The morning mist clung to the road as Arata departed the Kurogane estate. His carriage rattled over the stone path, pulled by spirit-bound horses whose faint glow pulsed with each step. The journey was quiet, broken only by the steady rhythm of hooves and the occasional creak of wood.
Arata leaned back, arms folded loosely, gazing at the canopy of trees overhead.
So this is it. The so-called greatest academy in the eastern continent. The place where prodigies are forged, where names are carved into history, where noble families fight to send their brightest children… and the Kuroganes send me.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
They think it's exile. They think I'll embarrass myself, and by extension, them. But exile is only punishment to those without imagination. For me? It's opportunity.
By midday, the trees gave way to a sprawling city. Towers of stone and steel soared into the sky, linked by bridges that seemed to defy gravity. Magical glyphs shimmered faintly on walls, powering lanterns, fountains, even the gates that parted as his carriage approached.
This was Skyrend, the city that surrounded the Sky Severing Academy. It pulsed with life—street vendors hawking enchanted trinkets, mercenaries boasting of victories, cloaked figures slipping through alleys, nobles parading in gilded carriages.
Arata's eyes swept over it all, cataloguing.
Information hub. Merchant center. Breeding ground for spies, thieves, and assassins. Exactly the kind of place John Merciless could build roots in. A city like this is fertile soil for shadows.
The carriage rolled through the bustling avenues, finally climbing a sloping road that led toward the heart of the city. There, perched upon a mountain carved by ancient hands, stood the Sky Severing Academy.
It was less a school and more a fortress. Massive gates etched with runes glowed faintly, their wards thrumming with ancient power. Towers pierced the clouds, and training grounds stretched wide as battlefields.
From within came the roar of magic clashing against steel, the chant of spells, the cries of beasts summoned from other realms.
The carriage stopped. A servant gestured for Arata to step down. He adjusted his plain robes—neither extravagant nor shabby, deliberately forgettable—and stepped onto the stone path that led into the academy.
Other students were arriving too.
A boy draped in crimson walked past, fire swirling lazily in his palm, his expression smug as he glanced at those around him. A girl with icy blue hair rode a beast of frost, her aura chilling the very air. Groups of nobles clustered together, whispering, measuring, competing before even stepping foot inside.
Arata walked quietly, shoulders relaxed, eyes down. To them, he was background. A shadow trailing in their wake.
Exactly as he wanted.
But inside, his thoughts sharpened like a blade.
The boy with fire—his circuits run along the spine, not the arms. Interesting. That means his movements will always carry a delay when channeling through the hands. Weakness noted. The frost girl—her aura disperses at roughly four meters. Anyone who closes the distance renders her near powerless. Noted. Groups form from fear. These packs will fracture under the right pressure. All noted.
Every step he took, he collected data. Not as Arata Kurogane, the "weak" son, but as John Merciless, architect of the unseen.
At the academy gates, instructors waited. Robed in black and silver, their eyes gleamed with appraisal as each new student approached. One by one, names were checked, circuits briefly inspected, and young prodigies admitted into the academy's belly.
When it came to Arata's turn, the robed instructor barely looked at him.
"Name?"
"Arata Kurogane."
Brows rose faintly. A murmur passed through a few nearby students. The Kurogane name carried weight, but paired with the weakest son, it became a joke. A faint chuckle rippled through the line.
The instructor nodded dismissively. "Proceed."
No ceremony. No admiration. Just a checkmark on a list.
Arata stepped through the gates, his expression mild. But inside, his amusement was razor-sharp.
Perfect. The less they see, the less they expect. And when expectation drops to zero… impact rises to infinity.
The academy courtyard was vast, lined with statues of legendary alumni whose feats had carved empires. Students gathered, forming alliances instantly, names and reputations flashing like blades.
A booming voice filled the air.
"Welcome, students of the Sky Severing Academy!"
From a balcony above, a tall man in silver armor stood, cape billowing in the wind. His presence was overwhelming, his circuits thrumming so violently the air itself trembled. This was Headmaster Daigo Rensetsu, known as the "Severer of Heavens."
"From today, you stand at the threshold of greatness," he declared. "This academy accepts only the ambitious, the relentless, the destined. Here, your weakness will be crushed, your strengths sharpened, and your resolve tested. Those who endure will rise above nations. Those who fail… will vanish like dust."
The students roared with excitement. Magic flared across the courtyard as they displayed their strength, a contest of pride before the real tests even began.
Arata remained still. His eyes half-lidded, his expression bored.
Dust, hm? Let them vanish. Let them crumble under their own egos. I don't need to roar, I don't need to shine, I don't need to display. I will simply… endure. Quietly. Patiently. And when they finally realize who was beside them all along, it will already be too late.
He tilted his head back, gazing at the towering spires of the academy. Somewhere within, secrets waited. Power waited. Opportunity waited.
And so did John Merciless.