The next day I had to meet with Maria’s parents. They wanted to know what had happened to their daughter, but I had nothing to say other than the truth... we fucked up. Jibby refused to leave her room—drowning in depression—and Marcus was still in a coma. The school kept the official story vague, but in private, Saphere came to me with news: the teacher who had handed out the cards was found dead, poisoned in his home the very same morning we picked them up.

  That meant someone from the Cult had infiltrated the academy… and they had just tried to kill either me or my teammates. That part was still unclear. There were strong motives for wanting any of the three survivors dead. Me—for throwing a few wrenches in their plans. Marcus—to help spark a war. And Jibby? Apparently, she was the direct heir to a major alchemical remedy company in Valakia so same as marcus.

  Maria’s parents were both adventurers. They understood what it meant to die in battle. But that didn’t make it any easier to bury their daughter. The ceremony was brief and gut wrenching. It was a closed casket. I needed to get stronger and quick or watch everybody die.

  Marcus parents arrived a month later separately.

  When they arrived, I was already standing outside the infirmary, trying to look calm. Duchess Elise Dauversière was as regal as I imagined—tall, radiant, and commanding. Her opulent green dress hugged her figure like it had been tailored by someone who’d sold their soul to make it perfect. Gold embroidery shimmered at every movement, subtly forming sigils of House Dauversière. She was as beautifull as an orc could get with her pale green skin and full lips.

  Next to her stood her husband, Oliver Ferdinand, Marcus’s father—a mountain of an orc wrapped in a dark green trench coat. Gold motifs shimmered faintly on the sleeves, matching the duchess in both theme and quiet menace. He had scars down one side of his face and wore a sharp black suit underneath, complete with a tie that somehow made him look more dangerous, not less.

  They didn’t speak at first, just looked at their son through the glass. Elise’s jaw was tight, her tusks barely visible behind jade lips. Oliver’s hand rested gently on her back.

  Then Oliver turned to me. “Good morning, Sam. You may sit.”

  I didn’t sit.

  “I’m Sir Oliver Ferdinand. This is Duchess Elise Dauversière. Tell us what happened.”

  “I’m not sure you’re going to like what I have to say,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “And please understand—this isn’t something Marcus himself should be told right away. But…”

  I took a breath.

  “This was a targeted attack. The teacher who gave us the mission… he wasn’t our teacher. He was a doppelg?nger, a member of the Cult. The real man was found dead in his home the same morning. The implication is pretty clear—someone tried to kill me, Marcus or Jibby… maybe all of us.”

  Elise’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “I’ve made a few enemies, obviously. Marcus is a military heir, and Jibby—she’s the only daughter of a major pharmaceutical house in Valakia apparently. All three of us could be threats. But I don’t think that was all. I believe the Cult is trying to destabilize the fragile peace between the Empire and Valakia. They want to pave the way for a demon invasion by a war.”

  Oliver frowned. “That’s a bold claim, son.”

  “I know. But I’ve heard whispers of activity in the northwest—things I can’t confirm, but they don’t sit right.”

  Elise exhaled slowly. “We’ve seen the rumors.”

  Oliver crossed his arms. “What you’re suggesting is outrageous, but... it lines up with what we’ve seen. We’ve been rebuilding trust with the Empire for eighty years, slowly. Carefully. Then suddenly, in the last three months? Everything falls apart.”

  He hesitated, clearly troubled.

  “We saw… atrocities. I was at a fishing town when something hit us. I’m a stage five, and I had to retreat. People were rotting alive. We lost the town. It was unlike anything I've seen before.”

  “And now,” Elise added, voice calm but icy, “the Empire has declared a crusade. Against the 'dark races.' Proclaimed it from the Cathedral of Dawn like they were lighting the path to salvation. They've begun pushing north into our borderlands. Officially, it’s ‘cleansing.’ Realistically? It’s genocide.”

  Oliver nodded grimly. “We can't afford a defensive war and a Cult invasion. The Empire’s too strong to fight head-on, and the Cult is like an infection—spread too thin to cut out cleanly.”

  He looked me in the eyes. “You’ve been honest with us. That earns respect. But understand this, Sam, it’ll be open total war. Valakia might fall,” Oliver said, his voice heavy with the weight of inevitability. “And if our people can’t flee into the Empire for safety… they’ll be doomed, boy. Death by monsters, cultists, or the Empire’s fire—those are the only options left.”

  Elise placed a hand on her husband’s arm, then turned to me, her gaze softening just enough to show the mother beneath the duchess. “Please… keep our boy safe here. We have a duty—to Valakia, to its people. We can’t stay. And we cannot bring him home, where danger may be even greater now. The crusade has begun. And Marcus is our only child.”

  I stood still for a moment before bowing my head slightly.

  “Ma’am. Sir. I’ll do my best—but only for as long as I’m able. And if the time comes when I can’t… I’ll make sure someone else takes up the torch.”

  I looked up, meeting their eyes with all the seriousness I could muster. “It’s not just that Marcus is a good guy. It’s that the world needs his parents focused on a problem that may not have a solution. If no one else carries that burden—if you’re distracted—then what you might’ve prevented could cost hundreds, maybe thousands of lives.”

  Elise’s eyes glistened. Oliver nodded silently.

  It wasn’t a promise of protection. I wasn’t na?ve enough to offer that.

  It was a promise that I understood the stakes.

  And sometimes, that was the best you could give.

  The next morning, after a quick breakfast, I headed to the arena. Most of the students in my class were either on the brink of a breakthrough to Stage Three or already clawing their way toward Stage Four. Me? I had no idea where I stood.

  I hadn’t expected the gag order on my stats to apply to me too, but when I asked Hope about it, she straight-up shut me down. Apparently, even knowing your own numbers could be dangerous. Great.

  Some students got stronger in their sleep, which sounded like either magic or bullshit—and this was a world where both were real options. I honestly had no idea what a “breakthrough” even felt like. I’d never experienced one. But I’d seen it happen to others, and the difference was... terrifying.

  A Stage Two could easily mop the floor with ten Stage Ones at their peak without even breaking a sweat. But a Stage Three? They could tear through a hundred Stage Twos without drawing their main weapon. I’d managed to hold my own for a bit against a few Stage Twos and even land some decent hits here and there, but Stage Threes? They gave off this oppressive pressure. Not as suffocating as Miss Delphine or the Pope, but enough to make my instincts scream when they fought anywhere near me.

  Today's sparring partner was Miss Victoria Seraf. She was a shorty, with a smile so disarming it made you think of anything but fighting—which, knowing her, was probably the point. A fencing prodigy, she danced around the arena like her blade was stitched to her wrist. Her skin was the color of moonlight, her dark hair braided into a thick rope that reached the middle of her back. But it was her eyes that caught you—blood red, unmistakably marking her as part of the royal bloodline. All other dark elves had black eyes, but the royals? They bled crimson from the moment they opened their eyes. Graceful, deadly, and entirely too smug about it—of course I had to be the one sparring with her today.

  By now, I understood the vision wasn’t some glimpse into my future—it was someone else’s past. So I shifted focus to something more useful: saber technique. Lilith had taken a good look at my blade and whistled low—it was a mithril-alloy saber, apparently. That made it the most precious thing I owned, with an estimated price tag in the thousands of gold coins. Not that I could sell it, even if I wanted to. That damn blade had cost me my arm, and I planned on keeping it out of pure spite over the price I’d already paid.

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  Technique-wise, I wasn’t half-bad. In fact, I was holding my own against some of the noble brats who’d had twenty-something years of private tutors drilling swordplay into them before they ever set foot on campus.

  By the time the morning bell rang, I was sweating like a pig in a forge and covered in enough bruises to start a one-man protest against fencing. Victoria lowered her saber with a satisfied smile, flicked a bit of imaginary dust off her pristine uniform, and offered me a hand up.

  “Two hits today,” she said, helping me to my feet. “You’re improving. Soon you’ll only be losing with style instead of substance.”

  “Oh, I’ll remember that next time you end up eating dirt,” I muttered, limping toward the exit.

  She laughed. “Bold words for someone who got disarmed three times in ten minutes.”

  “Disarmed jokes? Really?” I waved my stump at her. “That’s low, even for royalty.”

  “You know I don’t make jokes about that, Sam,” she said, tone softening for a second. “But I will mock your footwork until you fix it. You charge in like a drunk rhino with a grudge.”

  “I am a drunk rhino with a grudge. That’s my style.”

  She rolled her eyes but smiled all the same. “Well, Drunken Rhino, you still owe me a cider from last week. Don’t think I forgot.”

  “Add it to the tab,” I said with a grin as we pushed open the arena doors and stepped into the courtyard light.

  Later That Afternoon in the Dean’s Office,

  “Well, Sam,” Kladius said, adjusting one of his absurdly oversized rings, “I’ve got good news and bad news. Let’s start with the good.”

  He leaned back in his throne-like chair, draped in white and gold like some retired disco warlord. “I found a single mention of the energy you seem to possess. It’s neither mana nor runa. It’s called Arcana, and the only mention of it was in a scroll that predates the Academy itself—so I can’t vouch for its accuracy.”

  “Now the bad news,” he said, his tone dipping. “There’s no spellbook, no recorded techniques, nothing concrete for Arcana users. Just a few vague mentions of ‘manipulation,’ and that’s it. So, you’re going to have to forge your own path from scratch. The only hint is that word—manipulation.”

  He gave me a half-grin. “On the plus side, I’ll do my best to help. Got any ideas already?”

  “Well, I mean…” I pulled out a smoke, stuck it in my mouth, and pointed my finger at the tip. A tiny flame flickered to life, just enough to light it. I took a drag and exhaled slowly. “When I cauterized Marcus, a few ideas started to click. And now that I’m allowed to experiment…”

  I looked around the gaudy office. “I think we’re gonna need a bigger room. I still have no idea how powerful my Arcana is—and I’d hate to redecorate your place by accident.”

  “Ha! I’ve got just the spot—out of sight!” Kladius said, flashing me a grin that sparkled as much as his rings. “Follow me. You’re gonna love it!”

  He started walking fast, surprisingly fast, and I followed him into a long corridor that looked more like a maintenance tunnel than part of a cathedral. No decorations, barely any light, just cold stone and the sound of our footsteps echoing around us. Then we reached a tight, clockwise staircase—and the bastard started sprinting up it.

  “Come on, Sam! You’re almost there! Don’t die on me already!” he called down, now somehow way ahead. How the hell did he move so damn fast?

  Eventually, he stopped at a door near the top, cracked it open, and gestured for me to go in first.

  “Meh, why not,” I muttered.

  When I stepped through the door, I froze.

  We were on the roof of the cathedral—an open space about the size of a hockey rink. There was a wooden table with a few chairs and a small circle of stones in the middle, used as a firepit. A great little training area. But when I lifted my eyes, I got it.

  He wanted to see my jaw drop.

  The view was majestic. The harbor and capital sprawled out below. Snow-dusted fields and rolling hills framed the city. Even the slums had a certain quiet dignity, with tile-roofed homes puffing lazy plumes of smoke into the pale blue sky. My breath caught. I didn’t even try to hide it.

  “Pretty nice, eh?” Kladius said.

  “Is this your secret spot?”

  “Of course it is,” he replied, crossing his arms smugly. “Only one of my secret spots, mind you. A man’s gotta keep a few secrets. I found this place when I was a student here—Elite Class, like you. Don’t really get the time to come up anymore.”

  He looked around the place with a fond smile. “Would be nice if you passed a broom here every now and then. Since no one comes here, this’ll be the only place you’re allowed to use your Arcana. If you bring anyone else, keep your tricks to yourself. Am I understood, young man?”

  “Understood, sir.” I paused. “But may I ask you something random? There’s something that doesn’t make sense to me, and I’d like your opinion.”

  “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  “Well, I’ve noticed something odd. I’ve seen very few people who actually look old, even in high-ranking positions. But that doesn’t make sense—the last big war was 80 years ago. Is there something weird going on? Like, does everyone just drop dead at 60 except for a few?”

  Kladius blinked. “I’m not sure I understand your question, Sam. How do you define old? Is it the age? The body? The wear on the soul?”

  “Uh… the age, obviously. Where I’m from, anyone past 80 would be considered old and near the end of their life.”

  “Well, Sam, I don’t know where you lived—but here? Eighty is young. I myself am past my third century,” he said, twirling his thick mustache like a smug fantasy Dracula.

  “You look like you’re in your 40s.”

  He chuckled. “This’ll take some getting used to, I’m sure.”

  “Wait… how old is Lilith?”

  “Miss Makina is in her 30s or 40s, I believe—but you’ll have to ask her yourself.”

  “…So how old is old here?”

  “Well, the more powerful you are, the less your body ages. I think the oldest Stage One I ever met was 350. But someone like the Pope? If she takes care of herself, she could live a few thousand years.”

  "Tabarnak!" I exclaimed, completely stunned by the outrageous number. Before I could process it, a pulse of energy rippled through the snow on the ground, sending flakes skittering across the rooftop.

  "Oops... I did it again..."

  Kladius pinched the bridge of his nose, like he could feel a headache coming on. "By the grace of the God-King, Sam, please use any other word but the sacred artifacts."

  "Not my fault, Kladius! You decided to make fifty percent of my vocabulary taboo and expect me to just forget how I spoke for forty-something years!"

  He sighed. "How about we focus on training for today instead?" He took a deep breath. "Since you seem to have found what manipulation means, let's start by checking your basics and work our way up. First, show me a water ball. One you could throw in a fight without draining more than five to ten percent of your Arcana."

  I focused, pouring energy into the air, concentrating on the feeling of humidity and wetness. I tried to pull in the moisture from the thin snow on the roof and the crisp air itself. It took a solid minute of wrestling with the elements, but eventually, I had a ball of water levitating over my hand. Not perfect—wobbly and irregular—but it held. I imagined throwing that spear that decapitated that mage and sent it flying. It splashed about twenty yards away at a mediocre speed. Note to self: don’t try to splash someone who’s actually trying to kill you.

  "Good," Kladius said, scratching his chin. "If this were a proper water ball spell, I'd give you about... twenty percent. Which is shit, by the way. But considering it's your first water ball ever, I’ll give you eighty percent."

  I rolled my eyes. "Gee, thanks for the encouragement."

  He ignored me, casting a quick spell. The stones of the fire pit rolled and clattered, coming together into the shape of a small golem about a foot and a half tall. "Try and do that next," he said before releasing his magic.

  I spent the next twenty minutes trying different things, pouring energy into the rocks, visualizing movement, but it was like trying to teach a fish to walk. The best I could manage was two stones awkwardly rolling over each other and wobbling around like drunk marbles.

  "I give you ten percent on that one," Kladius said, smirking. "You still did something and ended up moving rocks, so that’s about as much as I can give. You’ll need to train a lot if you want to keep up with the Elite. I'm still negotiating with Chief Inquisitor Perezo to allow you to use Arcana in fights, but I have a good case. I’m sure that stubborn ass will eventually relent. But if that’s all you’ve got to show… I’m not sure it’s worth the waste of time. Now, show me a fireball in the sky, please."

  That last jab stung. I clenched my fists, focusing. By now, I was starting to get a real feel for the energy.My silver mist replenished faster than I had spent it, which was good because my ego just got drop-kicked off a cliff. He wants a fireball? I’m gonna show him fireworks.

  Fire mana was weird. It flowed like water but looked like flames. I pooled it in my hands, introducing movement, forcing the energy to spin faster and faster. Then I started compressing it, pushing the mana tighter and tighter, ignoring the heat licking my fingertips. Five minutes later, I had a fireball the size of a baseball, spinning and humming with raw energy.

  I hurled it into the sky. It flew up about twenty yards before I released my hold on it.

  WOOF!

  The fireball exploded, a plume of flame stretching ten yards wide, scattering sparks that glittered like embers.

  "Now you’re talking," Kladius said, nodding in approval. "That’s an okay fireball. But it’s not your first time with fire, so I’ll give you eighty percent."

  "That’s it? Just eighty percent?" I sputtered. "That was a pretty solid fireball for a Stage One!"

  He just shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. "Welcome to the Elite, Sam. Eighty percent is solid, but solid ain’t good enough here."

  "Also, you might be only Stage One for now, but the people you’re fighting alongside aren’t. Whether it’s fair or not, it’s your job to get up to speed."

  I sighed. "You’re right, Dean. I’ll do my best to catch up."

  "Now, air is a bit tricky since it’s not visible, especially if you’re just brute-forcing your way around mana. But try and condense a ball of air. Let’s see what you can do."

  That’s where my knowledge of science came in handy. I wasn’t a genius, but I at least knew what air was made of, and pressurized gas wasn’t a new concept. Within a minute, I had a ball of compressed air roughly the size of a basketball.

  "Now throw it at me," Kladius said with a grin.

  "Okay!" I focused, thinking of the smell of a fart for some reason—don’t ask me why—and pushed just a bit more gas into the sphere before sending it his way.

  I watched in pure delight as Kladius's mustache fluttered wildly in the powerful gust, his eyes going wide before he started coughing like a madman.

  "You little shithead! That’s not funny!" he shouted between fits of coughing.

  "Oh no, it definitely is!" I laughed so hard I nearly choked on my own breath.

  He rubbed his mustache back into place, still glowering.

  "Well, I have to go. Stay here for the rest of the afternoon and practice. But don’t go too wild. With a teacher missing and the Cult so active, I have a ton of things to catch up on. Take note of every new feeling. Come back here, same time, in two days."

  "Thank you again. I’ll take good care of the spot," I replied, still grinning.

  What I didn't tell the dean was that now is that I felt something unlock in me sort of like a filter over my sight. When I looked around, I could see it, like faint colored streams flowing in the air. It felt like I’d stepped onto some alien planet, the kind where you fall in love with blue aliens. Even the snow was glowing. and when I looked at Kladius well...He looked like he had bathed all his life in nuclear waste. Of course I didnt want to spill the beans already so I kept that part to myself. Might save my toes in the dark.