The instructor Carla finished showing them around and handed out their class schedules. Then she wrapped up her duties and allowed the students to leave and rest.
Morning light filtered through the Academy's tall windows, painting the long hallways in a soft gold. The buzz of newly arrived students filled the air: nervous laughter, hurried footsteps, and the anxious whisper of those flipping through maps, afraid of getting lost.
In the infirmary of the Class A building, Kara slowly opened her eyes. The white ceiling and the faint scent of medicinal herbs grounded her instantly. A mage in a blue robe checked her with quick, practiced movements, patted her shoulder, and left without a word.
—You're awake, niece. How do you feel? —Magnus's voice, deep and familiar, pulled her from her haze. He stood by the window, outlined by the morning light, his silhouette as imposing as ever.
It took Kara a moment to remember. The platform. The fight. The blow. She frowned.
—Where am I? What happened? —she murmured, her voice still hoarse.
Magnus let out a half-smile.
—Looks like Lusian hit you hard enough to cloud your memory.
The name struck her like lightning. Lusian. She remembered the fall, the helplessness. She lowered her gaze, clenching her fists.
—I lost… —she admitted, swallowing her pride.
—And quite thoroughly, girl. Believe me, I know how it feels. When I was young, Albert used to defeat me even in my dreams. But because of that, I learned to stand up stronger —Magnus said, a nostalgic glint in his eyes.
The anger flared again inside Kara. She sat up abruptly, defiant.
—I want a rematch. I didn't show my full power, I know it. This time I won't hold back.
Magnus watched her patiently, but his voice was firm:
—It wasn't carelessness, Kara. Lusian anticipated every one of your moves. If you repeat the same strategy, you'll fall again.
Kara lowered her head for only a second before lifting her gaze, resolute. Her eyes burned.
—Uncle, help me train. I can't stay like this. I need to defeat him.
Magnus crossed his arms, his expression stern, though his lips twitched with a faint smile.
—You know that as director I must remain impartial… —he began, but Kara was already giving him that impossible-to-resist pleading look.
—Please, uncle…
Magnus sighed, defeated.
—Fine. Come to my office after class. But no one can know.
Kara smiled, victorious, and the air filled with an electric tension, a prelude to future storms.
Meanwhile, the academy buzzed with life. In the Class 1A classroom, Professor Clara stood before the desks, back straight, her cloak gleaming under the light. She tapped the table, and the class fell silent.
—Today I will tell you about the mage Garrent Plott, a hero of the kingdom —she announced, her voice filling the room with the solemnity of a bell—. He faced a thousand enemies alone, and though he fell, his legend inspires all mages.
Some students listened, absorbed; others barely hid their yawns. Clara continued without missing a beat:
—Those who know their path lies in advanced magic may stay. Those who prefer brute strength, the arena awaits.
Kasper raised his hand.
—Is the class not mandatory? —he asked, more curious than defiant.
Clara smiled with a hint of mockery.
—The academy does not perform miracles. Knights have never mastered advanced magic; only mages, gifted with intelligence, can aspire to it.
From the back, Lusian couldn't help but reply:
—Just like mages can't swing a sword without falling over.
Laughter broke out, and the atmosphere eased. The warriors—Lusian, Kasper, Corwin, Nilson, Craig, Darilyn, and Corwick—headed toward the arena, while others, like Emily and Jenna, stayed behind, attentive.
Clara turned to the remaining students, her eyes shining with enthusiasm:
—Now, let's begin. Advanced magic consumes more mana and requires greater control. Soon you will learn to inscribe spells into artifacts. And of course, you will practice in the training area.
In the hallways, Lusian and his group walked past banners and display cases filled with relics of former champions. Jean The Mondring joined them with light steps.
—Mr. Lusian, congratulations on your victory! —she greeted with a smile.
Lusian blinked.
—Thanks… do we know each other?
—Albert is my uncle —Jean explained, bowing her head slightly—. It's been years since we last met.
Jokes and stories began to flow. They spoke of brutal training sessions, of Albert's harshness, of the scars that shape character. Lusian issued a challenge:
—How about a sword fight? No magic, just skill.
Jean accepted with a laugh.
—It would be an honor, but don't expect me to hold back.
The group burst into laughter, the tension of the coming duel hanging between them. Outside, the blue sky over the academy promised duels, learning, and a rivalry that had only just begun.