The sun was just beginning to rise when I woke up. The room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of bedsheets from the other students still asleep. It was my first morning at Archon Academy, and I didn't plan to waste it.
Stretching out, I felt the stiffness leave my muscles. After a quick check of my belongings—still neatly packed under the bed—I started my usual exercise routine. Push-ups, sit-ups, and a few stretches to loosen my body. Nothing too intense, just enough to keep me sharp. I wasn't aiming to draw attention to myself, but discipline was a habit I didn't intend to break.
Afterward, I took a cold shower in the shared bathhouse. The water jolted me awake completely. As I dressed, I opted for simple but tidy attire: a plain tunic, fitted trousers, and sturdy boots. My dagger was sheathed at my waist—a reminder of the life I was building, piece by piece.
Today was the orientation. The hall was located in the first section of the academy, a good four to five kilometers away from the hostel. Many students had private carts—predictably, nobles flaunting their wealth. Public carts were available too, their drivers calling out for passengers near the hostel gates. I ignored them.
A walk would do me good, and besides, it gave me an excuse to observe.
The academy's vastness struck me again as I strolled along the cobbled pathways. Every section was meticulously planned. Manicured gardens lined the roads, their vibrant flowers blooming under the morning sun. Training grounds with rows of dummies and targets came into view as I passed the combat section. Students were already practicing, their determined shouts echoing in the air.
The artifact section stood out with its towering workshops and billowing chimneys, giving off the faint scent of molten metal and alchemical brews. Occasionally, I passed a group of students—some chatting animatedly, others walking with the quiet confidence of nobility.
I reached the orientation hall earlier than most. It was a grand structure, its dome towering high above, adorned with intricate carvings of warriors and mages. Inside, rows of seats were arranged in perfect symmetry, enough to accommodate the 500 first-year students.
I took a seat near the middle, not too conspicuous but with a good view of the podium. Slowly, the hall filled up, the hum of conversations growing louder. I glanced around, observing faces.
Among them, I noticed Ivy Aspen and Thomas Weber, characters I remembered vividly from The World of Magic and Sword. Ivy, with her striking green hair, stood out immediately. Her demeanor was calm, but her sharp eyes darted around, taking everything in. Thomas, tall and muscular, was hard to miss. His confident posture hinted at someone used to drawing attention.
The room fell silent in an instant.
A presence had entered—a heavy, suffocating aura that demanded respect. I turned my gaze to the podium, where a man now stood.
The chairman of Archon Academy, a living legend, Archmage Aldric Valorian. He was said to be one of the three Archmages in the Kingdom of Muran, and the stories didn't do him justice.
His hair and beard were as white as snow, but his face, while aged, was far from frail. His body was imposing, with broad shoulders and a musculature that defied his over-100 years of age. His piercing blue eyes scanned the room, silencing even the faintest whisper.
When he finally spoke, his voice was deep and commanding.
"Welcome to Archon Academy."
His words carried weight, not just from his tone but from the sheer presence he exuded. "You stand here today as the future of humanity. This academy has existed for over 400 years, shaping individuals into warriors, mages, alchemists, and leaders. Each of you carries the potential to rise above the ordinary."
He paused, letting his gaze sweep over the crowd. "But make no mistake. Archon Academy is not a place of comfort. It is a crucible. A forge where only the strongest are tempered and refined. Here, you will face hardships unlike anything you've known. Some of you will break. Others will rise. The choice is yours."
The room was utterly still. Even the noble students, usually so self-assured, seemed subdued under his presence.
"This institution is not for the faint-hearted. Those who wish for an easy life, who fear hardship, may leave now. We will not stop you."
No one moved.
He nodded, as if satisfied by the silence. "Good. Then remember this: you are here not just for yourselves, but for humanity. The enemies we face are stronger than you can imagine. And only through your dedication and resolve can you hope to stand against them."
With that, his speech ended. He turned and walked away from the podium, his aura lingering long after he was gone.
As the orientation ended, a faculty member stepped onto the podium to announce the schedule.
"For the first week, all students will attend basic classes. These will cover foundational topics in magic, combat techniques, weapon handling, and introductory dueling. From the second week onward, you will choose your specialization classes—whether in swordsmanship, aura training, alchemy, artifact crafting, or others. You will receive more information at the end of this week."
The announcement was met with murmurs of excitement and apprehension. Basic classes were standard fare, but the specializations were what most students were truly here for.
The faculty dismissed us, but I decided to head straight to my first class. Skipping unnecessary conversations and pointless posturing was just my style. The classroom for basic magic theory was located near the orientation hall, and I reached it without issue.
Taking a seat near the back, I observed as the other students filtered in. Their chatter was background noise to me as I mentally prepared for the lesson ahead.