Three Months Later
The academy's first-year class had transformed into something unprecedented.
What started as Arden's hellish training schedule had evolved into a movement. Over 300 first-years now trained with intensity that made veteran instructors nervous—and impressed.
The professors, seeing their students' explosive growth, had pushed for something extraordinary: a comprehensive First-Year Ranking Battle against the second years.
Not just the top 30 elites—everyone. 100 first-years would be able to fight for position against their seniors.
The stakes were brutal:
Win decisively? Skip to second year early.
Lose to first-years as a second-year? Face being held back.
The announcement had sent shockwaves through both grades.
---
Valekrest Manor - Northern Grand Duchy
Grand Duke Vareth Valekrest stood in his private study, reading the official report from Northern Military Academy with an expression that shifted between pride and something softer.
"Youngest certified ranger in history. Specialist designation. Dual ranger-knight training." He set the document down carefully. "My son really doesn't do anything by halves, does he?"
The door opened without knocking—because only one person in the manor would dare.
"BWAHAHAHA! That's my grandson!"
Vareth's stern expression cracked immediately as his father—Former Grand Duke Jade Valekrest—strode in with the energy of a man half his age.
Jade was seventy-two but looked and acted like he was forty. Barrel-chested, white hair wild and unkempt, with a grin that suggested he'd just heard the world's best joke. His presence filled the room with chaotic warmth that completely contradicted Vareth's carefully maintained dignity.
"Father, you're supposed to knock—"
"Nonsense! This is MY manor! I just let you borrow it!" Jade snatched the report and read it with growing delight. "Dual certification! Combat poetry! Leading an entire grade transformation! And he KILLED AN EXTINCT MONSTER WITH VERSES!"
He threw his head back and laughed so hard the windows rattled.
"That's EXACTLY the kind of ridiculous thing a Valekrest should do! None of this boring political maneuvering! Just pure, unfiltered ACHIEVEMENT!"
Vareth pinched the bridge of his nose. "Father, please—"
"And you wanted him to go to Imperial Academy! HAH! I told you the boy had WARRIOR spirit!" Marcus clapped Vareth on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. "He gets it from me, obviously! You're too serious, Vareth! Too cold! The boy needed someone to teach him to LIVE!"
"I am the Grand Duke. I need to maintain—"
"BORING! Stop being such a stiff bastard!" Jade grinned. "Remember when you were his age? You were a hell-raiser! Always getting into fights, challenging people three stages above you, causing me ENDLESS headaches!"
Despite himself, Vareth smiled slightly. "That was different."
"It was EXACTLY the same! And look how you turned out!" Jade's expression became simultaneously proud and exasperated. "A cold, calculating duke who terrifies everyone except his own family! Perfect!"
He grabbed another report from the desk.
"Says here the other children are doing well too. Casmir training obsessively—good! Boy needs to channel that rage! Theron still crying but persisting—EXCELLENT! Tears mean he's pushing limits! Lyanna completing advanced theory—smart girl! And the twins are adorable hooligans!"
Jade turned back to Vareth with sudden seriousness.
"You raised them well, son. Even if you do it by being a cold bastard in public and secretly worrying yourself sick in private."
"I'm not—"
"You ARE. I'm your father. I know you." Jade's grin returned. "But that's good! Keep being the stern duke! Just remember—Arden inherited BOTH of us. Your strategic mind AND my chaotic heart!"
He headed for the door, then paused.
"Send the boy a letter. Tell him you're proud. None of that 'maintain expectations' nonsense—ACTUAL pride. He's earned it."
"I will."
"Good! And tell him his grandfather wants to see him demonstrate this combat poetry thing! Sounds HILARIOUS!"
Jade left, his booming laughter echoing down the hallway.
Vareth sat alone, the ghost of a genuine smile on his face.
Father's right. I am too serious in public. But someone has to maintain order while he causes chaos.
And Arden... Arden inherited both of us. The discipline to train relentlessly. The creativity to invent new magic. The strategic mind to lead. And the absolute audacity to do things no one expects.
Perfect.
He pulled out parchment and began writing—not a formal letter, but something genuine.
Because his son deserved that much.
----
The atmosphere at Imperial Academy was elegant yet lively.
Beautiful architecture. Refined students. A place where future leaders learned politics, strategy, and the art of power.
But elegant didn't mean weak.
Imperial Academy produced some of the Empire's finest warriors and strategists. The methodology was different—less frontier brutality, more calculated technique and tactical education.
The first-year rankings reflected this philosophy:
Rank 1: Adrian Castellan - Lightning affinity, overwhelming talent, absolutely cannot tolerate anyone above him
Rank 2: Elena Brightshield - Paladin-type, holy magic, defensive specialization
Rank 3: Lyanna Varen - Ice and tactical magic, business-minded, terrifyingly focused
Rank 4: Kael Thorne - The commoner genius who'd clawed to the top through pure skill
-----
Kael walked through Imperial Academy's gardens with his usual efficiency—no wasted movement, no unnecessary attention drawn.
Another day. Another step forward.
He'd come here with nothing. No family name. No connections. No wealth.
Just a Gift that manifested during entrance exams and caught Headmaster Aldwin's attention.
His talent was simple but devastating: Perfect Accuracy. Every shot, every throw, every strike landed exactly where he intended. No hesitation. No second-guessing.
Combined with his analytical mind and willingness to do whatever worked—poison, traps, ambushes, "dishonorable" tactics—he'd become Rank 4 despite being a commoner.
"Thorne!"
Kael turned.
Marvin Vale—Rank 8, fire affinity, one of the few nobles who'd befriended him without condescension—jogged over.
"Heard about Northern Military Academy?" Marvin asked. "Their first-years are going monster apparently. Reports say they're approaching second-year combat levels."
"Unusual."
"Right? Led by some duke's son with dual ranger-knight certification." Marvin grinned. "Makes our competition look tame."
A duke's son choosing Northern Military over Imperial. Prioritizing combat over connections.
Either incredibly stupid or incredibly confident.
"Think they're actually that strong?" Marcus asked.
Kael thought about it pragmatically. "Combat strength is measurable. Time will tell if reports are accurate."
They entered the combat assessment hall.
At the front of the crowd stood the top three.
Adrian Castellan—Rank 1—held himself with absolute confidence. Lightning crackled faintly around his fingers, unconscious display of his absurd mana control. He couldn't tolerate anyone being above him, which made him push relentlessly. From a chaebol family, narcissistic and elitist by nature.
Elena Brightshield—Rank 2—checked her equipment with methodical precision. Defensive specialist, holy magic user, unshakeable composure.
And Lyanna Varen—Rank 3.
Brown hair pulled back elegantly. Ice-blue eyes that held frightening determination and sharp business acumen. She stood slightly apart from the crowd, maintaining a cold and calculating presence that somehow felt both isolated and commanding.
Kael had sparred with her once. She'd fought with desperation yet calmness, using a whip with surprising proficiency—coating it with ice mana to increase range and lethality. Despite being viewed as a "support" fighter, she'd held Rank 3 through sheer determination and strategic thinking.
Like she was trying to prove something to someone who wasn't there.
"Varen's been training like crazy," Marcus observed. "And apparently running some kind of information network on the side. She knows everything about everyone."
"Business-minded," Kael noted. "Rare combination with combat capability."
A shadow fell across them.
"Commoner."
Kael looked up.
Adrian Castellan—all arrogant confidence and elite contempt—stood there.
"Today's assessment. Don't embarrass yourself trying to compete with me. Know your place. I cannot tolerate anyone being above me, least of all a commoner."
He walked away before Kael could respond.
Know your place.
Kael had heard that his entire life.
He'd stopped caring years ago.
I'll surpass you. All of you. Not because I hate you—because I need to.
Failure means returning to poverty. Success means everything.
Simple.
---
Lyanna Varen watched the assessment preparations with calculating eyes.
She'd reviewed every student's combat data. Analyzed strengths and weaknesses. Built dossiers on potential allies and competitors.
Kael Thorne at Rank 4. Commoner with Perfect Accuracy Gift. Pragmatic fighter who'll use any method to win. Potentially useful ally if approached correctly.
Elena at Rank 2. Solid defensive specialist. Predictable but effective. No exploitable weaknesses.
Adrian at Rank 1. Overwhelming talent but cannot tolerate competition. That narcissism is exploitable if necessary.
But her mind kept drifting to the intelligence report she'd compiled yesterday.
About Northern Military Academy.
About Elara.
Her older sister had chosen the frontier academy over Imperial. Their parents had been furious—abandoning family prestige for brutal combat training.
But Lyanna understood.
Elara was protecting her. Building strength to shield her younger sister from whatever threats lurked in noble society. Training at the place that produced real warriors instead of political players.
I won't waste your efforts, Lyanna thought. I'll become strong enough that you don't have to carry everything alone.
But first, I need resources. Information. Connections.
She'd already started building a network—carefully cultivated relationships with students who owed her favors, who needed her connections, who valued her business acumen.
If others coveted what she had, she made sure to deal with them. Efficiently. Decisively.
"Varen."
Lyanna turned.
Professor Aldwin—the headmaster himself—stood there with an amused expression.
"I've noticed you've been gathering intelligence on Northern Military Academy. Specifically on their Rank 2 first-year."
Of course he noticed. He notices everything.
"Elara is my sister," Lyanna said directly. "I want to know she's safe."
"She's safer than most," Aldwin said. "Northern Military produces survivors. And from reports, their first-year class is exceptional. They're calling them the 'Golden Generation.'"
"How exceptional?"
"Exceptional enough that they're conducting an unprecedented ranking battle expanding from 30 to 100 first-year class against second-years." Aldwin's smile was slight. "Your sister is at the forefront alongside their Rank 1. A boy named Arden Valekrest."
The duke's son who chose Northern over Imperial.
"Is she..." Lyanna's cold facade cracked slightly. "Is she pushing herself too hard?"
"She's pushing herself exactly as hard as necessary." Aldwin's expression became more serious. "And she's doing it for someone. I suspect that someone is you."
Lyanna was silent.
"Build your strength here," Aldwin said. "Build your network. Your business connections. Your combat capability. When the time comes, you and your sister will both be formidable in your own ways."
He walked away, leaving Lyanna alone with her thoughts.
Elara. You're fighting for me at Northern Military.
I'll fight for you here at Imperial.
And when we meet again, neither of us will need protection.
We'll be strong enough to protect each other.
She returned to watching the assessment, her business-minded calculating gaze already planning her next moves.
Because Lyanna Varen was dedicated. When she wanted something, she did everything in her power to get it.
And what she wanted was to be worthy of her sister's sacrifice.
----
Arden stood in the assembly hall with the other first-years, listening to Marshal Kane explain the First-Year Ranking Battle.
"...100 first-year class will participate against second-years. Your current rank determines starting position, but performance determines advancement."
Kane's eyes swept across the assembled first-years.
"This is unprecedented for first-years. But you've shown unprecedented growth." He paused. "The second-years are nervous. Make them more nervous."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd—excitement mixed with determination.
"The battles begin in two weeks. Additionally, you'll deploy to Frontier Fortress Kar'eth immediately after for practical field exercises."
Kar'eth.
Arden felt his focus sharpen.
In his novel, Kar'eth was where the first warning signs appeared. Monster behavior changing. Coordination improving. The early stages of the Northern Front's slow collapse.
But he'd written those signs as subtle. Easily dismissed. By the time people realized the patterns, it was too late.
If I document everything carefully. If I prove the changes are real without causing panic...
Maybe I can change the timeline.
"Dismissed. Prepare yourselves."
As students filed out, Elara appeared at his side.
"Frontier deployment," she said quietly. "That's where you'll see it, isn't it? The changes you've been preparing for."
"Yes."
She nodded. "Then we'll watch carefully. Document everything."
Brick Hale approached, his mace resting on his shoulder, tattoos visible on his forearms.
"Heard they're bringing observers for the ranking battles. Big shots from Northern Command." His grin was fierce. "Good. Let them watch us demolish the second-years."
"Confidence," Rykard noted, his three swords orbiting slowly. "But earned. Our growth rate exceeds expectations."
Serra stood slightly apart but nodded agreement, her periwinkle-blue hair catching the light.
The top five. Ready.
----
Arden was running through sword forms when Voss appeared.
"Got a question," the ranger captain said. "You're always preparing for disasters that haven't happened yet. Why?"
"Because they will happen. Eventually."
"You sound certain."
"I am."
Voss studied him for a long moment. "Kar'eth deployment. Soon. You'll have ranking battles first, then head to the frontier."
"I know."
"Good." Voss started to leave, then paused. "Whatever you're expecting to find at Kar'eth... be careful. The fortress has been quiet lately. Maybe too quiet."
After he left, Arden continued his forms.
Too quiet. That's how it starts. The calm before everything changes.
In my novel, Kar'eth's warning signs were dismissed because they were subtle. Monsters acting slightly more coordinated. Attack patterns slightly more intelligent. Changes so gradual that people adapted without noticing.
Until it was too late.
But if I'm there. If I document every small change. If I build a pattern that's undeniable...
I can prove it's real. Make people listen.
His shadow rippled behind him—darker since the Shadow Devil Integration.