The Grand Hall of Aethelgard was an architectural masterpiece designed to make the individual feel small. Soaring rib-vaulted ceilings were inlaid with glow-stones that mimicked a twilight sky, and the walls were lined with the statues of heroes who had fallen closing the Great Gates of the past. At the far end of the hall stood the Orb of Evaluation, a sphere of condensed crystalline mana the size of a carriage wheel. It was the only moment where the privacy of a student's System was temporarily breached—a necessary intrusion to categorize the elite into their respective wings.
Alaric stood in the middle of the line, his presence acting like a physical anchor for the chaos around him. Freshmen whispered in hushed, frantic tones, their anxiety palpable. To his left, a boy was shaking so hard his leather armor creaked; to his right, a girl was reciting a mantra of protection. Alaric didn't need a mantra. He stood with his hands loosely clasped behind his back, his telekinesis maintaining a subtle, silent buffer between his uniform and the crowd.
Scanning the room, Alaric noticed the crowd density was causing a steady rise in the ambient temperature. He watched the professors on the dais, noting the way their eyes lingered not just on the students' forms, but on their micro-expressions. They were looking for emotional stability. He estimated that at least half of these candidates would struggle with the psychological pressures of the frontier before the first semester was out.
His gaze drifted to the front of the line. There, standing before the Orb, was a girl who looked like she was made of glass and moonlight. This was Seraphina, the Holy Maiden of the Lunar Cathedral. To the rest of the class, she was a symbol of purity—a girl with a gift for healing that bordered on the divine. But Alaric noticed the micro-tremors in her shoulders. His telekinetic sonar picked up her pulse; it was erratic, skipping beats in a rhythm of pure, unadulterated stress. It was a strange sight—someone so blessed by the light appearing so haunted by the occasion.
He watched as Seraphina placed her trembling hand on the Orb. The crystal flared with a blinding, iridescent white light that reflected off the polished marble floor.
[Name: Seraphina]
[Class: Saint-Healer]
[Rank: S]
[Trait: Divine Clarity]
A murmur of awe rippled through the hall. Seraphina, however, didn't look proud. She turned away from the Orb, her eyes darting through the crowd until they landed directly on Alaric. He didn't look away. Instead, he gave her a gentle, encouraging smile and mouthed a quiet word of congratulations.
Seraphina flinched as if he'd struck her. She hurried off the dais, her white robes billowing, and took a seat at the very edge of the auditorium, as far from him as the rows allowed. Alaric noted the behavior with a growing curiosity. Between the boy from the North and the girl from the Cathedral, he was beginning to feel like a ghost at his own feast.
"Alaric Thorne," the Headmaster's voice boomed.
The hall fell into a silence so profound Alaric could hear the hum of the mana-circuits beneath the floorboards. He stepped onto the dais, his movements fluid and rhythmic. He reached out, his fingers brushing the cool surface of the Orb. He didn't suppress his power; he simply focused it, channeling his telekinesis into a singular, dense thread. The Orb didn't just flare; it hummed. A deep, resonant violet light filled the hall, making the shadows of the statues dance.
[Name: Alaric Thorne]
[Class: Scholar-Prodigy]
[Rank: SS]
[Trait: Hyper-Intellect / Perfect Equilibrium]
The silence deepened into a vacuum. The Headmaster stood up, his chair scraping loudly. "SS-Rank..." the old man whispered. "The rumors were understated."
Alaric withdrew his hand, the light fading. He turned to the audience, his expression one of modest, approachable grace. "I am honored," Alaric said, his voice carrying effortlessly. "I hope we can all use these gifts to make the world a little safer than we found it. I look forward to standing beside you all on the field."
It was a warm, human speech. Half the freshmen began to clap, their fears momentarily forgotten. But for Seraphina, the words were like ice water in her veins. On her own private interface, a secondary window was open—a unique skill she had carried since she woke up in this past.
[Skill: Sin-Sense Rank EX]
[Target: Alaric Thorne]
[Current Sin Count: 0]
[Soul Alignment: Absolute White]
It's not possible, she screamed internally. I saw him stand atop the Pile of Martyrs. How can his soul be white? She realized then, with a sinking horror, that Alaric didn't do evil because he enjoyed it; he did it because he had convinced himself it was the only way to save what mattered. And because he genuinely believed he was doing good, the System did not record it as sin. To Seraphina, a man who could commit atrocities with a pure soul was infinitely more terrifying than a demon.
As the ceremony concluded, Alaric found himself immediately swamped by classmates. He handled them all with a master's touch, but his eyes never left the outliers. He noticed Seraphina trying to sneak out a side door and moved to intercept her.
"Lady Seraphina," he called out softly.
She froze, her hand on the door handle. She slowly turned, her face pale. "Lord Thorne," she whispered.
"I noticed you looked a bit overwhelmed up there," Alaric said, his telekinesis subtly dampening the noise of the crowd around them to create a pocket of privacy. "It's a heavy burden, being an S-Rank healer. Everyone expects miracles. I just wanted you to know that you don't have to be perfect for us. We're classmates. We should be looking out for each other."
He offered a comforting smile, his eyes filled with a warmth that felt entirely sincere. Seraphina looked at him, searching for a lie, but found only kindness. "Why are you telling me this?" she blurted out.
Alaric tilted his head, looking genuinely touched by her question. "Because I've seen what happens to people who try to carry the world on their own. I'd much rather have you as a friend than a martyr, Seraphina."
Seraphina fled through the door without another word. Alaric stood alone, watching her disappear. He noted her frantic pulse and the way she wouldn't meet his gaze. The social dynamics of this class were far more fractured than the academy records had suggested. If the best of them were this fragile, he would have to be the one to hold the line.