After exiting the building, Lyra walked along its outer wall.
Neatly trimmed hedges lined the path, their edges sharp and orderly, with lamps placed every few dozen steps. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves, carrying with it the faint aroma of medicinal herbs. The scent seeped into her lungs, clearing her thoughts and lifting her spirit.
The scene was quiet, almost soothing.
After a short walk, the path opened into a spacious courtyard.
A large number of youths had already gathered there. Most were dressed lavishly, robes stitched with fine patterns and glowing threads, accessories glittering beneath the lamplight. Only a small handful wore plain clothing, and those few had instinctively clustered together in a distant corner.
At the center stood a handsome boy of around fourteen.
He radiated confidence, smiling broadly as those around him spoke in loud, admiring voices. Most of his admirers were young women, their expressions eager and proud simply to stand near him.
When Lyra entered the courtyard, his gaze snapped toward her.
He excused himself smoothly and walked over to the stone bench Lyra had chosen, stopping a polite distance away. With a bright smile that showed perfect white teeth, he extended his hand.
"Hello," he said warmly. "My name is William Rogers, son and heir of the Rogers family. I am a Master Realm practitioner."
Whispers immediately followed behind him.
"So young, yet already in the Master Realm…"
"Of course. The Rogers family is one of the ten first-rate clans."
"They've held fourth rank for generations."
"I even heard their ancestor broke into the Half-Saint Realm a few decades ago…"
In the Imperial Capital, families that resided in the central districts all possessed at least one Saint Realm expert, or several Half-Saints. Without such strength, holding onto rank, resources, and merit points would have been impossible. Failure meant being stripped of status and expelled from the capital entirely.
Competition was ruthless.
Though the parliament enforced laws to promote fairness, true equality remained elusive. Upper-ranked families monopolized resources quietly, careful not to draw scrutiny. Punishments for blatant violations were severe, sometimes extending to entire bloodlines.
The Rogers family dealt in medicinal herbs, sourcing rare plants from outside human territory and selling them at great profit. Their steady wealth had propelled them firmly into the upper echelon.
Lyra remained seated.
Her eyes stayed closed.
She did not move, did not react, and did not acknowledge William's presence in the slightest.
William's smile stiffened.
He withdrew his hand, a fleeting murderous glint flashing through his eyes before vanishing beneath practiced composure.
A girl standing beside him stepped forward, her voice sharp with indignation.
"How dare you!" she snapped. "Do you know who you're ignoring? You should apologize immediately and be grateful Young Master Rogers is even speaking to you!"
Lyra continued meditating.
She might as well have been air.
Expressions around William darkened. Even he struggled to fully conceal the cold edge now flickering in his gaze.
The girl could endure it no longer.
With a whip snapping into her hand, she lunged forward and struck.
Lyra's eyes opened.
Her spear materialized instantly in her grasp.
She pushed off the bench, the whip crashing into stone where she had been moments before, carving a shallow groove into the seat.
In the next heartbeat, Lyra was already behind her.
A sharp, decisive thrust.
The spear pierced the girl's shoulder.
A scream tore through the courtyard as blood sprayed from her mouth. Her body flew backward, only to be caught by a firm palm as William appeared behind her in the nick of time, dispersing the force of the blow.
He stared at Lyra, eyes sharp, a trace of killing intent slipping through his restraint.
Lyra did not retreat.
The girl coughed weakly. Though shaken internally, she was not gravely injured. Her torn shoulder revealed thin inner armor beneath her dress, glowing faintly with runic carvings.
A Grandmaster-rank vest.
Lyra had expected as much.
Families like theirs never came unprepared.
She remembered her grandfather's words clearly.
Only strength that truly belongs to you will never betray you.
He had trained her in the wilderness, forcing her to fight beasts alone while he watched from afar. Only when she was battered and broken did he intervene.
When she asked why, he told her he was tempering her heart and soul.
He taught her to strike decisively.
To never hesitate.
To never lower her guard.
A sudden pressure descended from above, heavy and suffocating.
A middle-aged man in silver robes appeared midair. Two wings were embroidered on his chest.
His gaze swept over the courtyard, cold and unyielding.
"Did you not read the sign?" he said, pointing to the side.
Everyone turned.
There, clearly displayed, was a list of academy rules. One line stood out unmistakably.
No fighting without permission. Violators will be punished according to severity.
The elder's voice turned gruff. "Rein in your pride. This is an academy. Rules exist here."
One youth opened his mouth. "My family—"
The elder cut him off without even glancing his way.
"What does family influence amount to here?" he said flatly. "You are not at home. Even members of the Five Peak Clans bend before these rules."
His gaze hardened.
"There are ways to settle grudges. Even blood feuds. You will learn them once you become true academy members."
He looked at Lyra and the injured girl.
"This is your first offense. I will turn a blind eye. Try this again, and you will be expelled."
His eyes swept the courtyard.
"That applies to all of you. Now rest. You will need clarity and focus during the test."
He vanished as suddenly as he had appeared.
Minutes later, hushed murmurs rippled through the courtyard.
"Outer elders wear two wings…"
"And they're already at peak Grandmaster Realm."
"So what about inner elders?"
"And core elders…?"
The excitement faded into uneasy silence.
One by one, the youths took their seats.
On the horizon, a thin red line appeared.
Dawn was fast approaching.