The dismissal bell of the Academy did not chime; it was a low, resonant vibration that seemed to hum through the very stones of the mountain. As the students filtered out of Lecture Hall 4, the atmosphere was thick with the hushed, frantic energy of those who had just seen the hierarchy of the world laid bare.
Eizen moved through the crowd like a shark through a school of minnows. He didn't rush, yet people instinctively cleared a path. He emerged into the Great Quadrangle, a massive courtyard paved with hexagonal basalt stones. To his left rose the Cusp of Chronos, a clock tower whose gears were lubricated by mana, and to his right, the Refectory of the Wise, from which the scent of roasted meats and expensive spices drifted.
It was here, near a fountain carved into the likeness of a weeping siren, that Eizen encountered the boy from the lecture.
Zack was hunched over a heavy leather-bound tome, his side-parted black hair falling over his silver-rimmed spectacles. He looked up as Eizen approached, his eyes darting nervously.
"You're... Room 202, right?" Zack asked. His voice was a strange cocktail of anxiety and sudden, misplaced confidence. "I'm Zack. From the Merchant Duchy of Zinthar. I saw you sitting up there. Dangerous spot. Everyone can see you, but you can see no one's hands."
Eizen gave a slow, measured nod. He didn't speak, but his presence seemed to occupy more space than was physically possible. Zack shifted, his fingers tapping a rhythmic, nervous beat on his book. "I suppose being a Prince means you don't have to talk to commoners. Or maybe the rumors about your tongue are—"
Zack's sentence died in his throat. The air around them suddenly grew cold—not the natural cold of the mountains, but the artificial, biting chill of aggressive mana.
The Predators of the Quad
Five figures crossed the basalt stones. At the center was Harlan Voss, a nineteen-year-old from the Post-Graduate Program. Harlan was a Tier 2 Flow (Medial) user, his attribute being Blade Magic. He was dressed in the dark grey robes of the upper years, his face scarred with the arrogance of one who has tasted power and found it intoxicating.
Flanking him were four Undergraduates in their final year—the "Hounds" of the North Wing. There was Crix, the son of a fallen Baron; Gale, a brawler from the borderlands; and two twins whose families were nothing more than vassals to the Voss estate. They were known for 'breaking' new students to secure their own standing.
"Look at this," Harlan sneered, his voice carrying across the courtyard. Students stopped in their tracks, forming a wide, fearful circle. "The silent doll has come to play. I heard the King of Devon sent us his trash because the garbage pits back home were full."
Crix, the tallest of the Undergraduates, stepped forward. He was wide-shouldered and thick-necked, a boy who relied on bulk. He reached out and grabbed Eizen's high-collared tunic. Though Eizen stood 157 centimeters—a few centimeters taller than Crix—the older boy used his weight to yank Eizen forward.
Eizen didn't flinch. He didn't even raise his hands. He looked into Crix's eyes with a depth of emerald coldness that made the older boy's grip falter for a fraction of a second.
"Take your hand off me," Eizen said. His voice was a calm, melodic silk, but it carried a weight that felt like an ultimatum.
"Or what, your Highness?" Crix laughed, looking back at Harlan for approval. "You'll bleed on my boots?"
The Mechanics of the Void
Eizen didn't wait for a second warning. In a movement so fluid it appeared mechanical, he stepped inside Crix's reach. He didn't use mana; he used Physics.
His hand caught Crix's wrist while his shoulder drove upward into the boy's armpit, negating the center of gravity. A classic shoulder takedown, executed with the terrifying force of an Obsidian Skeleton. Crix didn't just fall; he was driven into the basalt stones with a bone-jarring thud that knocked the air from his lungs. He was out before his head hit the ground.
Harlan's eyes widened. "Get him!"
The other three Undergraduates charged. Eizen placed his hands behind his back.
He moved with the grace of a dancer and the precision of a guillotine. As Gale lunged, Eizen pivoted on his heel, his leg snapping out in a high, arcing kick that caught the boy under the jaw. Before Gale's body could even recoil, Eizen's other leg followed with a low, sweeping strike to the ankles of the twins.
It was a display of pure biological mastery—Within ten seconds, three final-year students were sprawling on the stones, clutching broken ribs and shattered egos.
The Blade of Voss
Harlan Voss hissed, his hands glowing with a sharp, metallic silver light. "You think you're fast? I am Tier 2! I am Flow!"
Harlan flicked his wrist. Five daggers of pure mana crystallized in the air and whistled toward Eizen's chest. Eizen didn't even jump; he simply tilted his torso, the daggers grazing the air where he had stood a millisecond before. He was calculating the trajectory before Harlan had even released the mana.
Desperate, Harlan reached into his robes and pulled a flashing mana-dagger—a physical weapon enhanced by his attribute. He threw it at point-blank range. Eizen felt the displacement of air, his Obsidian nerves sensing the vibration. He twisted his head, the blade whistling past his ear to clatter harmlessly against the Siren fountain.
"Enough!" Harlan roared. He drew his steel sword from its scabbard, the blade humming with Tier 2 Medial mana. He swung in a wide, horizontal arc meant to decapitate.
Eizen ducked, the steel passing inches above his textured brown hair. He stepped into Harlan's guard. A single, short-range punch exploded into Harlan's liver. The force was so immense it didn't just cause a spasm; the Obsidian knuckles acted as hammers, snapping two of Harlan's ribs and sending a shockwave through his internal organs.
Harlan gasped, his sword arm dropping. Eizen's fingers flickered, striking a specific nerve cluster in Harlan's wrist. The sword fell, clattering on the cobbles. Eizen didn't stop. He pivoted, his body rotating 360 degrees as he brought his heel down in a devastating axe-kick directly onto Harlan's shoulder.
The Post-Graduate was smashed face-first into the ground, the basalt cracking beneath his weight.
The Survival of the Crowd
"He... he took out a Tier 2 Medial," someone whispered in the back of the crowd.
"He didn't even use magic. Was that... just physical strength?"
"Shh! Look, the Proctors are coming!"
Heavy footsteps echoed from the cloisters. Professor Silas, the Practical Magic Professor, a man with a Tier 4 Aura that felt like a mountain, rushed into the courtyard. "Who did this? Who dared to use unauthorized combat on these grounds?"
Eizen had already stepped back. He didn't run; he simply dissolved into the crowd of fifty students. He smoothed his collar and stood next to Zack.
"Who did this?" Silas roared, looking at the five unconscious bodies.
In a display of collective survival instinct, every student in the courtyard—nearly a hundred of them—raised their arms simultaneously. They weren't protecting Eizen out of loyalty; they were protecting themselves from being the "snitch" that a boy who could break a Tier 2 user might come for next.
Silas looked around, his Aura flaring in frustration. But with a hundred silent witnesses and no one speaking, there was nothing he could do. "Get these fools to the infirmary," he spat.
The Aftermath
An hour later, the courtyard had returned to its eerie Gothic calm. Eizen and Zack sat on a stone bench under a weeping willow. Zack was clutching a small tray of light refreshers—tarts and chilled mint tea—his hands still trembling.
"You're insane," Zack whispered, taking a frantic bite of a tart. "You just broke the son of a Minister. They're going to kill you."
Eizen took a sip of the coffee, his emerald eyes fixed on the distant mountain peaks.
"They won't," Eizen said, his voice a cold, comforting shadow. "Because to admit that an Undergraduate without magic defeated a Post-Graduate with a sword... is a humiliation they cannot afford to write into the records."
He looked at Zack.
"Eat your tart, Zack. The next lesson is History, and I intend to be the first one in the hall."