The sun had barely risen over the towering spires of the Academy of Magic and Sword when Asterius awoke, the heavy weight of despair still clinging to him like a shroud. His mind was a storm of conflicting emotions—fear, confusion, anger—but beneath it all, a new sensation stirred, one that was both foreign and intoxicating. Power. The remnants of the previous night's encounter with the God of Astral lingered within him, a constant reminder of the pact he had made.
But as Asterius rose from his bed, his body still frail and weak, he felt a pang of doubt. Was it real? Had he truly merged with a god, or was it all just a desperate hallucination, born from his suffering? He looked down at his hands, expecting to see some sign, some indication that he was different, but they were the same as always—thin, trembling, powerless.
Asterius shook his head, trying to push the doubts away. He didn't have time to dwell on it now. Today was a ranking day, one of the most dreaded days at the Academy, and he knew he had to be prepared for the inevitable humiliation that awaited him.
The Academy of Magic and Sword was not merely a school; it was a proving ground, a place where the strongest rose to the top and the weak were trampled underfoot. Everything in the Academy revolved around the ranking system—a brutal hierarchy that determined a student's status, privileges, and future prospects. The system was unforgiving, mercilessly sorting the students into tiers that reflected their abilities.
At the top were the Elites, the prodigies who had already mastered advanced spells and techniques far beyond their years. They were the pride of the Academy, the ones who would go on to become heroes, leaders, and legends. Their names were known throughout the school, whispered in awe and reverence.
Below them were the Adepts, students of considerable skill and potential. They were the backbone of the Academy, not quite prodigies, but still respected and feared by their peers. They trained tirelessly, always striving to reach the coveted Elite rank, and their progress was closely watched by the instructors.
Then there were the Apprentices, the average students who showed promise but lacked the brilliance or drive to truly excel. They made up the majority of the Academy's population, their lives a constant struggle to improve and avoid slipping further down the ranks.
And finally, at the very bottom, were the Dregs—the failures, the weaklings, the ones who had no hope of ever rising above their miserable status. The Dregs were the outcasts of the Academy, scorned and ridiculed by everyone else. They were given the worst assignments, denied access to the best resources, and often served as sparring partners for the higher-ranked students, their only purpose being to make others look good by comparison.
Asterius was a Dreg.
He had been one for as long as he could remember, his name at the very bottom of the ranking board, a symbol of failure and weakness. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he studied or practiced, he could never break free from the bottom rank. His efforts were always met with failure, his progress stunted by a combination of his own shortcomings and the relentless bullying of his peers.
As he made his way to the ranking hall, Asterius could feel the familiar knots of anxiety tightening in his stomach. The hall was a grand chamber, lined with marble pillars and adorned with banners bearing the insignia of the Academy. At the far end of the hall stood the ranking board, a massive, glowing screen that displayed the names of every student, their ranks constantly shifting as new assessments were made.
The hall was already crowded with students, their eyes fixed on the board, their faces a mix of anticipation and dread. The Elites stood apart from the rest, their expressions calm and confident, while the Adepts and Apprentices watched nervously, hoping for a rise in their rank.
But when Asterius entered, a hush fell over the crowd, followed by a ripple of laughter and sneers. The Dregs, and especially Asterius, were a source of amusement for the rest of the Academy. They knew what was coming, and they were eager to see it play out.
"There he is," one of the Adepts sneered, his voice loud enough to carry across the hall. "The mighty Asterius, the King of the Dregs."
More laughter followed, and Asterius felt his face flush with shame. He kept his head down, trying to avoid the mocking gazes of his peers as he took his place at the back of the hall, where the other Dregs were gathered. They were a pitiful group, their expressions a mix of fear, resignation, and bitterness.
"Why do you even bother coming?" one of the Dregs muttered bitterly, his voice laced with defeat. "We all know where we stand. It's not like we're going to suddenly shoot up the ranks."
Asterius didn't respond. He knew the other Dreg was right. The ranking system was a cruel machine, designed to keep the weak in their place while elevating the strong. It didn't matter how much he wanted to change his fate; the system was against him, and there was nothing he could do about it.
The instructors entered the hall, their presence commanding silence from the students. They were a formidable group, each one a master of their respective disciplines, and their judgment was final. The head instructor, a stern woman with piercing eyes and an aura of authority, stepped forward to address the students.
"Today is a ranking day," she announced, her voice carrying throughout the hall. "You all know what that means. Your performance over the past month will determine your rank. Some of you will rise; others will fall. But remember, your rank is a reflection of your worth, your ability, and your potential. If you find yourself at the bottom, it is because you deserve to be there."
Her words were like a knife to Asterius's heart. He had heard them so many times before, but they never failed to wound him. The implication was clear—if he was a Dreg, it was because he was worthless, because he had no potential, no ability, no future.
The rankings began to shift on the board, the names moving up and down as the instructors made their assessments. The Elites remained at the top, their positions secure, while the Adepts and Apprentices jostled for better spots. Asterius watched with a sinking feeling in his stomach as the Dregs' names appeared at the bottom, his own name fixed firmly in last place.
"Asterius," the head instructor called, her voice cold and emotionless. "Step forward."
He obeyed, his legs trembling as he made his way to the front of the hall. The eyes of every student were on him, their gazes filled with contempt, pity, or outright amusement. He stood before the instructors, his heart pounding in his chest, waiting for the inevitable humiliation.
The head instructor looked him over, her expression one of disdain. "Asterius," she said, her voice dripping with scorn, "once again, you have failed to show any improvement. Your magical aptitude is abysmal, your swordsmanship is laughable, and your physical condition is pathetic. You are, without a doubt, the weakest student in this Academy."
The words hit Asterius like a physical blow, each one driving a nail into the coffin of his self-worth. He could feel the anger boiling inside him, the helpless rage at the injustice of it all. He had tried so hard, endured so much, and yet it was never enough. The system was rigged against him, and no matter what he did, he would always be a Dreg.
The head instructor's eyes bored into him, as if she could see right through him, as if she were judging the very core of his being. "You are a disgrace to this institution," she continued, her voice like ice. "If it were up to me, you would have been expelled long ago. But the Academy is merciful, and so you will remain... for now."
The laughter that followed was cruel, echoing off the marble walls of the hall. Asterius wanted to scream, to cry out against the injustice, but he knew it would do no good. The system was unbreakable, and he was powerless to change it.
"Return to your place, Asterius," the head instructor said dismissively. "And pray that you find some way to improve, or next time, even the Academy's mercy will not save you."
He stumbled back to the group of Dregs, his vision blurred by tears of anger and humiliation. The other Dregs avoided his gaze, too wrapped up in their own despair to offer any comfort. The rest of the students turned their attention back to the board, where the rankings continued to shift, as if nothing had happened.
But something had happened. Deep within Asterius, a fire had been lit—a fire fueled by the rage and bitterness that had been simmering inside him for years. The God of Astral had told him that he was not weak, that he had the power to rise above his tormentors. But how could he believe that now, when the world seemed so intent on keeping him down?
He clenched his fists, feeling the warmth of the God of Astral's presence within him. The voice had promised him power, had promised him a way out. But where was it? Where was the strength he had been promised?
As the ranking ceremony ended and the students began to file out of the hall, Asterius remained where he was, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The humiliation, the anger, the despair—they all swirled together, forming a dark storm that threatened to consume him.
But amidst the storm, a single thought emerged, clear and sharp. He would not be a Dreg forever. He would not let the system break him. The God of Astral had chosen him for a reason, and he would find that reason, no matter what it took.
As Asterius turned to leave the hall, his heart hardened by the events of the day, he made a silent vow. He would rise. No matter how long it took, no matter how many times he was beaten down, he would rise. And when he did, he would make them all pay for what they had done to him.
The Academy had underestimated him. The instructors, the students, the entire system—they all thought he was weak, that he was nothing. But they were wrong. Asterius could feel it, deep in his soul. The God of Astral's power was there, waiting to be unleashed.
And when the time came, he would show them all what true power looked like.