"They conquered continents, defeated the First Council of Wizards, and wielded the power to shape wars for centuries. While they weren't known for their wit, their raw strength—strong enough to lift the earth itself—more than compensated.
The Barbarians, known for their unrivaled might, surpassed every other race on the planet in sheer physical power. Elves, Dwarves, and even the various human races didn't come close.
In the realm of non-magic combat sports, the Barbarians dominated as World Champions. Of the 89 former champions, only two were Elves, five were Dwarves, thirteen were humans, and the rest—proud Barbarians.
The reigning champion, Drothgar Angmar, was undefeated in every fight. A former academy student, he had shattered every Barbarian record before him."
"Alright, alright! Enough with the History Channel documentary!" George interrupted, throwing his hands up.
Michael blinked, realizing he had gone off on a tangent. "Sorry, got carried away."
"Let's skip all that. Now, what were we talking about?" George asked, eager to change the subject.
"Uh... barbarians?" Michael ventured, still trying to recall.
"No! Before that!" George said, growing impatient.
"Right..." Michael scratched his head. "Oh, you were asking if I could get you into one of the higher classes at the academy."
"Yeah, can you?" George asked, his interest piqued again.
"Hmm... speaking of the higher classes, did you know most of the top students are—"
"I don't want to hear any more about barbarians," George cut him off, his frustration rising.
Michael held up his hands in surrender. "Got it, got it. Well, the answer is no."
George blinked. "What do you mean no? You're the second most powerful guy here after Ozzy, right?"
"Technically, yes," Michael admitted.
"And Oz started the academy?"
"Yep," Michael confirmed.
"So why can't you just talk to the instructors and get me into Class A?" George pressed.
Michael shook his head. "It's not about whether I can. It's about whether I should."
George frowned, still not understanding. "What does that mean?"
"Ozzy tried the same thing. He pushed his way into a higher class, but it made people suspicious of his true identity. He became a target, seen as weak. If I put you in Class A, the same thing will happen—you'll become a target, and trust me, you won't survive that," Michael explained.
George let out a heavy sigh, feeling deflated. "So, what should I do then?"
"Just enter the academy like everyone else. I'll help where I can, make sure nothing unfair happens, but if I get too involved, it'll only put a bigger spotlight on you," Michael advised.
George nodded reluctantly, accepting the advice. "Fine."
"So... are you any good at fighting?" Michael asked, curious about George's abilities.
George gave an awkward smile. "Well, I was in the military..."
Michael's eyes widened slightly. "Impressive."
"Yeah, no, I got kicked out. I ran away from my first mission," George admitted, the smile fading from his face.
Michael chuckled nervously. "Well... I guess we won't know if you qualify for the lowest class until you try."
George cleared his throat, hoping to salvage some credibility. "I also wrestled in high school and college."
Ignoring the comment, Michael handed George a document. "Here's your new identity."
George glanced at the papers and raised an eyebrow. "Wait, this is just my real name."
"It's easier that way. Sterlinguard is a fallen noble family, and you'll be their last surviving son. No one's left to challenge that claim," Michael explained confidently.
---
"Donovan!" the Chief Guard's voice rang out across the training grounds.
"Yes, Chief?" Donovan responded, turning toward him and bowing slightly.
"You talked to that Defective John Sterling?"
Donovan blinked, confused. "You mean Detective?"
"Bah! Whatever. What did the Defective say?" the Chief demanded, giving Donovan a firm slap on the back.
"He just asked me a few questions about the academy. And for the record, I'm pretty sure he said 'Detective,'" Donovan replied.
"Really? That's all?" The Chief's expression grew suspicious. Why would a new title be created in the castle just to investigate something so minor? Something didn't add up.
"Come on, you can tell me," the Chief pressed, his curiosity clearly piqued.
Donovan could feel eyes on him from the other guards, even though he couldn't see who. In their world, gossip was the closest thing to entertainment, and Donovan's conversation with this so-called 'Detective' was prime material.
And he was right. The guards soon emerged from their hiding spots, looking disappointed by the lack of juicy details.
"Hey, I told you, that's all we talked about!" Donovan shouted, feeling the pressure.
Mason Wolfe, the academy's top graduate turned Emerald City guard, approached with a knowing smile. If anyone in the group was above rumor-mongering, it was Mason. Still, whatever he had to say usually mattered.
"So, what did the guy really ask you?" Mason asked, a mischievous gleam in his eye.
"For crying out loud! I already told everyone! He only asked about the academy! If you don't believe me, go ask Detective John yourself!" Donovan shot back, exasperated.
Mason raised his hands in defense, surprised by the outburst. "Relax. Maybe the Great Wizard is just getting tired of your backtalk."
Donovan took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Just then, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning around, he found the Chief standing there.
"Uh, Chief, I—"
"We'll talk later. The Defective called for you," the Chief interrupted, his tone stern.
"Yes, sir," Donovan replied, mentally correcting the Chief's stubborn use of 'Defective.' He walked toward the cafeteria, his mind swirling with frustration and curiosity.