Morning light spilled through the grand windows of the Valtoria mansion.
The air smelled faintly of polish and lilies.
Arthur stood before the mirror, dressed in full white attire laced with golden embroidery. He looked… too noble for someone who still felt like an outsider in his own skin.
Beside him, Elizabeth fixed the cuffs with her usual care.
"Perfect," she said softly.
Arthur smiled and nodded. Together, they walked down the long hallway, their steps echoing faintly against the marble.
The main hall opened wide before them—Duke Aldric stood tall like a mountain, Lady Verona beside him, elegant and calm as sunlight.
A guard dropped to one knee. "My lord, the chariot is ready outside."
Aldric gave a curt nod. "Arthur will be ready soon. Wait outside."
The guard bowed again and disappeared through the door.
Arthur walked down the stairs, each step heavier than it should've been. He stopped before his parents and bowed his head.
"Good morning, Father. Mother."
Lady Verona smiled, her eyes kind. "You look handsome."
"Are you ready?" Aldric's voice was steady as stone.
Arthur nodded. "Yes, Father."
Before Aldric could respond, a small voice echoed from behind.
"Big brother!"
Lucien turned—Evelyn, silver curls bouncing, dashed toward him like a tiny storm. She jumped into his arms, hugging tight.
"Good luck!" she said brightly.
Arthur chuckled, brushing her hair. "Thanks, little one."
Evelyn giggled and ran to cling to her mother's gown.
"You should get ready to depart. Follow me," Aldric said, already turning.
Arthur gave one last smile to Evelyn before following his father out.
The great doors opened, sunlight flooding in like a blessing.
Outside, the Valtoria chariot gleamed under the morning rays—polished black wood, golden wheels, the crest of a silver dragon carved deep into the side.
The guard stepped down, bowed, and opened the door. The seats were deep blue velvet, soft to the touch.
Arthur climbed in and the guard closed the door .
The wheels began to turn.
---
Halfway through the journey, Arthur's face went pale.
He leaned over, coughing. "Stop the chariot—!"
They halted. He stumbled out and threw up on the roadside. The world spun.
The guard hurried over, offering water. Arthur washed his mouth, groaning.
"Journeying in a chariot isn't… the same as riding a car," he muttered. "Damn it… there's a big difference."
He bent over again, throwing up. The guard patted his back gently. "It's your first time, young master. You've barely left your room before now. Try to breathe."
Arthur gritted his teeth and wiped his mouth. "How do people travel like this…? I'll die before we even get there."
The guard smiled awkwardly and helped him back inside. The wheels rolled again.
---
By the time they arrived at the Preliminary Academy, Arthur looked half-dead.
The academy gates loomed tall—stone, banners, and lines of students in plain clothes. Commoners mostly.
An instructor stood at the entrance, clipboard in hand.
Arthur stepped out, still clutching his stomach, and wandered toward the line before anyone could stop him.
"Ah—young master Valtoria!" The instructor hurried over, eyes wide. "You must be from the Valtoria household!"
Arthur just raised a tired hand. "Can I go in? I'm not feeling great, sir."
The instructor blinked in disbelief. "Did he just—get pale from a chariot ride?" he muttered under his breath. "He's a noble, isn't he?"
Arthur frowned. "Um… sir, you're kinda blocking the way."
"Ah! Right! My apologies." The man cleared his throat. "But, uh, you can't enter from this gate. This one's for commoners. Nobles use the northern entrance."
Arthur sighed. "Why the discrimination though? A gate's a gate. Fine, I'll take the northern one."
He climbed back into the chariot. The guard cracked the reins, and they rolled away again.
---
The northern gate was another world entirely—polished marble columns, banners, chariots lined like peacocks in display. Nobles stepped out, surrounded by servants and escorts.
Arthur adjusted his collar and stepped down. His eyes caught a boy nearby—tall, red hair, sharp crimson eyes that burned like fire.
His gaze flicked toward him. A smirk. A cold one. Then he turned and walked off.
Arthur exhaled. "Great start to the day."
At the reception desk, a man with slicked-back hair stood straight as a blade. "Welcome to the Preliminary Academy. I'm Varian Steele. You are here for your blade awakening. The ceremony begins tomorrow. Today, rest well. Nobles will be given private rooms. Check the board for your assignments."
Arthur nodded, moving to the notice board.
He scanned through the names, eyes landing on Room 4 – Arthur Valtoria / Felix Arden.
He blinked. "So much for private rooms."
He found the door, exhaled, and opened it. Inside, a cheerful boy with messy black hair and glowing yellow eyes tossed a pebble in the air.
"Hey! You must be my roommate! Name's Felix Arden!"
"Arthur Valtoria," Lucien said quietly.
Felix froze. "V–Valtoria?! My lord! I—"
Arthur waved it off. "Relax. Just Arthur."
Felix hesitated. "Really?"
"Yeah," Arthur grinned faintly. "Doesn't mean we can't be friends."
Felix smiled wide. "Then it's Arthur!"
---
That night, they talked till the candles dimmed.
"Tomorrow's the Blade Ceremony," Arthur said.
Felix nodded. "Yeah. Been waiting for this my whole life."
Arthur turned. "Why? I thought your dad's a swordsmith."
Felix scratched his neck. "He is. But I've never had a blade of my own. I grew up watching them being made but… never got to hold one."
Arthur chuckled. "I see."
Felix grinned nervously. "They say the blades choose us during the ceremony. I just hope mine isn't broken."
Arthur laughed. "I just hope one chooses me at all."
They both laughed softly.
Then Arthur asked, "Why do you want to become a sword mage? You could've just taken over your dad's forge."
Felix paused, eyes drifting to the window. "Because I want to change this world."
Arthur blinked. "Change it?"
Felix nodded. "Yeah. They say the strongest sword mage becomes the Sage King—second only to the royal family. I want to be that man. Not for fame… but to end this stupid discrimination between nobles and commoners."
Arthur's eyes softened. "The Sage King…"
---
A memory flickered.
"Dad, which is better—Newton or Einstein?"
Ronald sighed, tired but smiling. "You again with that question, Albert?"
Albert pouted. "Just answer me!"
"Both changed the world," his father said. "You can't compare greatness. It's not about who's smarter—it's about who impacted life the most."
Albert's young voice echoed. "Then I'll grow up and do the same. I'll change the world too."
Ronald laughed. "You will, son. You'll be even greater than them."
The memory faded.
Arthur looked at Felix and smiled faintly. The Sage King… in this world, that's their Newton and Einstein. Their symbol of impact.
"I couldn't make a change back then," he thought. "But now… I have another chance."
Felix noticed his grin. "Why are you smiling?"
Arthur said softly, "Sorry, Felix. But I'll be the one to become Sage King."
Felix blinked, then smirked. "So we're rivals now? Fine by me. May the strongest sword mage win."
Arthur stretched out his hand.
Felix grinned and shook it.
"May the strongest win."
---
The next morning.
The grand auditorium roared with energy. Students gathered, nervous, excited, restless.
Then he appeared.
An old man floated in on a tattered mat, gray hair wild, staff buzzing faintly with power. His eyes were black as ink, but sharp as lightning.
"Quiet down," he said, his voice echoing like thunder. "The Blade Ceremony begins."
He raised his staff.
CRACK!
The air shattered. The world broke into golden dust.
The ceiling dissolved, the floor turned to glowing sand, wind howled through an endless desert.
"Relax," the old man grinned. "Today, your blades will choose you."
Then light—blinding, holy light.
Thousands of blades descended from the sky, each pulsing with different elements—fire, wind, lightning, earth, water. The air crackled with energy.
"You don't choose the blade," the old man said. "It chooses you."
Then—
A wave of heat. A giant flame sword plunged down before one boy.
A bit with wild red hair stepped forward. Fire surged around him like a roaring beast.
Whispers spread fast.
"The son of Magnus Ironheart… Leo Ironeheart"
Then more blades fell. Felix's eyes widened as a wind-forged blade spiraled into his hands, a breeze swirling around him.
"I got wind magic!" he shouted.
Arthur smiled faintly—but inside, his heart pounded.
He waited.
And waited.
Nothing came.
The sky dimmed. The winds died.
Arthur looked up. "Sir, I think my blade's stuck. Maybe if you tap your staff again, it'll—uh—fall?"
The hall went silent.
The old man chuckled. "That's not how it works."
Felix frowned. "Then how does it work?"
The man's tone turned cold. "It means he wasn't chosen. That's all."
Laughter rippled through the hall.
"A noble without a blade?"
"Disgraceful."
"What a joke."
Arthur froze. His chest burned, face pale.
"Not chosen? How's that even possible?" he whispered. "Everyone else… why not me?"
The old man's staff struck the sand.
"Those who were chosen are special. The rest… are not. That concludes the ceremony."
Arthur's world shattered.
Special…? Then what am I?