Seven days had passed since Dante's first encounter with Luna, witnessing the rising and setting of the sun seven times.
During their initial meeting, Luna had dedicated the entire duration to unraveling the mysterious secrets woven within the Sword Path. With utmost confidence, Luna had bestowed upon it the name it rightfully deserved.
Regrettably, Dante had come to a disheartening realization—he was not a qualified True Swordsman, but rather a False Swordsman.
However, that melancholic thought didn't liger as it was swiftly dissipated as Dante fixed his gaze upon the imposing grandeur of the ornate iron gates.
The gates were adorned with intricate Signature Runes, serving as a formidable defense mechanism.
After verifying his identity, a piece of information untouched since his days as an insignificant figure in this realm of magic, he passed through the gates and entered a vast courtyard.
Venturing deeper into the courtyard beyond the iron gates, Dante was met with a spectacle of unparalleled magnificence. The institute's grounds showcased architectural marvels that embodied their technological advancements.
The buildings stood tall and proud, their exteriors embellished with elaborate brickwork reminiscent of classical British aesthetics.
Each structure exuded an aura of antiquity, yet paradoxically housed the marvels of advanced technology.
Towering edifices reached for the heavens, their spires piercing the sky like ancient beacons of wisdom. Concealed within their walls were intricate conduits, flawlessly integrating magic and technology.
As Dante traversed the courtyard, he marveled at the intricate Signature Runes adorning the buildings.
Elaborate stained glass windows depicted scenes of mythical creatures and arcane symbols, casting ethereal hues of light upon the cobblestone pathways.
Majestic chimneys gracefully released plumes of smoke, hinting at the concealed machinery that powered this extraordinary realm of knowledge and learning.
Within the bustling courtyard, students clad in distinctive robes and uniforms crossed paths, their voices filled with lively conversations.
Some carried grimoires and wands, while others held sleek devices humming with mana harnessed from precious mana crystals.
Yet, before Dante could completely immerse himself in this awe-inspiring panorama, his youthful frame, on the verge of turning sixteen, collided with something soft and yielding.
A brief moment of disarray overcame him as ice cream found its way crushed into the folds of his jacket, concealed beneath his haori staining it.
Indeed, after a thousand years, ice cream had withstood the test of time.
In front of him stood a rotund boy, seemingly of the same age, who appeared to be slightly taller than Dante. This observation was partly due to the fact that Dante was presently sprawled on the cobblestone pathway.
As Dante tried to gather himself from the collision, he looked up to see the round boy standing before him, wearing an air of stubbornness and arrogance.
The boy's posture exuded a sense of entitlement, bolstered by his noble status, and he wasted no time in asserting his perceived superiority.
"Watch where you're going, peasant!" the round boy exclaimed, his voice laced with disdain. He seemed unyielding about the fact that Dante was at fault for the collision, despite evidence to the contrary.
Dante, with dual eyes hinting at indifference, rose from the cobblestone pathway, dusting off his clothes. He glanced at the crushed ice cream, an unfortunate consequence of the collision.
"I apologize for the collision," Dante said, his tone polite but firm. "But it seems we both played a part in this accident."
The round boy scoffed dismissively, his expression dripping with condescension. "You dare speak back to me, a noble of esteemed lineage? Your pitiful attire and lackluster appearance speak volumes about your lowly background."
Dante felt a flicker of anger within him, but he suppressed it, determined to maintain his composure.
Aware that acting impulsively would only exacerbate the situation, he was determined to maintain a low profile as dictated by the mission.
After all, he had grown accustomed to concealing his true emotions behind a figurative mask—a notion that could be quite unsettling.
With the intention of playing out the scenario in a calculated manner, he chose to adopt the persona of a naive and philosophical youngster. This became apparent through his subsequent series of dialogues..
"Status and lineage do not define a person's worth," Dante replied, his voice steady. "I may not come from a notable background, but I am capable and deserving of respect."
The round boy's arrogance seemed to amplify as he waved his family's power in Dante's face. "Oh, please! My family's influence and wealth far surpass anything your meager existence could comprehend. The worth of that ice cream is more than your entire family combined!"
Dante's eyes narrowed, a flicker of defiance shining through. He refused to be belittled solely based on his appearance and social standing.
"Money and material possessions do not define one's true worth either," Dante retorted, his voice unwavering. "Character, integrity, and empathy are far more valuable qualities."
The round boy's face contorted with a mix of surprise and annoyance as if he had not expected such a response.
He was accustomed to others cowering in the face of his family's influence, but Dante's resilience was unlike anything he had encountered before.
With a haughty smirk, the round boy looked down at Dante, his gaze filled with superiority.
"Very well, peasant. If you wish to make amends for your clumsiness, become my lackey. Serve me diligently, and perhaps I shall consider forgiving your transgressions."
Dante's gaze hardened. "I will not be anyone's lackey," Dante declared, his voice infused with determination.
"I am capable of standing on my own, earning respect through my own merits, not through servitude to someone who believes their birthright grants them superiority."
The round boy's arrogance wavered for a moment, replaced by a mixture of surprise and annoyance. He had expected compliance, not resistance.
However, just as the reader was about to be subjected to such a cliché episode, an expected diversion materialized, captivating their attention.
It came in the form of a young girl with shimmering silver hair, emanating an aura of chilly indifference mixed with a hint of aristocratic poise.
Admittedly, it was still a cliché, but a more bearable one since it involved the presence of a captivatingly beautiful girl.
Seizing this opportune moment, Dante seized the chance to fade away into the bustling crowd, making his way toward the restroom to address the stain on his jacket.
He couldn't afford to enter the impending trial, whatever it entailed, with such a disheveled appearance.
After consulting the holographic map projected by hovering bots, he reached his destination and encountered a suspicious figure.
It was a boy cloaked in darkness, donning a mask that concealed his face, with penetrating black eyes staring directly at Dante. His hair was concealed beneath a hood, adding an air of mystery to his appearance.
Feeling a surge of curiosity and cautious intrigue, Dante approached the masked figure, his footsteps echoing softly against the tiled floor.
The hum of conversation and the clatter of footsteps receded into the background as his focus narrowed on the stranger who seemed to emit an aura of secrecy.
"Who are you?" Dante asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as he stood mere inches away from the hooded figure.
The masked boy tilted his head ever so slightly, his gaze unwavering. There was a palpable silence that hung in the air, pregnant with unspoken words and hidden intentions.
With measured deliberation, he elevated a gloved hand, and as a hidden mechanism unleashed, a spring-loaded hammer materialized with a soft, ominous click.
The truth unraveled abruptly, as a burst of laughter erupted from the masked boy, shattering the illusionary atmosphere that had veiled the room.
At that moment, Dante realized he had become a mere pawn in the boy's elaborate prank, unwittingly falling for his enigmatic façade.
"I can't believe someone could be so gullible," the boy managed to say between fits of laughter, clutching his stomach as tears welled up in his eyes. His amusement was palpable, fueled by Dante's unwitting participation in his prank.
Dante scratched his head awkwardly, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He shook his head, acknowledging the folly of his expectations.
The truth was that he had hoped the boy would be a contact of Luna's, one of her trusted associates.
After all, Luna had claimed to have connections everywhere, and Arthur had entrusted her with the task of assisting in their dangerous mission.
In the domain of a Monarch, a single misstep could cost them their lives, and who better to guide them in the art of evading the Queen's watchful gaze than the most wanted individual in her domain?
However, it seemed that his assumptions had been misplaced, and he was left grappling with the realization that he had indeed appeared foolish in front of the masked boy.
Suddenly, a booming voice echoed from outside the washroom, a call summoning all entrants to gather in Courtyard C for their impending trial.
Realizing that he had squandered precious time waiting for an unsuspecting victim to prank, the masked boy hastily rushed out of the washroom, racing toward his next destination.
After a few minutes, Dante finally emerged from the washroom, making his way toward Courtyard C.
As he arrived, he was met with a crowd of fellow entrants, albeit not as numerous as the thousands that had initially flocked to the Port Island Academy Entrants Trial.
This occurrence, however, did not diminish the effectiveness of the educational system at the Oxford Institute.
Unlike other academies on the State Academy Island, the Oxford Institute had a unique criterion for accepting students—a criterion deeply rooted in the monarchy's rule, with a queen and her nobles at the helm.
The distinctive system of approval became apparent through the shimmering orbs adorning the intricately designed cushions, accompanied by vigilant instructors tending to each one...