The air within the academy's grand hall was electric. Students were getting into their seats as quickly as possible, some with nervous fidgeting, others just easily chatting. Emil was sitting next to Luin, who had remained quiet for a long time now, and he was quieter than normal. Emil was focused and calculating scenarios.
And then Luin's body went rigid.
His golden eyes grew wide as they fixed on someone walking halfway across the grand hall. His lips were barely separated, he got shock-stung, and his voice was trembling in incredulity, and it was little more than a whisper.
"What, What is that guy doing in here?"
Emil turned back at him hastily, and he asked, "What is wrong, Luin? Who are you talking about?"
Luin paused, then he gradually raised his hand, and then he pointed at a slightly tall boy standing confidently in a group of students. The people around him parted, unconsciously leaving him room as though they could feel the authority that he possessed.
"That is Aedelran, Aedelran Thorne. The Empire's most talented mage. He is the prodigy everyone speaks of, and he is the one who is supported by West Magic Tower."
The name resonated in Emil's mind like the sound of a familiar tune, and then Emil started thinking for a second. Aedelran. He had recalled the name from his past existence. When he was Ethan. He recalled his time when he was just a reader of this novel.
He squinted, and he started studying the boy. He was tall, with sharp facial features and smooth silver hair that fell to his shoulders. His robes were embroidered with golden sigils, proclaiming his noble blood and high-order mana control. But despite all that, Emil could see it plain as day, Aedelran had only achieved the 7th Circle in the novel.
Emil thought, "He was just a 7th Circle mage. Why is Luin so scared of him?"
Emil's lip curled into a tiny, knowing smile, and then he said:
"Luin," he told him, putting a hand on his friend's shaking shoulder, and he said with a soft tone, he meant to console his friend. "Why are you so shocked, Luin? He's gifted, yeah, there is no doubt about it, but does it matter?"
Luin stared up at him, wide-eyed. "But he's already a 3rd Circle mage at our age. Folks say he's going to be an Archmage one day, and he will reach the level of Empire's highest till now, the 8th Circle. I, I'm nowhere near that. I don't have that much potential."
Emil leaned forward, his voice firm and warm. "Luin, to me you're already well ahead of him. Believe me on this, I recognize potential when I see it. And you're just waiting to open up. But when you do, you will be the greatest."
Luin blinked, looking at Emil with uncertain eyes. But in those eyes, a spark ignited, a tiny, delicate flame of faith.
"Thanks, Emil," he whispered. "I'll try my best. I promise. I will not disappoint you."
"Good," Emil said with a smirk, "because we are going to crush this academy together and get more friends to accompany us on our journey."
Suddenly, a loud chime echoed across the hall, drawing all attention to the front. The great doors swung open, and a line of professors entered, dressed in distinct robes of deep azure and gold. The crowd quieted instantly.
Then she appeared.
The head of the greatest academy of the Empire.
A woman of elegance strode at the front, robes billowing like liquid silver, inscribed with arcane runes that glowed softly with pent mana. Her midnight-blue hair fell in a cascade down her back, and her eyes were bright violet with a piercing intensity swept the crowd with an air of quiet command.
Gasps rippled through the students.
"That's her. That's Aravelle Winterwyn," someone breathed.
"The only 8th Circle mage under thirty."
"She's a living legend."
Emil sat up a little straighter. He could sense her aura from over here, serene, but crushing. Like an ice-covered, impossibly deep lake that concealed some awful horror in its depths.
Aravelle moved further forward, speaking across the hallway without using magic.
"Welcome, the new blood of the Empire. You stand before the gates of destiny, the Imperial Arcane and Martial Academy. Strength and wisdom walk hand in hand here. You've been selected not by chance, but by potential. And we will push the best out of you."
She held up a hand, and a curl of ice magic swept into the air. It started creating glowing snowflakes that danced along the hall.
"You will be tested. You will get hurt. Some of you will stand, and some of you will shatter and fall. But this is where legends are forged. I demand nothing short of your absolute best, and we will push you, guide you, and help you whenever you need us to reach your best."
Her tone fell into something gentler and colder.
"And don't forget, power is worthless if it is not won."
The crowd remained seated in shocked silence.
Another person emerged, and the room changed again.
He was a tall man with sun-baked skin, short brown hair brushed back, and a scar that stretched from his cheekbone to his jaw. Unlike Aravelle's elegant poise, his presence was rough and earthy. He wore no robe, only a high-collared coat over a dark black tunic, and a single sword strapped across his back.
He stood with his hands locked behind his back, eyes running over the crowd with the quiet pride of a warrior.
"Name is Garion Vale," he bluntly announced his name. "Grandmaster Swordsman. And if you believe this academy is all theory and spellbooks, you're in for a rude awakening, kids."
A few students snickered. Some nervously stood up straight, and some of them were scared.
"I'll be paying close attention to the Trials. I don't care if you're a lord or a commoner. The sword sees only ability, and I have shattered more 'geniuses' than I can count, and they all were full of themselves. Remember one thing, you all are just frogs in the well."
He nodded once and stepped back beside Aravelle.
Emil couldn't help but smile. "Damn, I like him already."
Then a third person came forward. He was a broad-shouldered man in his forties, and he had gray threads in his dark hair. He was wearing less formal clothes than the others. He wore a sword at his side and had the measured air of a man who had taught far more than he had fought.
"Students," he said gently, "I am Professor Renwald. I am an instructor of Sword Arts. And now, we will start the Trials. To check your compatibility."
A flash of magic swept through the hall as crystal screens hovered above them, showing glowing names as they moved into groups.
Luin's name.
Then Emil's.
In the same group.
Both of them shared a rapid glance and a grin.
Two more names flashed under theirs, and they were their teammates.
One was "Kael Duskthorn."
The other, "Riven Harloft."
Whispers immediately began.
"Wait, Kael? That's the head swordsman's nephew, isn't he?"
"And Riven, he's from the Nightveil family. They are Aura users, both of them."
Emil leaned back and folded his arms, eyes fixed on the two figures approaching.
Kael was tall and thin, with long silver hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. His eyes were keen and calculating, and he wore two short swords. A confident air hung on him like a second coat of skin.
Riven was shorter and stockier, with pitch-black hair and deep green eyes. His aura was like a thunderstorm about to burst. He remained silent as he stood next to Emil, arms folded, glowering at everyone.
Kael grinned. "So, I guess we're teammates. Let's not die in the first round, yeah?"