The moment of judgment was drawing closer.
The academy grounds were filled with the sounds of students training relentlessly. Long-range magic sliced through the air, the clash of physical abilities echoed across the training arenas, and sparring matches unfolded one after another. Everyone trained with their own purpose in mind.
I had one too.
But the place I chose to go today was neither the training field nor the combat hall.
It was the library.
I wanted to understand how Talents were created. Where those abilities originated. Why every person possessed a Talent with unique characteristics. And why… sometimes a Talent ended up harming its own wielder.
Huff…
I had been sitting in this silent room for almost two hours, yet I found nothing. I simply flipped through pages, wasting time without direction.
Even with the match that would determine my future approaching, I couldn't calm myself unless I came here and searched through these books.
What should I do next…?
With my control abilities and battle experience so far, I was confident I could reach the second round. It was the rounds after that which truly worried me.
THUD!
My elbow accidentally knocked over a rather thick book. A thin layer of dust scattered as it slid across the table. Written boldly across the cover were two words.
"The Clown."
That must be the title.
Did I grab this by accident? Probably. The book was far too thick for simple fiction… but reading the opening might help me rest for a bit.
I opened it and began reading.
Inside the quiet, cool atmosphere of the library, I lost myself in its words.
"...The clown performed and danced before countless spectators, sacrificing his sanity just to earn a piece of bread… while the audience laughed, some even mocked his suffering…"
I never expected to find a book like this in the academy library, which was usually filled with materials meant to support students—especially Miracle Seats.
There were parts that could have been explored deeper… but it was still an interesting read. Good enough to pass the time.
Although… I probably wouldn't continue it.
"The Clown…"
You're pitiful…
But that's how this world works, isn't it?
Everything keeps turning. Nothing remains permanent. Someone can stand at the top today… and fall to the very bottom tomorrow.
And those who look like they never fall… believe me, they have already fallen thousands of times before becoming who they are now.
I closed the book slowly and stood up, returning it to its shelf.
That was enough for today.
Next… I would train my Talent.
Whatever awaited me in the future, I would keep moving forward.
And I would win.
"…Definitely."
________________________________________________________________________________________
A peaceful week passed.
The days I spent training had begun to show results. My control over my Talent had improved significantly. Now, I could create more than just a scythe.
I could create another weapon.
A dagger.
A small blade that was light and incredibly fast, yet dangerously exposed. It was the complete opposite of the scythe, which was heavy, powerful, and defensive.
It would be better if I could create armor… or at least a shield. However, maintaining armor shaped to fit my body while fighting would surely exhaust me.
For now… the scythe and the dagger would have to be enough. At least until the third round.
Knock. Knock.
Someone tapped on my bedroom door.
"Rinne, are you inside?" Father's gentle voice came from outside.
"Yes, come in," I replied warmly.
Father entered and immediately noticed the dagger in my hand.
"How is your training going, Rinne?" he asked while sitting beside me.
"It's going great! I can even create a dagger now!" I said proudly.
"Yes… it looks light, but lethal," Father replied as he observed the blade. "Make sure you use your Talent for the right reasons."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"There's something I want to tell you."
"What is it, Father?"
"Before I say it… can you promise that you'll do whatever I ask?"
I stared at him for a moment before nodding.
"As long as it's within my ability… I will."
"Hm…" Father inhaled slowly. "Do you know who your opponent in the second round is?"
"If I'm not mistaken… the first son of King Xenoliya. Brian Mert," I answered.
"That's correct."
His tone shifted—heavier, more serious.
"I want you to win the first round… and face Brian."
I froze.
"Please… win. For our family."
I didn't fully understand what Father meant. I didn't know the real purpose behind his request.
But…
From the very beginning, my goal had been clear.
To restore the Alz family name to its former glory—as creators of advanced combat technology for the upper families.
Because of that…
I clenched my fist tightly.
"…I will win."