Lucy was standing there with her eyes widened as Ace's words reached her ears.
"Even if your tongue lashes against a Hero or a Crown, know this—"
Ace leaned slightly forward, eyes like glaciers under fire.
"No one silences a Thornevale."
His words settled over her like a mantle — not a burden, but an armor.
Her lips trembled. She stared at him — the man who never bowed, who stood above even emperors in pride. And for the first time in her life, someone didn't just tell her she mattered — he commanded her to live like it.
Tears welled up before she could stop them.
And then, without thought, she lunged forward, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug, burying her face into his shoulder.
Ace blinked, still for a moment.
Her shoulders shook as quiet sobs escaped her. But her grip didn't loosen.
"Thank you…" she whispered." Thank you, big brother…"
Ace didn't move for a heartbeat.
Then, with a sigh, his hand gently rested on her back. Not out of warmth — but acceptance.
"Just don't cry like that in public," he muttered,"…or they'll think I bullied you."
A quiet laugh escaped her through the tears.
The Thornevale guards, though stoic, glanced at the moment with a smile on their faces.
The morning of the beginning of classes.
The lecture hall buzzed with energy.
Rows of students in freshly pressed uniforms filled the tiered seats, murmuring with anticipation. It was the first day of formal classes at the Imperial Academy, and the weight of tradition and expectation hung heavy in the air.
The room was grand — arched windows lined the side, letting morning sunlight spill over polished wood and engraved columns. In front stood a wide obsidian chalkboard, flanked by two training dummies and a set of mock weapons displayed neatly along the wall.
The door opened, and the room quieted instantly.
She stepped in.
A woman in her mid-twenties, tall and confident, walked with practiced grace. Her long chestnut-brown hair was tied into a high braid, her amber eyes sharp but not unkind. Her uniform was similar to the students' but marked with gold trim and a crest of two crossing swords over an open book.
She wasn't royalty. Her demeanor made that clear. But she held herself with pride — the kind carved through hardship, not inheritance.
Lady Sarina Kallen.
A first-rate warrior, she had graduated from the Academy only five years ago with top honors. Born to a lesser noble house from the Western Marshlands, she had clawed her way to prominence through skill alone. Now, as one of the youngest instructors ever appointed, her return commanded respect — even among the highborn.
"Good morning," she said, her voice smooth and assertive. "I am Sarina Kallen, and I will be your instructor for Basic Sword Theory and Combat Principles."
The students straightened. Some already whispered her name — stories of her battlefield training and how she had once defeated a knight-captain during a mock duel in her final year were still passed around.
She stepped forward and chalked a simple circle on the board, then a line cutting it into two halves.
"Let's start with fundamentals."
"Whether you are a swordsman or a mage — you draw from the same source."
She tapped the board.
"Mana. The invisible lifeblood of this world. Flowing through every living being, every root, stone, and star. But it's how we shape it that defines our path."
She drew two new circles inside the halves — one glowing faint blue, the other red.
"A mage externalizes mana — they cast it out, giving it form through spells and incantations. A swordsman internalizes mana — they guide it through their body, strengthening muscles, sharpening instincts, and enhancing strikes."
"Same well. Different cups."
Some students furiously scribbled notes. Others leaned forward, genuinely engaged.
She continued, turning to face the class.
"Now, you might have heard whispers of why this Academy strengthens its sword curriculum every few centuries."
"Because every five hundred years, history repeats itself."
The hall fell completely silent.
"The Demon Lord rises — born not from bloodline or prophecy, but from the culmination of the Seven Sins festering within the world. Pride. Greed. Wrath. Envy. Lust. Sloth. Gluttony."
She let the words hang, like poison in the air.
"The more the world leans into these sins, the more power flows into the Seed of Ruin — and from that seed, the Demon Lord awakens. He is not born. He is created by us all."
Some students gulped. Even nobles from houses known for cruelty shifted in their seats.
"He does not rise alone. He brings with him Seven Generals — embodiments of each sin. Each a calamity that has crushed kingdoms, devoured armies, and broken heroes."
Then she paused — and her eyes drifted, for a fraction of a second, toward the front row.
Where Pete, the Hero, sat. The Holy Sword resting beside his seat.
Where Emilia, the Elven Princess, remained still and cold.
Catherine, sitting beside Emilia with the poise of imperial nobility.
And where Ace, leaning back in his chair with unreadable calm, sat in silence — his demonic sword strapped to his hip like a black brand across his white uniform.
Sarina moved on, as if nothing had happened.
"Your role, as future knights, mages, leaders — is to prepare. The Hero has risen. That means the tides are already turning."
"How you act — in these walls, in your training, in your choices — may very well decide which side of history you stand on."
Then she clapped her hands sharply.
"Now. Pair up. Let's see how much you actually understand about internalized mana."
Before she could pair anyone, Catherine, raised her hand.
Sarina nodded toward her. "Yes, Princess Catherine?"
Catherine stood slightly, her tone respectful but direct. "Why are mages and swordsmen attending the same class? Our paths and training methods differ greatly."
Some students nodded in agreement — especially the ones with obvious martial or arcane leanings.
Sarina smiled faintly, as if she had expected the question. "A valid question," she replied, her voice carrying throughout the room. "While it's true that mages and warriors specialize in vastly different arts, it is crucial for both to understand the fundamentals of how the other wields mana."
She paused, walking slowly in front of the students.
"A warrior channels mana through the body — strengthening muscles, heightening reflexes, empowering weapon strikes. A mage guides it externally — shaping it into spells, elements, and phenomena."
Then she stopped, glancing around the room.
"But in battle, you will fight side by side. Knowing how your ally thinks, casts, or strikes could be the difference between victory and defeat. Understanding each other is part of becoming more than just a powerful individual — it is what makes you a capable team."
Catherine seemed satisfied, nodding faintly as she returned to her seat.
Sarina then continued, "Today's session is foundational. From tomorrow onward, classes will branch out. Warriors who specialize in bows, spears, or unarmed combat will have different tracks. Mages, too, will be split based on elemental affinity and casting style."
She folded her arms behind her back. "But today… we all start together. That's how a battlefield works — not as separate paths, but as one fight."
A few students exchanged thoughtful looks.
Even Emilia, usually disinterested in humans, glanced toward the instructor with a hint of approval.
"Now," Sarina said, her lips curling into a confident smile, "enough talking. Let's see how well you move when you're not seated."
The atmosphere shifted instantly. Mana stirred as the students straightened, eyes filled with curiosity and anticipation.
As they all went to training hall, a wide open area surrounded by walls.
"The academy believes in real combat experience," Sarina continued. "Which is why you'll be sparring today. Swordsmen against mages — one close-quarters fighter and the other ranged one. Think of it like a field simulation. Healers will observe — no interference unless someone's seriously hurt."
She glanced down at the list in her hand.
"First match of the day," she announced clearly. "Ace Thornevale versus Emilia Vel'Faera."
A noticeable shift occurred in the atmosphere.
Murmurs broke out instantly among the students.
"Whoa!! Those two?"
"I hope she crush him?"
"The elven princess… will certainly win!!"
Pete's expression twitched. Catherine folded her arms, remaining composed, while Lucy narrowed her eyes slightly — not at Ace, but at the reactions around her.
Ace stood up slowly. His white hair glimmered under the light, and his pale eyes glanced toward the sparring platform — emotionless.
' It's just like the book, ' He thought, walking steadily. 'Ace barely won after taking some drugs in the book '.
He stepped onto the raised platform.
A few paces away, Emilia stepped up as well. She didn't say a word, her usual calm expression firmly in place, but her spirits were already circling nervously around her — invisible to all but her.
The moment her eyes caught the demonic sword on Ace's hip, she felt her heart stiffen.
That mana… again.
Sarina gave them both a brief nod. "Mana use allowed. Spells and sword techniques, but no fatal strikes. Barrier is active. First to yield or be disarmed — match ends."
They both nodded silently.
"Begin."
The students leaned forward in anticipation. The arena's mana barrier activated with a soft hum, enclosing the platform in a transparent dome of glowing light.
Whispers broke out like wildfire.
"Emilia Vel'Faera, the elven princess. She's a second-rate mage already!"
"She uses spirits to enhance the power of her spells"
"She's a prodigy. Ace won't last long."
"Well, they say he's a second-rate warrior too."
"Still… she's a princess. She'll crush him."
But one mutter slid in like a shadow beneath the awe.
"He's not normal either. Look at the sword he carries..."
Emilia took her place with practiced grace. Her golden-green hair fluttered lightly, tiny spirit orbs hovering around her — one glowing red, another blue, and a smaller green one peeking from behind her shoulder. None but a few could even see them, yet their pressure was subtly felt. The platform's air temperature dropped and rose in bursts.
Ace merely stood across her — calm, sword resting on his hip.
His hair was snow-white, his eyes pale, unwavering and as if looking at someone beneath him.
That look alone made Emilia grit her teeth.
' That sword. That stench. '' I can't bear it. '
Her spirits pulsed around her, reacting violently to the demonic aura from Ace's sheathed blade. It churned the air — foul, oppressive. She didn't want to prolong this.
She raised a hand and muttered something in elven. Her fire spirit flared brilliantly, spinning in circles above her palm.
The red spirit burst into embers — feeding her mana, merging with her chant.
"Come, flame that devours, born of ancient pact—"
The mana in the room surged violently.
Gasps echoed.
"W-What?! How's that spell this strong?"
"It's just the first move!!! Just how strong is she?"
"That's not basic magic. That's a spirit-enhanced high fireball!"
A crackling mass of condensed flame, twice the size of her body, formed above her.
It didn't just burn — it roared.