The sun had barely risen over the towering Valtoria Mansion when Arthur woke, heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. Today wasn't just another day—it was the day he would attend Crimsonry Academy, the first step on his path to becoming a sword mage.
He threw off the covers and stood, his muscles already tense with anticipation. Light from the golden dawn slipped through his curtains, bathing the room in a warm glow. As he dressed, his voice echoed with energy. "Elizabeth, have some maids clean my room while I'm gone!"
Outside his room, the ever-dutiful head maid chuckled. "Young master, you're far more excited than usual."
Arthur flashed a confident smile as he passed her. "Of course I am. It's time."
Down the long marble hallway, ancestral portraits lined the walls, their eyes cold and watchful. Waiting for him in the main hall were his parents. His father, Duke Aldric Valtoria, stood proud and regal in gold-stitched robes. His mother, Lady Verona, wore a soft smile, though her eyes held a glint of tension.
"Are you ready?" Aldric asked, voice firm as steel.
Arthur nodded. "Yes, father."
"Big brother!" a small voice rang out.
Arthur turned and saw Evelyn, his little sister, sprinting toward him. She jumped into his arms, golden curls bouncing as she hugged him tight.
"Good luck!" she beamed.
Arthur ruffled her hair and smiled. "Thanks."
Soon, he was aboard the Valtoria chariot, deep blue velvet seats and the family crest shining on the side. As the wheels rolled toward the academy, Arthur's heart wouldn't stop racing.
---
When they arrived at Crimsonry Academy, the contrast was glaring. A line of children in plain clothes stood at the commoners' gate while nobles entered from the north, greeted with banners and polished marble columns.
Arthur instinctively stepped toward the commoners' line but was stopped by an attendant. "Nobles go through the northern gate, sir."
"Why the separation?" Arthur asked.
The man only shrugged. "That's just how it is."
Arthur sighed and moved on, only to freeze as his eyes landed on a boy standing tall near the reception—wild red hair, cold black eyes, and an air of arrogant calm.
'Him again…'
Before Arthur could approach, the boy glanced his way—sharp, cold, dismissive—then walked off.
Arthur clenched his jaw. That look… like he was nothing.
At the desk, a strict-looking young man greeted him. "Welcome to Crimsonry Academy. I am Varian Steele. Here is your manual. Nobles typically receive private rooms—check the board for your assignment."
Arthur scanned the notice board.
Room Four. Shared.
He frowned. "Why am I…?"
But no answers came. Sighing, he made his way to the room. Inside, a cheerful boy with messy black hair and glowing yellow eyes looked up from tossing a rock.
"Hey! You must be my roommate. Name's Felix Arden!"
"Arthur Valtoria."
Felix blinked. "Whoa—Valtoria?! My apologies, my lord!"
Arthur waved him off. "Relax. Just Arthur."
Felix hesitated. "Really?"
"Yeah," Arthur grinned. "Doesn't mean we can't be friends."
Felix grinned back. "Alright, Arthur!"
They talked well into the night. Felix, it turned out, was the son of a swordsmith. He'd grown up watching blades being forged and always dreamed of wielding one.
Arthur leaned back on his bed. "Tomorrow's the Blade Ceremony."
Felix nodded nervously. "Hope the blade that chooses me isn't ugly."
Arthur laughed. "I just hope one chooses me at all."
---
The next morning, the Blade Ceremony began with a thunderous ripple in the air. Students filled the grand auditorium, eyes wide with anticipation.
Then, he appeared.
An old man floated lazily on a tattered mat, gray hair wild, staff crackling with subtle power. His black eyes sparkled with amusement.
With a sharp tap, the world shattered.
The walls dissolved into golden sand. The sky turned crystal blue. The wind howled. They stood in the middle of a vast desert illusion.
"Relax, kids," the old man said with a smirk. "Just an illusion. Today, your blades choose you."
Then—light.
Thousands of glowing swords hovered in the sky, each radiating its own aura—crackling with lightning, humming with wind, pulsing with power.
"You don't choose the blade," the old man continued. "It chooses you."
Suddenly, a blistering heat rolled through the illusion.
A massive flame sword descended, stopping before one boy—Leon Ironheart.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
"The son of Magnus Ironheart…"
Leon stepped forward, gripping the blade without hesitation. Fire surged, wrapping around him like a cloak. The sky lit with red flame.
More blades descended. Felix gasped as a wind blade spiraled into his hand. A breeze surged around him.
"I got wind magic?!" he shouted, awestruck.
Arthur smiled faintly, though his heart pounded.
Then… silence.
No blade came for him.
He looked up. Waited.
Still nothing.
The old man's voice was quiet but final. "You weren't chosen."
The crowd snickered. Whispers turned cruel.
"A noble without a blade?"
"Disgrace."
Arthur's chest burned. He didn't react. He couldn't.
"Stats!" Felix shouted, and a screen appeared:
BLADE: Kazeken
MAGIC ATTRIBUTE: Wind
LEVEL: Beginner
ABILITIES: 0
STRENGTH: 5
Arthur hesitated… then whispered, "Stats."
Blank.
Everything—empty.
Felix placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. Maybe it's late."
Arthur didn't answer.
---
That night, sleep wouldn't come.
Felix nudged him. "Wanna take a walk?"
They wandered beneath the moonlight. The academy grounds were quiet… until masked figures emerged from the shadows.
Five of them. All radiating dangerous power.
"Well, well," the leader said with a wicked grin. "What do we have here?"
"Sword mages?!" Arthur stepped back.
Felix's eyes narrowed. "They're from the Forsaken Realm."
The leader attacked. Felix blocked the fiery slash with his wind blade. "Run, Arthur!"
But Arthur didn't move.
Another enemy slammed a blade into the ground. Earth spiked up, trapping Felix in a cage of stone.
"Felix!" Arthur shouted.
The leader approached, laughing. "What'll you do now, blade-less boy?"
Arthur picked up a stick.
The goons laughed.
"A stick?!"
The leader lunged. Arthur tried to block but was engulfed in flames. Pain burned through him. He hit the ground hard, coughing blood.
The man's boot pressed down on his chest. "Die with honor, noble trash."
He raised his fist—and punched.
Again.
And again.
Blood splattered the sand. Arthur's vision blurred.
The leader smirked. "Are you dead yet?"
Arthur's legs shook… but he stood.
The leader's punch came fast—
Arthur caught it.
Suddenly—cold.
Frost spread from Arthur's hand, crawling up the man's arm. His eyes went wide.
"W-what is this…?!"
Arthur's voice was low, shaking, but steady. "You talk too much."
He released a blast of freezing wind. The man screamed as ice engulfed him, locking him in a frozen prison.
A moment passed. Then—
"Shatter."
The body exploded into ice shards.
The remaining enemies froze, stunned.
Behind Arthur, the ground cracked. Ice surged upward, forming a massive serpent-shaped dragon—roaring silently toward the stars before condensing—
Into a sword.
A beautiful, jagged, ethereal ice katana, glowing with azure light.
Arthur grabbed it.
A pulse of mana shot through the air, freezing time for a heartbeat.
Then he moved.
Like lightning, like wind, like death itself.
He dashed past the enemies, and as he passed—
Shhhhkkk.
They turned to ice.
Then crumbled into snow.
Felix broke free, rushing to his side as Arthur's knees buckled.
"Arthur!"
Arthur collapsed, the blade vanishing into mist.
Felix caught him before he hit the ground, eyes wide with awe.
"That wasn't… normal."
As Arthur slipped into unconsciousness, a whisper echoed in his mind.
"So… you've finally woken me."
A pair of cold, ancient eyes stared at him in the dark.
The dragon… had stirred.