Kael stepped through the grand gates of the Arcanum Academy, his crimson eyes taking in the sprawling campus before him. Towering spires reached into the sky, their surfaces etched with glowing runes that pulsed with arcane energy. Students bustled around, their chatter creating a lively hum that filled the air. Kael adjusted the strap of his bag and took a steadying breath, reminding himself of his only goal in this life: to live peacefully, to make his parents proud, and perhaps, for the first time, find genuine friends. In his past life, such things had been distant dreams, lost amid the chaos of conquest and power. Here, in this new world, he hoped to forge something different—something real.
But his thoughts were interrupted by a sharp shove from behind. He stumbled slightly but caught himself, turning to see a noble boy with blond hair and an arrogant smirk. "Move out of the way, peasant," the boy sneered.
For a moment, Kael's crimson eyes burned with unrestrained fury. Memories of his past life flashed through his mind, where such disrespect meant immediate retribution. His hand twitched, instinctively prepared to deliver punishment. The noble froze, his smirk faltering as a wave of unexplainable dread washed over him. For a second, he felt the weight of death in Kael's gaze.
But Kael stopped himself. Taking a deep breath, he stepped aside and said nothing, forcing himself to gather his composure. "Not here," he thought. "Not this life."
The noble regained his nerve and scoffed, walking off with an exaggerated swagger. Kael's gaze lingered on him for a moment before turning back toward the academy. He reminded himself of the promise he made to his family: to live a fulfilling life without unnecessary trouble or conflict. The first test was the written exam, held in a vast lecture hall filled with rows of desks. Kael took his seat near the back, his crimson eyes scanning the questions as the proctor distributed the papers. The topics ranged from magical theory to history and problem-solving scenarios. Thanks to his homeschooling, Kael breezed through the test with little effort, his quill gliding across the parchment with precision.
As he worked, he caught whispers from nearby students. "Look at him, so serious," one murmured. "Probably trying too hard to keep up," another snickered.
Kael ignored them, focusing on the task at hand. He finished well ahead of time, placing his quill down and waiting patiently for the proctor to collect the papers. He felt no irritation at their comments; such petty words carried no weight for him. The only thing he cared about was doing his parents proud.
The second test was the magic aptitude exam, held in an open courtyard surrounded by towering stone pillars engraved with glowing runes. Each student was required to demonstrate their mana control by casting a spell of their choice. The nobles went first, showing off their prowess with elaborate displays of fire, lightning, and water manipulation. The crowd murmured with approval, particularly for a tall boy with golden hair who conjured a dazzling storm of light.
When Kael's name was called, he stepped forward with deliberate calm. Raising his hand, he channeled mana into a small orb of light, letting it hover briefly before dissipating. His demonstration was modest, a deliberate choice to avoid drawing attention. The crowd's reaction was immediate—laughter rippled through the students.
"That's it?" someone called out. "A peasant's trick!"
Kael's expression remained neutral. He stepped back into the crowd, ignoring the jeers. He had no intention of revealing his full capabilities, but he made a mental note of the students who mocked him. It doesn't matter, he told himself. This is just a test.
The final test was combat, held in a grand arena filled with eager spectators. The students were paired off for sparring matches, and their performances were evaluated by the instructors. When Kael's name was called, his opponent was none other than the noble boy who had bumped into him earlier.
The crowd buzzed with excitement. "Isn't that Lord Renar's son?" someone whispered. "He's had the best tutors since he could walk!"
Kael stepped into the arena, his wooden training sword held loosely in his hand. His crimson eyes scanned the boy's confident posture, noting the arrogance in his stance. In the crowd, murmurs rose as whispers of the noble's lineage spread. "That's Lord Renar's youngest son," someone said. "And his older brother, Damien, is the Academy's student council president. They say Damien is a prodigy, a genius swordsman and mage." Kael decided to hold back, planning to showcase enough skill to pass while pretending to lose. Drawing too much attention was a risk he couldn't afford.
The whistle blew, and the noble charged forward, his swings wide but forceful. Kael dodged with ease, parrying just enough to keep the match going. He allowed the noble to push him back, his movements measured and deliberate.
Finally, the noble managed to knock Kael down with a well-aimed strike. The crowd erupted in cheers as the noble grinned triumphantly. "Is this the best your peasant of a father could teach you?" he sneered, standing over Kael. "Or did your mother teach you instead? Looking at how pathetic you are, she probably didn't have time between whoring herself out!"
Laughter erupted from the noble's lackeys in the audience. "Whore sword! Whore sword!" they chanted, their voices echoing through the arena.
Kael froze, his grip tightening around the wooden sword. His crimson eyes burned with a fury he hadn't felt in years. Memories of his past life surged forward, and the air around him grew heavy, suffused with an oppressive aura of bloodlust. For a moment, the arena was plunged into a stillness that felt suffocating, as though death itself had stepped into the room. The noble's smirk twisted into a look of pure terror, his body trembling as Kael's murderous intent washed over him.
"Stop!" the instructor's voice rang out, but it was too late.
Kael moved with blinding speed, the wooden blade in his hand now glowing faintly as mana coursed through it. His bloodlust sharpened the blade's edge, transforming it from harmless wood into a weapon capable of lethal damage. The strike landed with terrifying precision on the noble's arm, slicing cleanly through the flesh. The severed arm fell to the ground, and a sickening silence filled the arena, broken only by the noble's ear-piercing scream as he collapsed, clutching the bleeding stump where his arm had been.
The arena fell into a deafening silence, the oppressive weight of what had just happened suffocating every corner of the space. Every pair of eyes was locked on the scene before them: the noble boy lying on the ground, clutching the bleeding stump of his severed arm. Kael stood above him, his breathing steady, his crimson eyes cold and void of regret.
The silence was shattered by the noble's agonized scream. "MY ARM! MY ARM! AAAAAAAH!" he wailed, his voice cracking as he writhed in the dirt, blood pooling beneath him. Tears streamed down his face as he clutched at the stump of his severed arm, his words turning into a frantic mix of pain and fury. "MY BROTHER! MY FATHER! THEY'LL KILL YOU FOR THIS! YOU HEAR ME? YOU'RE DEAD!"
Kael's expression didn't change. He looked down at the boy, his voice calm and deliberate as he said, "Thank you for the match." Inside, he felt no anger or satisfaction—only a cold detachment, a reminder of the control he now sought to wield over himself. This was not the same man who once commanded armies with fear. It was a restrained Kael, one who chose to stop short of death despite the insult to his family. Without sparing another glance, he turned to face the instructor, who was now calling for a healer with panic in his voice.
The instructor who had been overseeing the combat stopped mid-sprint when the strike landed. His wide eyes were filled with shock, his mouth hanging open as he struggled to comprehend what he had just witnessed. He had sensed the blood aura moments before, a terrifying, suffocating presence that made even seasoned warriors hesitate. And then he had seen the mana-infused blade—a harmless training weapon turned into something deadly—slice through the noble's arm as if it were paper.
"STOP RIGHT NOW!" the instructor bellowed, his voice cracking as he stormed into the arena. "YOU COULD HAVE KILLED HIM!"
Kael said nothing, his gaze fixed on the boy being attended to by the healers rushing into the arena. The crowd still hadn't moved, the air thick with fear and disbelief. Blood pooled on the sandy ground, a stark reminder of what had just occurred.
Kael stood silently, watching the scene unfold with cold, unflinching eyes. There was no regret in his expression, only a quiet certainty. He rationalized his actions as necessary; the boy's disrespect toward his family had crossed a line that could not go unanswered. In his past life, such insolence would have been met with immediate death, but now he chose restraint—a lesson taught, not a life taken. "This is mercy," he thought to himself, his crimson gaze fixed on the trembling noble. "He should be grateful." In his mind, he had already justified his actions. He had given the boy a lesson and spared his life—something he wouldn't have done in his past. The noble should be grateful.
The healers worked quickly, their magic glowing softly as they tried to stop the bleeding and ease the boy's pain. The crowd, still stunned, began to whisper in hushed tones, their disbelief evident.
Kael remained still, his crimson eyes burning like embers in the silent arena, as blood soaked the ground beneath him. The screams and whispers faded into the background as his mind turned inward. Is this what defending my parents means? he thought, his expression unchanging. Does protecting those I love mean my life will once again be covered in blood and surrounded by fear?
The thought lingered as he watched the healers work, their hands trembling slightly in the oppressive silence. Kael's gaze remained cold, but deep within, the question echoed, unanswered.