The South-Land Royal Capital.
The epicenter of the South-Land, the capital thrived with life. Its massive streets bustled with people, carriages, and the hum of magic. Towering buildings stretched toward the sky, reflecting the sun's golden light. At roughly 2.5 square kilometers, it held millions of residents of every rank, each moving with purpose or ambition.
Among its famed sites were the Royal Castle, home to the monarchy, and the Royal Army Headquarters, cradle of the legendary Royal Knights.
Entry to the city was far from simple. At one of the eight sprawling gates, a crowd of merchants, travelers, and hopeful recruits waited as guards meticulously checked every passerby.
"Next!" a guard barked, signaling a caravan ahead to move along.
Nearby, a young woman fumbled through her handbag.
"Where is it? Frank will kill me if I lose it," she muttered, finally spotting the cash hidden among her makeup. Relief washed over her—just as a scrawny man snatched the bag and bolted.
"No! Help! Thief!"
Two guards sprang into action. The thief grinned as his legs morphed into the strong limbs of a deer, propelling him forward with impossible speed. The gap between him and the guards widened—but before he could escape, a muscular forearm collided with his face, spinning him violently before he dropped to the ground.
A figure stood over the fallen thief, holding the bag.
"Here, officers," the figure said casually.
The guards froze. The boy looked… too mature for his age. Standing at 5'8" and 16 years old, Dom wore a sleeveless blue-black hoodie, jeans, and old but sharp sneakers. Even under the hoodie, his lean, trained physique spoke of years of intense training.
He rubbed the long scar on his left cheek, confused by the shock on the guards' faces, before noticing the line had moved forward.
"Shit," Dom muttered, quickly handing the bag to the male guard before rushing to reclaim his spot in line.
"Something tells me that boy's here to join the knights," the male guard muttered, eyeing Dom as he argued with someone further down the line, then glancing back at the motionless thief.
"Seriously… these recruits are getting more monstrous every year," he added, shaking his head. His gaze flicked to the female guard, who hadn't taken her eyes off Dom.
He narrowed his eyes at her before realization dawned. "Are you… blushing?"
She looked away, flustered, clearing her throat loudly.
"Let's just get this guy into custody," she said, conjuring a puff of pink clouds that lifted the thief's body effortlessly.
"Oh no… we need to talk about this pedophile vibe you've got going on," the male guard teased, grinning.
"Shut up," she snapped, storming away with the thief. The male guard chuckled as he returned the bag to its rightful owner.
Fifteen minutes later, Dom reached the front of the line. A tired-looking official eyed him critically.
"You mean to tell me your folks let a kid like you travel all the way here alone?"
"Unfortunately," Dom replied, remembering Pops' words just before his three-day journey:
<"I only had enough saved for one trip, so you're on your own. Just stay away from sketchy-looking men or women, and you'll be fine… mostly.">
Dom's glare softened at the memory just as the official stamped his pass.
"Welcome to the Royal Capital, kid," he said. Dom tucked the pass safely away, excitement bubbling.
The gates opened, revealing the city in full bloom. Horses clattered over cobblestone, merchants shouted their wares, and mages strolled casually, their auras faintly glowing. Dom inhaled the unfamiliar scents, his eyes darting between towering structures.
"I'm finally here," he whispered, pulling off his hood to reveal his slick temp-fade haircut. The sudden reveal of his scarred, matured face drew a few startled stares from passersby.
Half an hour later, he wandered the campus of the Royal Knight Academy, taking in the tall, ornate buildings. His eyes fell on a monumental statue dedicated to the Monarchs—then, farther along, he froze.
The fire mage from his past, Anthony, sculpted in stone, stood proudly among the statues. A memory sparked, vivid as ever.
Dom smiled faintly. Six years, and he's still burned into my mind…
Nearby, young mages laughed and socialized. Dom's gaze swept across them, calculating.
So these are the guys I'm up against. Heh… bring it on, he thought, a sudden grin spreading across his face. The grin was enough to make a nearby boy instinctively step back, unease written all over him.
A sudden cough from behind pulled Dom out of his thoughts. He turned to see a pompous-looking mage in expensive, ornate clothes sneering down at him, a nervous-looking lackey hovering nearby.
"Move aside, commoner," the boy said, his tone dripping with condescension.
Dom's smile vanished instantly. Great. Another Matt, he thought, scowling. He sighed and shrugged. "Sure, dude. Go crazy." He started to walk away.
"Wait." The boy's voice snapped Dom's attention back. "Didn't your family teach you any manners? You're supposed to bow to someone of higher status than you."
Dom raised a brow. "Bro… I don't even know who you are."
The boy's nostrils flared, and his fists clenched as if Dom's words were a personal attack.
"Have you been living under a rock?" the lackey stepped forward, glaring. "He's Roger Reginald, third son of the Reginald Noble Family." He waved his hand grandly. "One of the highest-ranked nobles in all of South-Land."
"And I don't care," Dom said dismissively, waving his hand. Roger's brow twitched in irritation. "Look, I just got here after a long trip. I'm tired. I just want to attend the ceremony and sleep. We can deal with… whatever this is later, okay? Uh…"
"Roger Reginald!" Roger spat, his anger boiling over.
Dom snapped his fingers. "Yeah, that. So… bye." He turned to walk away again.
"You, lowly peasant," Roger growled, his hand igniting with green mana.
Dom froze, defensive instincts kicking in. His fists clenched, ready to respond—but before he could move, a firm hand shot out and grabbed Roger's wrist.
"Unhand me," Roger demanded, struggling—but the grip was unyielding.
Dom turned to find a new face beside Roger—a strict-looking teen with ivory skin and silky black hair falling in a curtain fringe. His piercing gaze locked onto Roger immediately.
Dom's eyes drifted slightly lower, noting the teen's simple, formal attire: a crisp white shirt tucked neatly into black pants, polished cover shoes completing the look.
"It's against regulations to fight on unauthorized grounds," the teen said, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable authority.
Roger grunted loudly, straining, eyes widening as he tried—and failed—to break free.
"Do you want to get arrested for attacking a noble? Let him go!" the lackey demanded—but he flinched instantly under the teen's glowing violet eyes.
"As long as he understands that rules must be followed," the teen replied, squeezing Roger's wrist hard enough to make him wince.
Roger's earlier aggression faded. "I understand… now unhand me," he muttered.
The teen stared at him for a moment, then released his grip. Roger hissed, massaging his wrist as his lackey hovered anxiously.
Dom folded his arms, impressed. He didn't use mana… and still made the noble bend. This guy might actually be fun.
The teen finally turned his attention to Dom, expression stern. "And you…"
"Me?" Dom asked, raising a brow.
"Even though you didn't start the fight, you instigated it. You're also at fault."
Dom paused, blinking at him. Then, with a loud slap to his forehead, he muttered, "A stickler for rules. Not fun."
The teen raised a brow, clearly confused by Dom's reaction.
Before anything else could happen, a uniformed soldier shouted, "Recruits! Quit chatting and join the others!"
The sudden command broke the tension. Both Dom and the teen glanced at each other one last time, their mutual wariness unspoken but unmistakable.
With an awkward but tense energy, they followed the crowd toward the Welcome Ceremony, careful to give each other plenty of space.