The road to the capital stretched on like a gray ribbon, cutting through hills and farmland. The cart I rode in jolted with every rut, the old mule pulling it snorting clouds of dust.
Around me, other students bound for the Academy chattered nervously. They spoke of spells they hoped to master, dorm rooms they prayed wouldn't be shared, and the nobles they wished not to offend. Their voices blended into a blur.
I leaned against the sideboard, hood pulled low, eyes on the horizon.
The spires of the capital were still faint in the distance. I had hours before we reached the city. Hours before I crossed a line I could never uncross.
And yet fate—no, my cursed knowledge—kept reminding me that danger didn't start at the gates.
I shifted in the cart, muttering to myself. There should be a grove nearby… yes, between here and the bridge.
The others paid no attention when I asked the driver to stop at the next bend, claiming I needed to stretch my legs. He grumbled, but the mule slowed.
I slipped down, boots crunching on gravel, and veered into the trees. My heart beat faster—not from nerves, but excitement. This was the first real test.
According to the game, a certain herb grew here. Useless to common apothecaries, dismissed as a weed. But in the right concoction, it doubled mana recovery. A treasure hidden in plain sight.
I pushed through ferns until I found it: a cluster of dark-green leaves, each with a faint shimmer like dew that refused to evaporate. My lips curled. Moonveil root. Exactly where the spawn point said it'd be.
Kneeling, I dug carefully, extracting the roots whole and wrapping them in cloth. This was more than just potion stock—it was leverage. Something I could sell or use to strengthen myself quietly, without drawing attention.
When I returned to the cart, a few students eyed my dirt-stained hands. I shrugged. "Just herbs."
They laughed. Let them.
Hours later, the capital rose in full view. The closer we came, the more the air seemed charged, humming with mana drawn from the ley lines converging beneath the city.
The gates loomed taller than any fortress wall I'd ever seen. Guards in enchanted plate stood like statues, their spears glowing faintly. Beyond them stretched a sea of stone streets, vendor stalls, carriages, and more people than I thought could exist in one kingdom.
The others gasped, wide-eyed. I stayed quiet. In the game, this place had been my playground. Now, it was a minefield.
The cart rattled up the wide avenue, carrying us straight toward the jewel of the kingdom: the Arcane Academy.
It wasn't a school. It was a fortress of ivory towers and gilded domes, sprawling over a hill like a city of its own. Flags in deep blue snapped in the wind, each embroidered with the crest of a phoenix rising from flame. Magic lamps lined the stairs, glowing with steady light even in daylight.
Awe stirred in me despite myself. They really did build it this grand…
Then reality returned like a slap. This was the stage where all disasters began. Wars, betrayals, demon incursions—all threads tied back to these halls.
And I was walking right into the center of it.
The new students disembarked at the gates. Nobles descended from ornate carriages, trailed by servants carrying trunks. Commoners like me shuffled nervously, clutching satchels.
I felt eyes on me almost immediately. Not admiration—suspicion.
"Did you see his eyes?" someone whispered."Red. Like blood.""Creepy…"
I kept my hood low, pretending not to hear. My reflection in a polished carriage wheel caught my attention: lanky frame, black hair unkempt from travel, and those damned crimson eyes glaring back at me.
If I were them, I wouldn't trust me either.
We were herded toward the courtyard for registration. A crowd of hundreds filled the marble square, banners snapping overhead. Names were called, groups were sorted.
I tried to keep to the edge, a shadow among shadows.
But of course, nobles had to make noise.
A laugh rang out—sharp, mocking. "Well, well. Did the Academy lower its standards this year?"
I glanced over. A blond boy in crimson-trimmed robes smirked, flanked by fawning attendants. Cedric Albrecht.
He wasn't the Hero, or the Saintess, or any world-shattering prodigy. Just a privileged thorn who enjoyed stepping on people beneath him. In the game, he became an early antagonist.
Now, his blue eyes scanned the crowd—and lingered on me.
My stomach clenched.
But instead of calling me out, he sneered at another poor commoner fumbling his satchel open, scattering books on the ground. Cedric's entourage laughed, the sound echoing across the courtyard.
I slipped away before his gaze could shift.
By the time night fell, I found myself in the dormitories. My room was bare: stone walls, a straw mattress, a small desk. Cramped, but quiet.
I set down my satchel and unwrapped the Moonveil roots, laying them carefully on the desk. My first prize. Proof that I didn't need to follow the rails of the story.
Sitting on the bed, I began a list on scrap parchment:
Goals:
Secure resources (herbs, hidden caches, black-market trades).
Train mana quietly, away from prying eyes.
Avoid the central cast until absolutely necessary.
Survive.
Simple. Manageable. Foolproof—if I could keep my distance.
I leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
Outside, laughter and voices of other students drifted in. Somewhere far above, I thought I heard faint chuckling again.
That god. Watching. Waiting.
I clenched my jaw. "Laugh all you want. I'll prove you wrong."
The Moonveil roots glimmered faintly in the lamplight, like they were promising me a future. A future away from the Hero, the Saintess, and the endless spiral of fate.
If only it could stay that way.