Royal Academy of the Aurelion Empire
Imperial Capital – Central District
The Royal Academy stood at the heart of the capital like a crown forged from stone and mana.
High walls of ancient black granite surrounded the main complex, each brick carved with defensive runes older than most noble houses. Floating platforms circled the upper towers, rotating slowly, powered by mana conduits that pulsed like veins beneath the surface.
Skybridges connected gothic spires.
Magitech cannons rested between battlements.
Above the central tower hovered three concentric rings of crystalline arrays layered with aerial defenses.
This was not merely a place of education.
It was a fortress.
A statement.
The Empire did not produce weak soldiers.
It forged them.
Students walked through vast courtyards lined with enchanted trees whose leaves shimmered silver under the morning sun. Knights trained beside robe-clad mages. Artificial constructs carried books. Mana lamps floated beside stone archways.
And among the hundreds walking through those gates today,
Not all wore noble crests.
Some wore simple black uniforms.
No house emblem.
No lineage behind them.
They were the commoners.
Prodigies selected through Imperial Trials.
Children who earned their place through blood and talent.
Which meant one thing.
Tension.
First Year – Combat Hall
The hall was massive, lined with racks of swords, rifles, and wands arranged with almost ceremonial precision. Tiered stone seating descended toward a central dueling platform engraved with layered spell formations. Floating crystals hung overhead, ready to project battlefield simulations.
House banners shimmered faintly behind noble students.
A group of commoners sat together on the left side, uniforms plain, eyes sharp.
The atmosphere was already divided.
The doors opened.
Leonardo Aurelion Valerius entered with his team behind him.
The room shifted.
Whispers lowered.
Some bowed their heads subtly.
Others stiffened.
Max walked beside him, posture loud again. Elena calm. Torian silent. Liam observant.
Leonardo took a seat in the center.
A noble student leaned toward another and muttered quietly,
"They let commoners sit this close now?"
One of the commoners heard it.
His jaw tightened.
Before the tension could rise,
The doors opened again.
Silence fell instantly.
Professor Gerald Lionheart entereda Peak S-Rank Swordsman nicknamed The Silver Severance, and the Former Commander of the Western Front.
He wore a simple dark coat.
No medals.
No ornaments.
A single silver sword rested at his waist.
That was enough.
The air grew heavier.
Not from released aura.
But from presence.
Several students instinctively straightened.
A few lowered their eyes.
He stepped into the center of the arena.
No introduction.
No greeting.
He simply looked at them.
Gerald reached into his coat and pressed a small rune-embedded device clipped to his belt.
The ceiling crystals activated instantly.
A massive projection unfolded above the arena.
A ruined city beneath a blood-red sky.
Collapsed towers.
Burning siege lines.
Mana storms tearing through fractured streets.
Construct soldiers patrolling in coordinated formations.
Gasps filled the hall.
"That battlefield," Gerald said calmly, "is a preserved reconstruction of the Third Western Campaign."
A commoner student straightened.
"Sir… that campaign had over sixty percent casualties."
"Correct."
"And we're expected to survive that?"
A noble chuckled lightly.
"Relax. If it gets bad, hide behind someone with a crest."
Several commoners stood halfway.
"Sit."
Leonardo's voice cut through the tension.
He didn't raise it.
But it carried.
He turned slightly toward the noble.
"If you require lineage to survive," Leonardo said calmly, "you were admitted by mistake."
Silence.
Gerald watched without intervening.
"Settle down," he said evenly, his gaze sweeping over both noble and commoner alike.
"Pain feedback will be limited to thirty percent. Death will be simulated. Fear will not."
He gestured toward the projection.
"You will enter in teams."
"Objectives will shift dynamically."
"Mana regeneration will be restricted."
"Your performance will be ranked publicly."
Murmurs spread.
Public ranking.
Political consequences.
House reputations.
Scholarship renewals.
Gerald's gaze returned to Leonardo.
"Valerius."
Leonardo stood immediately.
"Yes, Professor."
"Tell me," Gerald said, voice calm. "What is power?"
The class turned toward the Crown Prince.
Leonardo didn't hesitate.
"Power is the ability to impose your will upon reality."
A faint murmur spread.
Gerald studied him.
"And when reality refuses?"
Leonardo's golden eyes sharpened.
"Then you become stronger than it."
A faint smile almost touched Gerald's lips.
Almost.
"Wrong."
The room stiffened.
"Power," Gerald said quietly, "is what remains when your will fails."
The words landed heavily.
Even Leonardo paused.
Gerald turned slightly, addressing the entire class.
"You believe brilliance wins wars."
His voice dropped a degree colder.
"Survival does."
For the briefest moment, something in Leonardo's posture stirred an old memory within him a certain Duke who once refused to yield even when surrounded by fire and steel.
Gerald looked away.
"You will learn the difference."
He spent the remainder of the class outlining battlefield formations, role distribution, mana conservation strategies, and balanced team structures. He dismantled a noble's flawed strategy with surgical precision and unexpectedly commended a commoner for identifying a supply-line weakness.
By the time the lecture ended, the room felt different.
Sharper.
More aware.
Chairs shifted. Voices rose.
"Valerius."
The single word stopped everything.
Leonardo paused mid-step and turned.
"Yes, Professor."
Gerald stood near the central console, arms folded.
"I heard you and your team made quite a show in the Student Council."
Murmurs rippled across the class.
A commoner whispered, "Student Council? Already?"
A noble scoffed quietly.
Leonardo remained composed.
"We corrected an inefficient decision."
Gerald descended a few steps.
Measured. Heavy boots against stone.
"Your team member openly challenged the Student Council President."
The statement was precise. Not accusatory.
Leonardo met his gaze evenly.
"The issue required correction."
A few students stiffened.
That wasn't humility.
That was authority.
Gerald stopped a few steps away.
"You move boldly," he said.
Silence stretched.
Then-
"Be careful."
Not loud.
Not threatening.
Just deliberate.
"A Raven never gives second chances."
Most of the class didn't understand the weight of it.
But Leonardo did.
His eyes did not waver.
"Understood."
A brief pause.
Gerald turned away.
"Dismissed."
The tension broke instantly.
Students began whispering.
Some stared at Leonardo with admiration.
Others with irritation.
A few with caution.
Leonardo walked out without another word.
But one thing was clear.
Gerald Lionheart had not warned him.
He had measured him.
And the assessment had only just begun.