The morning sun filtered through the high-arched windows of Arcadia Academy, casting golden light over its marble corridors. Luca still felt slightly off-balance. The smooth marble beneath his boots, the subtle hum of magic in the air, and the bustle of students dressed in flowing uniforms—this wasn't some VR headset. It was all painfully real.
Vincent said little as they walked side by side through the white-stone arches.
"Orientation's in the amphitheater ahead," he said, gesturing toward a massive structure built into the hillside. "You'll be fine. Don't embarrass the family name."
And with that, Vincent turned and disappeared into the upper-class dormitory wing without waiting for a reply.
Luca was left to stand alone, staring at the flood of students filing toward the structure. His pulse quickened. The uniform on his back itched, the gold trim too noble for someone who still didn't know how to cast a basic spell.
Right. Seventeen. First year. Four-year curriculum.That's what I am now.
He joined the stream of students moving into the amphitheater. The inside was grander than any school auditorium he'd ever seen—an enchanted, tiered half-dome of polished marble, floating banners, and hovering crystal orbs that gently lit the space with ambient magic.
As he took a seat near the back, his attention drifted immediately.
He wasn't ready for this. Not the world, not the magic, not the sheer weight of what it meant to be here.
Okay. Deep breath. Focus.Let's get a grip on the world.
His mind began to build the mental map he knew all too well from the game.
Aetherion.
The continent of Aetherion was vast and diverse, carved by history, magic, and war. It wasn't just a fantasy map—it was a living, breathing world.
To the north lay Solaira, the Holy Kingdom. Snow-covered peaks and golden cathedrals dotted its lands. The people were devout and disciplined, their loyalty bound to the radiant goddess Lyria. Their knights marched in silver armor, and their Priests were said to channel divine miracles. Solaira was the beating heart of religious authority, revered and feared alike. It was where the concept of Holy Crusades had begun.
To the east was Valdros, a bustling kingdom of commerce and intrigue. Trade routes crisscrossed its territory, from river barges to desert caravans. Valdros was politically unstable—nobles schemed, merchant guilds ruled cities, and assassins worked in shadows. But its influence couldn't be denied. Innovations in enchantment and alchemy often originated there.
To the west, the mighty Empire of Astravia loomed. A sprawling military machine governed by an iron-blooded imperial court. Known for its magically enhanced soldiers, flying skyships, and war academies, Astravia's doctrine was clear: strength rules. Spellblades, technomages, and strategic genius made them the apex of human civilization. Even Arcadia Academy had ties to their scholars.
To the south, the ethereal realm of Ylladwyn, the home of the Elves. A lush, dreamlike forest untouched by time. At its center stood the mythical World Tree, a being of ancient power whose roots were said to pierce the world's ley-lines. Elves were guardians of this land—immortal, graceful, aloof. Their society revered balance and magic beyond mortal comprehension.
Beneath the central mountain ranges, hidden from light, lay Brymholde, the kingdom of Dwarves. Their stone cities were carved into mountain hearts, lit by glowing runes and rivers of lava. Forgemasters, rune-smiths, and architects of impossible machines, the Dwarves prized tradition and craftsmanship. Outsiders were rarely welcomed.
And at the center of it all stood Arcadia Academy—an institution unlike any other. A sovereign place of learning untouched by borders or politics. It accepted students of every race, background, and origin. Royalty and commoners, humans and demi-humans, all were treated as equals within its walls.
And between these powers: chaos. The Wildlands, unclaimed and unstable. There, mythical beasts soared—wyverns with crystal horns, chimeras that devoured entire villages, serpents that slept for centuries. Dangerous magic bled from ancient ruins. Mana storms could erase forests overnight.
This world is alive. Dangerous. Beautiful. And it's no longer bound by save files.
"You there, in the back."
The voice struck like a bolt.
Luca blinked and looked up.
A woman stood at the center of the amphitheater, hands clasped lightly behind her back. Her sky-blue hair, pinned in a high bun, shimmered under the enchanted light. A few loose strands curled around her cheeks. Her sharp blue eyes pierced straight through the crowd.
Her uniform robe was unmistakably tailored, navy with gold accents, clinging to her curves with a precision that was certainly not standard issue. Her bust pressed visibly against the snug fabric of her low-cut top, enough to stir more than a few whispering boys nearby. Yet despite the soft allure of her body, her aura was ice.
"Since you seem to find the ceiling more fascinating than my lecture," she continued, voice cold but amused, "perhaps you can tell us: what are the three primary combat classes recognized by Arcadia Academy?"
Luca stood awkwardly. Every eye in the room seemed to turn toward him.
This again?
He cleared his throat.
"There are three: Knight, Priest, and Mage."
The teacher tilted her head slightly. "Continue."
"Knights use Aura—it's refined life force, concentrated and trained to enhance the body. They're front-line warriors, capable of absurd feats of strength and speed. Aura lets them sense danger, react faster than thought, and cut through steel with their bare hands. They value discipline, endurance, and iron resolve."
"Priests wield Divine Power—gifts granted by gods, spirits, or sacred contracts. Their magic heals wounds, purifies curses, and invokes miracles that defy reality. But it comes with a cost: faith, obedience, or sacrifice. High-level Priests can bless allies with divine buffs or summon holy guardians."
"Mages channel Mana, the raw magical essence that exists in the world and within. They manipulate elements, cast spells, and alter the battlefield from a distance. Mages come in many types—elementalists, conjurers, enchanters. With enough mana and willpower, a single Mage can destroy a city."
A pause.
Then, the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at her lips. "Correct. You may sit."
He dropped back into his seat, heat crawling up his neck.
Okay. That went better than expected.
"Allow me to formally introduce myself," the woman said as she resumed her place at the podium. "I am Professor Seraphina Elmare. I will be instructing you in Combat Theory, Magical History, and overseeing your dueling examinations. Should you forget that again, I'll be happy to engrave it into your skulls."
Nervous laughter spread across the hall.
Seraphina Elmare... sharp, cold, and terrifyingly hot.
Luca rubbed his temples.
The orientation moved on. Seraphina conjured floating diagrams in the air—maps, military banners, family crests, diagrams of mana channels. She outlined the academy's rules, dormitory assignments, class structures, and upcoming practical tests.
But Luca kept catching himself drifting.
Not from boredom.
From sheer overload.
The magic, the history, the lore—he already knew most of it. But it wasn't fiction anymore. This was reality. A world where a careless word or wrong alliance could lead to death.
And worse, he had no idea why he was here.
Possessed a throwaway character in a world I studied to death.No system. No tutorial. No second life buffs.Just me. Luca. A forgotten side character with a famous last name.
"Finally," Seraphina said, voice cutting back through his fog, "before you are assigned your first class, each of you will undergo a personal interview with faculty to determine your aptitude and suitability. This will begin immediately, by group."
Luca sat straighter.
Right. The class selection process.
In the game, this was where the player's build path would begin. Magic affinity, aura control, stat spread—it all started here.
But I have none of that.How the hell am I supposed to qualify for anything?
He didn't have long to dwell.
A ripple ran through the amphitheater. The air shifted. Students turned.
Someone had entered from the main hall.
A tall boy, black hair falling in soft waves to his neck, golden eyes sharp like molten blades. He walked with a presence that commanded attention, his uniform immaculate, his boots silent on the marble.
Whispers followed him like a tide.
"Is that...?""That's him... the Hero candidate."
Luca recognized him instantly.
Not by name, but by presence.
The original protagonist of End Realm.The one I died 1,432 times trying to help succeed.
He stood at the entrance, surveying the crowd.
And the story—the real one—had just begun.