Sitting in the farthest corner of the classroom, I allowed myself to observe the flow of students entering. The seats were filling quickly, and the low buzz of conversation rose as more people arrived. Clad in identical navy uniforms with gold trims, everyone looked the same at first glance. But closer inspection revealed subtle differences—posture, gestures, and expressions that hinted at the ever-present social divide.
Nobles moved with a natural ease, their steps measured, their mannerisms polished. Their confidence wasn't forced; it was ingrained. Commoners, by contrast, were less assured. They glanced around, searching for familiar faces or empty seats. Their movements betrayed an underlying unease.
Among this crowd, a few stood out—not because of their actions but because the room itself seemed to respond to their presence.
The first was a girl with golden blonde hair tied in a loose braid, her sapphire-blue eyes scanning the room with calm precision. The atmosphere shifted the moment she entered. Conversations hushed, and heads turned. I didn't need to strain my memory to know who she was. Princess Elara Eryndor, the second princess of the Eryndor Kingdom.
The whispers were unavoidable.
"She's even more graceful than I imagined…"
"They say her magical talent surpasses that of the royal court mages…"
"Look at the crest on her pendant—definitely royal."
Elara moved as if the attention didn't exist, taking a seat near the center with an air of poise that only royalty could command. She was every bit the figure of prestige described in the novel.
Then came a boy whose mere posture seemed to challenge anyone who looked his way. His sharp features and penetrating gaze marked him as someone unaccustomed to being questioned. Darius Eryndor, son of Duke Eryndor, heir to a lineage famed for their swordsmanship. The Eryndor family's legacy was one of discipline, honor, and unrivaled mastery over the blade. Darius's reputation preceded him, and it was clear from the quiet deference of nearby students that few were eager to cross him.
Lastly, my attention was drawn to a girl with ash-blonde hair tied into a high ponytail. Her emerald-green eyes were sharp, constantly scanning the room. She had the lean, athletic build of someone accustomed to physical exertion, and the way she carried herself radiated quiet confidence. This was Lyra Aetherial, daughter of Duke Aetherial, a family renowned for their affinity with wind magic and archery. Though she didn't command the same overt attention as Elara or Darius, those who recognized her whispered in awe of her talent.
The class was a mixture of the familiar and unfamiliar, though none of these figures were surprising. From the novel, I already knew they'd play key roles in the events to come.
However, one student stood out in a different way. A boy with messy black hair and a lean frame sat a few rows away from me. His eyes held a sharpness that contrasted with his otherwise unremarkable appearance. He didn't exude the confidence of a noble or the nervousness of a commoner. Instead, he simply watched the room, his gaze lingering briefly on the more prominent figures before moving on.
Leon Valcrest, the protagonist of The World of Magic and Sword.
Leon's story was familiar. An orphan from a forgotten village, he had somehow forged a contract with the Sword Saint of another world, gaining access to swordsmanship that defied logic. His rise to prominence was a cornerstone of the novel, and now, sitting here, I couldn't help but wonder how it felt for him in this moment. Was he aware of the monumental role he'd play, or was he simply focused on surviving the day?
Before I could dwell further, the door opened, and the chatter died instantly. A man entered, his very presence demanding respect. He moved with the precision of a predator, his every step deliberate. His tanned skin and the scars that marred his arms spoke of a lifetime spent in battle.
"I am Thalion Ashgrave," he said, his voice deep and steady. "Your instructor for basic magic this week."
Ashgrave was a figure of renown, a veteran of countless battles and a mage whose exploits were etched into the kingdom's history. He wore the academy's staff uniform, but the sword at his side and the faint hum of mana surrounding him were reminders that he was far more than a teacher.
"This academy isn't here to coddle you," he began, his gaze sweeping across the room. "If you think you've made it because you've been accepted, you're wrong. The real work begins now."
His words were blunt, and a few students shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
"For this first week, you'll attend basic classes to understand the disciplines available to you. Magic, combat, crafting, alchemy—these are the foundations. Starting next week, you'll choose your specializations. If you can't decide, you don't belong here."
His eyes scanned the room again, pausing briefly on some of the more prominent students. When his gaze landed on me, I met it without flinching. After a moment, he moved on.
"Let's start with magic," he said. "Mana is the lifeblood of all magic. Without understanding and control, you're nothing more than a fool waving your arms. Today, we'll focus on mana sensing and basic control. If you can't sense your own mana, consider this your first—and last—lesson."
Some students chuckled nervously, but his expression didn't change.
"For those with experience, refine what you know. Perfection isn't achieved through complacency."
I closed my eyes as the lesson began, tuning out the world around me. The flow of mana within me was steady, familiar. I'd practiced this for years before coming here, and while it wasn't challenging, there was always room for improvement.
As I worked, I let my mind wander. The faces around me—the princess, the dukes' heirs, the orphaned protagonist—each carried their own story, their own potential. This academy would be the crucible where their talents were forged.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the period. Master Ashgrave's parting words were simple but pointed:
"Hardship breeds strength. If you're not ready for it, leave."