waves of green hair fell behind her, fluttering lightly as though they carried the freshness of spring fields.
"Hello everyone," she began, her voice calm and clear, carrying through the hall with practiced ease. "My name is Eliza Skywod, and I'm the representative of the third years of the Magic Department." She introduced herself with an elegance that made the students lean in with rapt attention, every word flowing with poise.
Eliza Skywod…? Vern narrowed his eyes, the name stirring something in his memory. Hmm… oh, now I remember. She's from the Skywod family, near the territory of House Draken. She would later be known as the 'Green Mage'… though that's in the future. Still, it's a surprise to see her here already. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, thoughtful.
Hmm? His train of thought was suddenly broken by a soft exclamation beside him.
"How beautiful…"
Turning his head, Vern found Edward staring openly at Eliza, eyes wide and mouth hanging ajar like a loose lid.
"Hey! What are you saying?!" Salena's voice cut in sharply as she smacked him on the head, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment at his shameless behavior.
The smack brought Edward back to his senses at once. "Ouch! Why did you hit me?!" he protested, rubbing the sore spot.
"Why do you ask? Don't you know? As the future patriarch of House Zenithara, you shouldn't say such things!" Salena scolded him harshly, her tone like a whip.
"B-but… I don't want to become the patriarch!" Edward stammered, his face turning red. "And so what if I said she's beautiful? I… I just spoke the truth!" He tried to defend himself, though his voice cracked slightly under Salena's glare.
"Or… are you jealous because nobody ever says those things to you?" Edward sneered, glancing at Salena before shifting his eyes toward Vern. His tone carried a mocking edge as he continued, "It's no wonder… with your behavior, nobody would even bother to say somethi—"
He didn't get the chance to finish. Salena's face flushed scarlet, her fist clenched tightly. In the next instant, she struck him square in the face with a sharp punch.
Edward's head snapped back from the blow, and before he could even react, he slumped against his seat—completely out cold.
Charlotte and Vern didn't so much as turn their heads. By now, they were well used to this kind of scene between the two over the last few days of interaction.
Around them, however, other students weren't as tolerant.
"Shoo…!" A few frowned, gesturing irritably. "Keep it down!"
Realizing the stir she had caused, Salena's anger melted into panic. She bowed her head slightly and hurriedly muttered, "I-I'm sorry, my brother just…" Without finishing the excuse, she quickly sat back in her seat, her face still burning.
"I would like to call the principal to give his guidance to our new students."
With those words, Eliza Skywod brought her elegant introduction to a close. She had spoken for a short while about various matters, her voice smooth and steady, before finishing with that final invitation.
An old man slowly appeared on stage, his steps measured but firm. His gray hair and long beard gave him a dignified air, though his slightly hunched back betrayed the weight of age. At once, the entire auditorium rose to their feet, applause swelling like a wave in recognition of his presence.
He approached the stand with calm composure. Upon reaching the microphone, he raised a single hand. The students, understanding his silent gesture, gradually quieted and returned to their seats, the vast hall falling into respectful stillness.
"I am the principal of this great Nalanda Institute," the old man's voice rang out, steady despite his years. "My name is Bhism Sunkul."
"Children of Nalanda…
Today, as you step through the gates of this ancient institute, remember this—knowledge is not a gift handed down freely. It is a fire, and fire accepts no weakness. You must endure its heat, its trials, and its demands, for only then will you carry its light.
Do not think of yourselves merely as students. From this day onward, you are seekers. Seekers of truth, of wisdom, of strength that does not falter when tested. The world beyond these walls is vast, filled with both brilliance and cruelty. It does not honor the timid, nor does it wait for the unprepared.
Discipline shall be your armor. Humility shall be your guide. And perseverance—unyielding, unwavering—shall be the sword that cuts through despair.
Some of you will stumble. Some will doubt. But hear me well—those who rise again after failure carry more strength than those who have never fallen. Do not be afraid of hardship, for it is hardship that sharpens character.
Carry yourselves with dignity, respect those beside you, and never forget: your journey is not for yourself alone. The strength you gain here must one day stand as a pillar for others—for family, for kingdom, for humanity itself.
If you remember this… then no matter where life takes you, the name of Nalanda will shine in your deeds.
Now, sit with hearts open and spirits firm. Your path begins."
---
Salena clasped her hands tightly in her lap, her eyes shining with a quiet resolve. The words of the principal stirred something deep inside her heart, as though the weight of her family name and her own secret fears found both comfort and challenge in his voice.
Charlotte leaned back, crossing her arms, but her expression softened despite herself. Though she liked to tease and mock, she could not deny the sense of grandeur in those words. For the first time since entering the auditorium, she looked genuinely thoughtful.
Vern sat with his usual composure, but his sharp gaze did not waver from the old man on stage. Fire, perseverance, pillars… He repeated those words in his mind, weighing them carefully. He was not one to be easily swayed, yet even he acknowledged the depth behind them.
Edward, on the other hand, seemed the most visibly moved. His usual careless air was gone, replaced by a rare seriousness. His fists clenched at his knees as if to anchor himself, his lips pressing together in determination. For him, those words were not mere guidance—they were a challenge he could not afford to ignore.
Unknowingly, warm tears slipped down his cheeks, silent but steady, a reflection of how deeply the principal's words had struck his heart.
Sigh… he's being overdramatic again. The three of them—Salena, Charlotte, and Vern—shared the same thought in unison, each letting out a quiet sigh at the sight of him.