Aron strolled over, a confident smirk plastered across his face. His voice carried a teasing undertone as he said, "That's a fine sword, Venzel. I'm sure it fits you."
Something about his words and that smug grin got under my skin. It wasn't just the tone—it was as if he knew something I didn't.
But I wasn't about to let him rattle me. Without a word, I grabbed the sword and turned away, keeping my expression neutral.
The selection process continued. Lena chose a sleek, double-edged sword that seemed to hum with energy.
Serra picked up a delicate wand, its gem glowing faintly as if eager to channel her mana. Thad, being Thad, went for a massive shield—practical but imposing.
And Ryn? Of course, he had to be unconventional. He grabbed a knuckle ring. A knuckle ring, of all things.
When the weapon grades were revealed, everyone else got steel-grade equipment, while mine was a defective-grade sword barely scraping the steel threshold.
I couldn't help but glance at the blade in my hand, feeling a mix of disappointment and confusion.
"Wasn't this supposed to be the protagonist's sword?" I muttered under my breath.
Aron made a grand show of picking his weapon—a semi-destruction-grade masterpiece. The crowd erupted in whispers and murmurs of awe, their envy palpable. Typical protagonist luck.
"Well, now it's guaranteed that the next strongest weapon is just steel-grade," I mused, shaking my head. "Plot armor strikes again."
The instructors handed out points based on weapon grades. Steel-grade weapons, like the ones my friends held, earned +10 points. Aron, naturally, got a staggering +50 points. The gap between us widened further, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy.
But that didn't deter me. Sure, I envied Aron's luck, but it only made me more determined to prove myself.
As I walked back with the sword, it began to whisper to me. The voice was dark, seductive, and utterly persistent.
"Let me eat your memories of your past life, and I'll give you power!"
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, no thanks."
"Let me consume your soul, and I'll grant you immense strength!"
"Hard pass."
"Let me—"
"Blah, blah, blah. Shut up already," I muttered, gripping the hilt tighter.
The sword fell silent, as if offended by my lack of enthusiasm. I had to admit, though, its incessant whispers were amusing in a twisted way.
The rest of the day transitioned into something more mundane—classes.
For the first time since arriving here, we began to feel like actual students. The lessons ranged from controlling mana flow to learning practical applications for combat.
One particular lecture stood out, taught by a stern-looking instructor with a booming voice. He described mana channeling techniques that could reshape cities—or destroy them.
"Destruction isn't always the goal," he said, though his tone suggested otherwise.
I leaned back in my chair, a small smirk tugging at my lips. "Well, I think of it as learning how to decorate a city—with craters and rubble," I whispered to Serra, who stifled a laugh.
Despite the weight of my weapon's grade and the constant comparison to Aron, I found myself enjoying this new life.
The knowledge they provided wasn't just practical—it was dangerous, thrilling, and filled with possibilities.
The days passed in a blur of duels and training.
Each morning, we were pitted against our peers in 1v1 matches, testing our mettle and earning points to climb the rankings and each evening, we have our mundane classes .
By the end of the week, the results were tallied, and I found myself staring at the numbers with mixed emotions.
68 points. That was my score.
I glanced over at my friends' results: Serra, with her ever-graceful spells and sharp wit, had earned 108 points. Lena wasn't far behind with 104, her swordsmanship earning her the admiration of many. Even Thad, the quiet defender with his massive shield, pulled ahead with 98 points.
And then there was Ryn, sitting at 79 points.
"So close," I muttered to myself. "But, well, I did my best."
The truth was, I wasn't disappointed. Not really. The new commoners entering the academy were frighteningly strong.
I could chalk up my losses to bad luck or a few careless mistakes, but deep down, I knew they were just better prepared than I was.
Still, it wasn't the points that bothered me the most.
It was Aron.
Over the past few days, Aron's interest in me had intensified to the point of irritation.
Everywhere I went—be it the training grounds, the dining hall, or even during lectures—I'd catch him watching me. His eyes, sharp and calculating, tracked my every move.
At first, I thought I was imagining it. Maybe I was being paranoid. But when I caught him outright staring at me during a sparring match with Thad, I knew it wasn't my imagination.
"What's his deal?" I muttered under my breath as I parried Thad's shield bash.
"Focus, Venzel!" Thad barked, slamming his shield into my chest and sending me sprawling.
Lena pulled me to my feet afterward, smirking. "You're distracted. Thinking about how to beat me next time?"
"Something like that," I said, brushing off the dirt. But my thoughts weren't on Lena or the match. They were on Aron.
The whispers from my sword hadn't stopped either. If anything, they had grown louder, more persistent, as if sensing my unease.
"Let me corrupt your soul," it cooed one night as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. "In return, I'll make every memory of your past life crystal clear. You'll recall every detail, every moment, as if it happened yesterday."
The offer was tempting. Too tempting.
For someone like me, who often struggled to make sense of the fragmented memories from my past life, the promise of clarity was almost irresistible. But the price...
"My soul, huh?" I muttered, gripping the hilt tightly. "You'll have to try harder than that."
The sword chuckled—a dark, guttural sound that sent shivers down my spine.
"Suit yourself, human. But don't come crying to me when the past catches up to you."
***
It wasn't long before the past did catch up to me.
One quiet morning, as I sat in the academy's courtyard enjoying a rare moment of peace, a messenger approached me with a letter.
The Kaelith family seal on the envelope made my stomach drop.
"What's this about?" I muttered, tearing it open.
The words on the page sent a chill through me.
Venzel,
Our trade routes have been ambushed. Villages along the borders have been raided. Monsters have breached our lands, drawn in by fleeing refugees. The damage is severe, and the rumors point to deliberate sabotage. You must be cautious. Someone is targeting us. Be careful in the academy.
The letter was signed by my father, but the tone was grim—uncharacteristically so.
"Sabotage?" I whispered, reading the letter again. The implications were clear: this wasn't a random series of misfortunes. Someone was going after the Kaelith family.
And they weren't holding back.
That evening, I gathered my friends in one of the academy's quieter halls. The weight of the letter pressed heavily on my mind, and I needed their thoughts.
"This doesn't feel like a coincidence," I said, handing the letter to Serra.
She read it quickly, her expression darkening. "Ambushes, raids, monsters... This is too coordinated to be chance."
Lena, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, frowned. "Who would even target your family like this? You're not exactly a political powerhouse."
"That's what makes it strange," I said. "We're just a small viscount family. We don't have enemies—or at least, none that I know of."
Thad, ever the pragmatist, chimed in. "Have you spoken to the instructors about this? Or the academy's administration?"
I shook my head. "Not yet. I don't want to draw attention to it. Besides, I'm not sure if I can trust anyone here."
Ryn, uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke up. "You don't think this has anything to do with... him, do you?"
We all knew who he meant. Aron.
The thought had crossed my mind more than once, but I wasn't ready to voice it. Not yet.
Over the next few days, Aron's behavior only added to my suspicions. He seemed to be everywhere I went, his watchful eyes never leaving me. During a mana control class, he "accidentally" bumped into me, flashing that infuriating smirk as he apologized.
"Careful, Venzel," he said, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. "Wouldn't want you to lose your balance."
I clenched my fists but forced a smile. "Thanks for the concern."
The sword whispered in my mind, its tone mocking. "He knows. He's playing you, human."
"Shut up," I hissed under my breath.
But the whispers were harder to ignore now.
As the week dragged on, the situation back home worsened. Another letter arrived from my father, detailing more attacks and increasing casualties. The Kaelith family's resources were stretched thin, and the once-quiet viscounty was on the brink of collapse.
The sword's whispers grew louder, more insistent. "Let me help you," it said. "Let me show you the truth."
I wanted to ignore it, to push it away, but the pressure was mounting. My family was in danger, my friends were worried, and Aron's presence loomed over me like a shadow I couldn't escape.
By the time the week ended, I found myself standing in the academy's training grounds, gripping the sword tightly. Aron watched from a distance, his smirk as infuriating as ever.
"Whatever you're planning," I muttered, staring at him, "I won't let you win."
But the truth was, I wasn't sure if I could stop him. Not without help.
And that was the most dangerous thought of all.