The golden strands of sunlight poured over the training grounds like liquid fire, setting the world aglow in a halo of brilliance. To the knights below, however, it was less a celestial blessing and more a curse—a relentless sphere of heat bearing down on them like a merciless taskmaster.
"Haa! Haa!" the knights huffed in unison, their breaths coming in heavy bursts as they swung their swords. Encased in armor that shimmered in the oppressive sunlight, their bodies burned beneath the layers of steel, sweat pooling and seeping into every crevice. And yet, they pressed on.
The clang of metal on metal reverberated across the grounds, a symphony of discipline and determination. Amid the ceaseless rhythm of training, one figure stood apart.
A boy, no older than sixteen, his hair the same molten gold as the sun above, gripped the handle of a wooden sword tightly. Unlike the knights around him, he wore no heavy armor—his young, still-developing body would not allow it. Instead, he donned a simple tunic, breathable and light, but his stance and focus mirrored the steel-clad warriors surrounding him.
His crimson eyes narrowed as he faced his opponent, every muscle taut with anticipation. With a sharp intake of breath, Prince Valkas von Thane launched himself forward, his wooden blade aimed with precision at his opponent's center.
"Hmph."
The sound was barely more than a grunt, but it carried the weight of decades of experience. Valkas's opponent moved with practiced ease, parrying the thrust as though it were an afterthought. Before Valkas could recover, a swift motion brought the tip of the opponent's wooden sword to his throat.
"Your Highness," the man said, his tone firm but not unkind, "your movements lack flow. Each strike is an isolated thought—connect them, or your opponent will always see the gaps."
Valkas exhaled sharply, lowering his sword. "Well, it's hard to match you even when you're holding back, Sir Galahad," he admitted, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Sir Galahad, the Commander of the Knight Order, stood before him. With hair as dark as a raven's wing and eyes that bore the weight of countless battles, he was a figure of quiet authority. Though a knight in a kingdom ruled by summoners, he had carved out a name for himself. Twelve mana cores thrummed within him, and his exploits—including the takedown of a Prime Astra beast—were whispered among the ranks like legend.
And yet, in this world dominated by summoners, even legends like Galahad struggled to find recognition.
"Wasting time with your toys again, brother?"
The voice cut through the heat like a blade, turning every head on the training grounds. Sir Galahad immediately bowed deeply, his movements echoed by the other knights. Valkas turned, his grip on the wooden sword tightening as his eyes met the figure approaching him.
Prince Leon von Thane.
The Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Thane.
"Your Highness," Galahad said respectfully, his voice steady despite the disdain radiating from the elder prince.
Leon strode forward, his black cape trailing behind him like a shadow. His dark eyes gleamed with a sharpness that matched the smirk on his lips. Everything about him screamed dominance—his presence alone seemed to tilt the balance of power in his favor.
"And what's the point of playing with these toys, Valkas?" Leon asked, gesturing dismissively at the wooden swords and the sweating knights. "What use are they? Galahad, wouldn't your entire knight order crumble if I sent even an Alpha Luminara summon against them?"
The words hung in the air like a challenge.
Galahad didn't flinch. "Your Highness is correct," he replied, his head still bowed. "Against a being of that grade, the Knight Order would indeed fall."
Leon chuckled, satisfied with the answer, but Valkas stepped forward, closing the distance between them.
"It's fun for me, brother," he said, his voice calm but edged with something resolute.
Leon raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. "Fun?"
"Yes," Valkas said, meeting his elder brother's gaze without flinching. "Not everything needs to be about strategy or power, Leon. Sometimes, it's about discipline. About understanding yourself. About pushing your limits even when you know they exist."
Leon's smirk faltered for just a moment, replaced by something harder to read. But before he could reply, Valkas turned back to Galahad, lifting his wooden sword.
"Again," he said, his voice steady.
Galahad hesitated for a moment, glancing at Leon, who gave a dismissive wave before turning to leave.
As the Crown Prince disappeared into the distance, Valkas tightened his grip on the sword. He knew the truth. Leon was the prodigy, the one who carried the hopes of the kingdom, and Valkas… he was merely the third prince.
But that didn't matter.
With every swing of his sword, Valkas wasn't fighting his brother's shadow or the limitations of a single mana core. He was fighting for something more important.
Himself.
The word echoed in Valkas's mind, a quiet mantra as he wiped the sweat from his brow and left the training grounds. After finishing his practice, he bathed quickly, the cool water a welcome reprieve from the relentless heat of the day. But even as the grime of exertion was washed away, the weight of his thoughts remained.
As the carriage rattled toward the Royal Academy, Valkas leaned against the window, his gaze wandering over the streets without much interest. The familiar sights of the capital passed in a blur—market stalls bustling with activity, vendors calling out wares, and children chasing one another in the narrow alleys. None of it held his attention. His mind was elsewhere.
The memory of his defeat against Kael Veylin crept in, unbidden. It wasn't the loss itself that bothered him; it was the simplicity of it. Their match had been a clash of first summons—raw, untamed power driven by the fumbling commands of their new masters. Everyone in Class 1-C was still grappling with how to direct their summons effectively. Everyone, of course, except Elara Veylin.
Valkas's lips quirked in a wry smile. Elara. The Diamond-grade summoner. In her case, it wasn't her skill that had set her apart—it was her summon. Aria, the Prime Eterna. A being so absurdly powerful that her presence alone tilted the balance of any match. Valkas didn't begrudge Elara for it, but he couldn't deny the quiet frustration that bubbled within him whenever he thought about it.
His hand drifted to the spatial ring on his finger, the cool metal a grounding sensation. Inside were the supplies his parents had meticulously arranged for him—the finest potions, tools, and gear to ensure he was well-prepared for the upcoming academy excursion beyond the kingdom's borders.
The purpose of the excursion was simple: growth. The summons would hunt wild beasts and consume their energy cores, a vital step toward forming additional cores and unlocking their latent potential. For most students, the focus would be on mana beasts, the most abundant and accessible of their kind. But Valkas couldn't help but wonder what other opportunities might arise.
His musings were interrupted by the jolt of the carriage coming to a halt. The driver's voice called out, and Valkas stepped down into the academy grounds, greeted instantly by a tide of attention.
"Prince Valkas!"
"Your Highness!"
"Over here!"
The crowd gathered quickly, a mix of students and staff alike. Their voices overlapped in an eager cacophony, but Valkas handled it with practiced ease. He smiled, his expression warm but measured, as he moved through them. Behind the genial façade, his sharp eyes assessed the faces around him, sorting the genuine from the opportunistic with quiet precision.
To those with sincere interest, he offered his time freely, exchanging pleasantries and small talk. To those who clearly sought to curry favor for their own gain, he offered polite but curt responses, creating an invisible boundary they would be wise not to cross.
By the time he reached Class 1-C, the noise of the crowd had receded, leaving him in the quieter halls of the academy. Valkas entered the room, his gaze sweeping over the assembled students. His eyes paused, for just a moment, on Elara.
She was seated near the back, her head slightly bowed as she fiddled with her grimoire. Her silver hair caught the light streaming in from the window, giving her an almost ethereal glow. It was an image that seemed at odds with her sharp, calculating presence on the battlefield.
Her words from the day before replayed in his mind: 'But you enjoyed knight training, right?'
He slipped into his seat, shaking the thought away. He had no time to dwell on casual remarks, not when there was so much to prepare for. Yet, he couldn't quite banish the echo of her voice.
Valkas turned his attention back to the classroom, engaging in animated conversation with his peers. His words flowed effortlessly as he drew others into the discussion, his natural charisma on full display. Despite his earlier introspection, he knew how to command a room, and it wasn't long before the class felt more like a gathering of allies than a group of students.
The door opened suddenly, and the lively chatter died down at once. Headmaster Medea Solaryn entered, her violet eyes sweeping across the room with an intensity that demanded silence.
"Good," she said, her voice calm but authoritative. "You're all here. Let's begin."