The Academy of Arenthis stood towering before Damian, its ancient walls etched with the histories of thousands who had passed through its gates. Today was his turn. The grand structure loomed far from the city, nestled within a mountainous region known for its harsh conditions and wild mana beasts roaming the periphery. The academy's purpose was clear: to mold its recruits into warriors for the empire's inevitable war. Five grueling years awaited those who entered.
Damian stood among a sea of faces—nearly a thousand boys and girls, all dressed in identical white t-shirts, brown pants, and military boots. Their eyes, like his, were wide with anticipation, dread, or in some cases, pure excitement. The crisp mountain air bit at their skin, but he hardly noticed. His attention was focused on maintaining the mask he had perfected—his jovial, easy-going facade that would keep him unnoticed and free of suspicion. After all, no one needed to know what was truly festering beneath.
He smiled and chatted with the kids around him, blending seamlessly into the crowd.
"Hey, are you excited or what?" one of the boys next to him asked, giving him a nudge.
"Yeah, of course!" Damian responded, flashing a grin. "This place looks intense, huh?"
Before their conversation could continue, a commanding presence swept over the crowd. The chatter died instantly as a man emerged from the academy's main gates, towering over them all. He was a beast of a man, standing at a massive 6'7", with muscles bulging beneath his tight uniform. His square jaw and steely eyes alone were intimidating, but when he spoke, the sheer force of his aura-infused voice rattled Damian to his core.
"Line up!" the instructor bellowed. His aura flared, and the air seemed to thicken with power.
Damian quickly scrambled to fall in line with the rest of the recruits. He glanced around, noticing how some of the other kids immediately straightened up, their eyes wide with fear. Even through his mask, he could feel his pulse quicken.
"Welcome to the Academy of Arenthis," the instructor continued, pacing along the front of the formation. "Here, you will spend the next five years of your life training to contribute to the empire's war efforts. And let me make one thing clear now—only the strong survive here."
Damian swallowed hard, keeping his face neutral.
"Many of you will fail," the instructor added, his eyes scanning the crowd. "But those who succeed will be the empire's finest warriors. The weak will drop out, and the strongest will rise to the top. So I suggest you give this everything you've got, because this place will chew you up and spit you out otherwise."
Damian heard someone whispering next to him.
"I heard only 10% of the class manages to graduate," a boy said to his friend, loud enough for Damian to overhear. "Every year, they make students drop out. And even those who make it? Most of them end up dead on the frontlines."
The other boy looked terrified.
"Hah! Just kidding," the first boy added with a laugh, though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "But they say if you can make it to the top, you can become a royal guard. Now that would be something."
Damian tuned out the rest of the conversation, his eyes scanning the crowd. He overheard whispers about nobles in their batch—rumors that the emperor's son, the duke's daughter, and several other high-born elites were among them. The sheer difference between commoners like himself and those with noble bloodlines already felt palpable, but he knew he had to keep his cool.
The instructor's voice rang out again, silencing all whispers.
"Alright, maggots!" he barked. "Since there are so many of you, it's time to start weeding out the weak. Today's exercise is simple. Run. We'll see who has the stamina to survive. Those of you who fall behind will be sent home. The rest of you—well, let's see how you stack up."
And so, the first day began.
The run was a nightmare.
Damian had known this place would be tough, but he hadn't anticipated just how much of a gap there would be between him and the others. As the instructor led the pack, his aura visibly swirling around him, Damian found himself struggling to keep up almost immediately. His muscles screamed for relief as the ground beneath him became steeper and more uneven, but he pushed on, forcing his legs to keep moving.
He wasn't alone in his struggle—dozens of recruits around him panted and stumbled, many of them falling behind. But then there were those who barely seemed fazed at all. He spotted a few, far ahead of the group, keeping pace with the instructor. Their strides were long and powerful, their auras shimmering faintly in the air around them.
Damian cursed under his breath, watching in frustration as they pulled further ahead. His own aura, while awakened, still felt raw and uncontrolled compared to theirs.
By the time they reached the end of the run, Damian was drenched in sweat, his lungs burning. He collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath, his body completely spent. Around him, many of the other recruits were in similar states, some on their hands and knees, others sprawled out in exhaustion.
As they gathered back in the academy's training grounds, the instructor made an announcement.
"Now, let's see how you all did. Rankings will be posted. Take a look and see where you stand."
Damian dragged himself to his feet, his body aching as he shuffled over to the board where the rankings were being posted. A crowd had already formed, and he pushed his way through, scanning the names.
The top 10 spots were dominated by nobles, as expected. In first place was none other than the emperor's son, a name whispered with awe among the recruits—Nathaniel Valencrown. His time had been leagues ahead of everyone else, his aura-infused body making him practically untouchable.
Third place belonged to the duke's daughter Arabelle Verdell.
But what surprised everyone was the name in seventh place: Kael Arden. A commoner.
Whispers spread through the crowd like wildfire. No commoner had ever placed that high in the academy's rankings, let alone in the top 10. People began to mutter in disbelief, some sneering at the thought of a commoner even daring to compete with the noble elites.
Damian barely heard any of it. His eyes trailed down the list, searching for his own name.
477th.
He stared at the number for what felt like an eternity. Out of 1789 recruits, he had placed at the as one the decent ones.
His heart sank, but he quickly buried the feeling beneath his mask, forcing a smile as he stepped away from the board. Inside, though, he was seething. Even with an awakaned aura there are 476 poeple who are stronger than me.