The Grand Hall of the Imperial Academy buzzed with anticipation.
Hundreds of students—nobles in fine fabrics and commoners in simpler wear—stood shoulder to shoulder beneath the stained glass dome. Sunlight painted them in the colors of the Empire, washing across the marble floors like fire and blood.
At the head of the chamber, the Headmaster stepped forward.
Silence fell.
"Welcome to the Imperial Academy," his voice rang out, stern and sharp. "Here, your bloodline is irrelevant. Your title means nothing. Strength, discipline, and talent are the only currencies we accept."
The students straightened, some smug, some nervous.
He paused—then delivered the blow.
"This year, among the new class, a student has achieved something unseen in generations."
A ripple of confusion moved through the crowd.
"He has awakened aura."
The reaction was instant.
Gasps. Whispers. Disbelief.
"That's impossible—"
"At this age?"
"You need to master a martial art and survive real death situations—who could've—?"
The Headmaster's voice cut through the noise. "You know what that means. Aura is not for the gifted. It is earned in blood, forged through pain. Most warriors chase it for decades and fail."
He let the weight of those words settle.
"To recognize this extraordinary feat, a duel will be held tomorrow between this unnamed student... and the strongest first-year mage."
Every head turned—not toward Kael, but toward the front, where a single student stood without reacting.
Lucien Thorne, the Crown Prince.
Silver-haired. Blue-eyed. Regal in every sense. The pinnacle of magical talent, respected and admired by all.
He didn't need to accept aloud. The silence around him was the acceptance.
The audience erupted. Speculation. Excitement. Questions.
As for Kael?
He remained where he stood in the crowd, unnoticed, unmoved, unreadable.
Just another uniform.
For now.
But tomorrow, he would step into the ring—not as a noble, not as a mage, not as a name.
As a weapon sharpened by ten years of hell.