A few hours later, Roland Weiss stretched and lifted his head from the desk, blinking as he took in the empty lecture hall.
Looks like everyone already went to the Myrk Vault, he thought, pushing himself up and heading out.
The academy grounds felt strangely hollow at this hour. The noise of students had drained away, leaving only the faint echo of his footsteps against stone paths and empty corridors.
After several minutes of slow walking, Roland's eyes settled on a building standing slightly apart from the rest of the academy complex.
It was a little lower than the lecture halls, its walls built from dark gray blocks. In front stood carved columns bearing the Valen clan crest.
Roland walked toward the entrance and the moment he drew closer, he noticed a tall, middle-aged man pacing back and forth out front, clearly irritated, muttering under his breath.
As soon as the man heard Roland's footsteps, he snapped his head up and strode over.
"Are you Roland Weiss?" he demanded, not bothering to hide the edge in his voice.
Roland gave a small nod.
"Where the hell have you been this whole time?!" the man shot back, voice rising. "Everyone came straight here after class to choose their Myrk! I should've closed the Vault an hour ago, but there was one name on my list that hadn't taken their first Myrk so I had to stand here like a post waiting for you to show up!"
He loomed over Roland, growing even more aggravated at the boy's blank expression as if none of this mattered to him.
"So explain it to me. If the other students already chose their Myrks, why weren't you here at all?!"
Roland lifted his chin just enough to meet the man's eyes and answered evenly, "I was sleeping."
The tall man blinked several times, as if his brain had stalled.
"…Sleeping? What do you mean, you were sleeping?"
Roland's brows knit. He looked at the man like he'd asked something painfully stupid.
"I didn't sleep all night and my body was tired. Academy started today, and I had to show up, so I couldn't sleep at the tavern. I took a short nap during the lesson."
At Roland's flat tone, and that cool, almost dismissive look, the man's jaw clenched hard enough to make his teeth grind.
"You..." he began, then cut himself off and sucked in a deep breath through his nose.
Roland didn't react. He simply walked past him toward the Vault doors.
He hadn't taken two steps before a heavy pressure snapped down, an iron grip landing on his shoulder.
"Where do you think you're going?" the man asked coldly, fingers tightening.
Roland felt the strength behind the hold, the pressure rolling over his body.
His muscles tightened instinctively for a fraction of a second, breath catching as his body assessed the threat on its own. The urge to twist free flared, and was immediately smothered by cold restraint.
Second-Tier Myrk Master, he identified, expression tightening for a heartbeat, then smoothing again.
He turned his head slightly and replied with calm certainty, "To choose my first Myrk."
"You really think I'm letting you inside," the guard said, voice sharp with anger, "after I waited on you for over an hour and after you dismissed the Vault Guard like I'm nothing?"
Roland's tone didn't change. "So you won't let me in?"
"No," the man snapped, releasing Roland's shoulder and turning toward his logbook. "Now get out of my sight before I lose what little patience I've got left!"
Roland watched him go, then shrugged and sighed, almost regretfully.
"Then I'll have to go to the academy elder and report that the guard refused to let me enter the Myrk Vault."
The guard let out a loud, scornful snort.
"You think the academy elder will take your side? A regular student with C-rank talent?" His voice swelled with pride as he tapped the book. "I'm the one responsible for the Vault. I'm the one who submits the reports."
Roland didn't interrupt. He let the words land and then replied with the same cold, steady face.
"That's exactly why the elder won't back you."
The man narrowed his eyes, brows drawing tighter. "What nonsense are you talking about?"
"If I'm wrong, correct me," Roland said calmly, gaze level. "But according to the Valen Clan Academy regulations, announced publicly today by the elder, every student has the obligation and the right to choose their life Myrk on the first day."
"I read the regulations carefully. There isn't a single clause that gives the Vault Guard the authority to deny a student their first Myrk."
The guard opened his mouth to respond, but Roland continued, voice smooth as ice.
"And by my understanding, it is the guard's duty to ensure every student chooses a Myrk." Roland's lips curved faintly. "That includes me."
"As for your assumption that the elder will side with you just because you 'maintain order'…"
Roland met his eyes directly.
"That's a mistake. The academy elder answers directly to the Valen clan leader."
He stepped closer, just a few measured steps, but enough to tighten the space between them.
"He doesn't answer for your emotions," Roland said quietly. "He answers for results."
Silence thickened.
"If the report says that, for the first time in the academy's history, one student did not receive a life Myrk…"
Roland's eyes flicked to the logbook in the guard's hands.
"Then the question won't be 'Why was the student late?' It'll be 'Why did the academy break its own rules?'"
The guard's jaw clenched, realization flashing behind his eyes.
"And when the elder has to explain that to the clan leader," Roland continued, the faintest cold smile appearing, "he'll do what higher-ups always do."
He paused.
"He'll push the responsibility downward."
Roland tilted his head slightly, voice growing colder with each word.
"So go ahead. Mark my name off. Just make sure you understand what the clan does to people who violate its rules, and how the elders deal with 'failures' when they need someone to blame."
For a long moment, the guard said nothing.
The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable.
The guard's jaw worked slowly, grinding as if he were chewing on the consequences unfolding in his mind. His grip on the logbook tightened, then loosened, fingers flexing once before stilling again.
His gaze kept snapping between Roland's expressionless face and the logbook in his grip.
His fingers tightened until his knuckles whitened.
"You…" he started again, then stopped mid-word.
He took several slow breaths, forcing himself back under control. Finally, he flipped the book open and looked at Roland like he hated every second of this.
"Five minutes," he said tightly. "After five minutes, I'm locking the Myrk Vault."
Roland nodded once and turned toward the entrance, face as cold as ever.
Behind him, the guard stared at the smooth surface of the carved columns, looking defeated.
The man staring instead at the carved columns as if they might offer an answer. Authority felt lighter when no one questioned it and unbearably heavy when someone did.
The moment Roland crossed the threshold, cold air thick with primordial energy struck his face.
Crystals embedded in the walls flooded the room with bright, even light, leaving no shadows behind.
Roland took a few steps in and allowed himself a deep breath.
If I were stronger…
If I had A-rank talent, or if I were at least a Second-Tier Myrk Master, I could've forced that guard to hand over a few Primordial Stones as compensation for the trouble.
He let the thought form as his eyes moved across the rows of Myrks inside the vault.
That kind of intimidation happened more often than the clan would ever admit publicly.
But Roland was too weak to break rules openly.
So he had to weigh his words and move within the academy's regulations, not because he believed in them, but because they were a shield that protected him from people stronger than himself.
He pushed the thought aside and surveyed the vault properly.
Rows of containers stood in clean lines, spaced with narrow gaps between them.
Each vessel was made from thick, transparent crystal reinforced with metal bands etched with strange, delicate runes, and each held a single Myrk.
Inside the containers floated a dense, fluid substance that reacted to living energy. It kept the Myrks in a dormant state while sealing their aura away from the outside world.
Every container bore a metal tag listing the Myrk's rank and type.
But Roland quickly noticed something else.
A lot of the spaces were empty.
Most of the Myrks had already been taken by the other students.
The clan probably doesn't keep enough Myrks in reserve to let everyone take their time choosing, Roland thought, eyes passing over the gaps without a trace of emotion.
First come, first served.
He exhaled softly, gaze sharpening.
"Time to choose my life Myrk," Roland murmured, voice quiet and cold.