We walked for a while before Flint flagged down a carriage—one of the cheaper ones, pulled by two weary white horses.
"Ten bronze to the academy district," the driver grunted.
Flint paid without hesitation, and we climbed in. I opened my mouth to protest—some empty show of politeness—but he waved me off before I could start.
"I'm good, don't worry about me. Besides, walking would take close to an hour, and you're already late."
Carriages and mounts dominated city transportation, though regular summoners with strange beasts existed too. According to Knight Flint, those were rare and mainly used by merchants.
Along the way, Flint steered me toward a street vendor in what he called the Eastern Market. The smell of fried dough and sizzling meat made my stomach growl audibly.
"Two spiced rolls and two skewers," Flint ordered, counting out bronze coins carefully.
I watched him pay—twenty bronze total. For him, that probably wasn't much.
"You didn't have to—"
"You're starving," Flint cut in, handing me a roll. "And you're going to need energy for the academy. Besides, you knelt to Jerry and didn't even get directions out of it. Consider this my payment for the entertainment."
The roll was warm, spiced with something that tasted like cinnamon and black pepper. I devoured it.
"So," Flint said, tearing into his own food. "Let me tell you what you need to know about this world."
The world itself, according to his explanation, was called Ealdrim. Ealdrim had seven realms—commonly referred to as the Seven Realms of Ealdrim. While we were in the Central Realm, I confirmed some intriguing facts: elves existed, along with several other races besides humans. My heart lifted with a thread of hope.
The currency system was universal across all realms. The lowest denomination was the bronze coin, then came the silver coin, the gold coin, and the platinum coin.
One silver coin equaled a hundred bronze coins. One gold coin equaled a hundred silver coins—ten thousand bronze. One platinum coin equaled a hundred gold coins, or a million bronze.
One bronze coin bought one apple, one mug of cheap ale at a tavern, or one loaf of bread—granted, bread quality varied here. A family of four needed about ten to fifteen bronze to survive each day, while a single worker needed just five to eight.
The meal we ate at the Eastern Market cost about twenty bronze coins, mostly because I'd needed my fill after yesterday's ordeal.
A cheap meal for one should cost about five to ten bronze. He explained other complex details, like the military system in the Kingdom of Aetheris.
Apparently, Jerry—who'd tried to bully me before—was a Common Soldier. Mundane soldiers with no abilities, no bloodline powers, and definitely no summoning abilities. But he was a veteran earning about fifty silver coins every month.
Knight Flint earned a hundred and twenty silver coins every month, even as a low-level knight.
Another fascinating thing he explained was bloodlines. Bloodline abilities were inherited powers—fire manipulation, enhanced strength, eagle-eye vision, things like that. Flint said most were fairly weak compared to summoners.
"A bloodline user might throw a fireball," he explained. "But a Spirit Summoner can call a legendary pyromancer who burned entire armies. There's no comparison."
He paused. "Unless you're from the Imperial family. Their bloodline—Radiant Imperium—is the only one that can match a Spirit Summoner in raw power."
The carriage slowed as we approached the academy district. Flint leaned forward.
"There."
Luminaris Academy rose before us—a sprawling complex of white stone buildings with soaring towers and crystalline windows that caught the morning sun. Students in pristine uniforms moved between buildings, laughing, chatting, their spirits visible as shimmering auras.
I felt very small suddenly.
'School… again!'
"I can't go in with you," Flint said as we climbed out. "Low-level knights like me aren't expected or allowed in facilities like these. But—" He hesitated. "If you need anything, I'm usually around the Eastern Market, or we can meet at the barracks. Just ask for Flint."
He rummaged his hand into his armor and brought out a pouch of coins.
"Here, twenty silver coins. I'm only lending you and will definitely have it back."
I nodded with a broad smile. "Thanks. For everything."
He smiled—that too-wide smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Good luck, Cade. Try not to kneel to anyone in there."
I watched him walk away, Ash padding silently beside him, before turning toward the academy gates.
The moment I stepped through, the whispers started.
"...that's him, the disaster summoner..."
"A Spirit Summoner that's F-Rank, can you believe?"
"I heard he attacked the knights."
I kept walking, hands in pockets, heading toward the building Flint had pointed out. The main lecture hall.
Inside, the seats were in descending arches, carved like a semi-circle, facing a raised platform. Students filled the seats—my classmates from the summoning, all dressed in crisp new uniforms. I was still wearing my wrinkled school clothes from Earth.
Every head turned when I entered.
I found a seat in the very back corner, near the window. No one sat near me. The empty space around me felt deliberate, like a quarantine zone.
Fine by me.
A few minutes later, the instructor arrived—a square-faced, muscle-bound man who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.
The man scribbled on the board without a word. Behind me, the chatter died instantly—my classmates leaned forward in their seats.
He turned and jabbed a finger at his scrawl.
"What are Spirits?"
The instructor's question hung in the air. Hands shot up immediately—eager, desperate to prove themselves. I recognized the hunger in their eyes. The same hunger I'd felt once, back in Grade 6 when I still believed in trying.
"You." The instructor pointed at Kai, who was sitting front and center.
"Spirits are manifestations of essence," Kai said confidently. "Beings that exist between the physical and metaphysical realms, capable of forming bonds with summoners."
"Textbook answer." The instructor's expression didn't change. "Useless in practice. Anyone else?"
Marcus Chen—a boy with messy, silvery white hair—raised his hand. "Spirits are categorized by consciousness level and origin. The classification determines their capabilities and threat level."
"Better." The instructor turned back to the board. "But still incomplete. Let me educate you properly, since the Church's propaganda apparently got to you first."
He drove the chalk into the board with enough force to crack it.
"There are four primary classifications of spirits in Ealdrim. Understanding the difference could save your life—or end it."
Wild Beasts - He wrote quickly, his handwriting barely legible.
"Mundane animals. No spirit essence, no supernatural abilities. Wolves, bears, hawks. Dangerous if you're stupid, irrelevant if you're not. These are what commoners hunt for food. Moving on."
Spirit Beasts - The chalk scraped aggressively.
"Now it gets interesting. Spirit Beasts are creatures born from concentrated essence pools or corrupted by ambient magic. They possess supernatural abilities tied to their element or nature."
He turned to face us. A long scar ran down his jaw.
"The Church calls them 'heretical abominations.' The guilds call them 'profitable hunting targets.' I call them 'things that will kill you if you underestimate them.'"
A few nervous laughs scattered through the room.
"Spirit Beasts are ranked in nine tiers, mirroring our own spirit classification but inverted. The Church named them to brand these creatures as corruptions of natural order." He listed them quickly:
"Feral, Savage, Bestial, Primal, Apex, Tyrant, Profane, Primordial, and Cataclysm."
I straightened in my seat. Cataclysm. The same tier as my—
"Feral and Savage are common. You'll encounter them in the wild, kill them for materials, move on. Bestial through Primal require actual tactics. Apex and above?" He paused. "Those are walking disasters. There are maybe twenty Apex-tier beasts across all seven realms. If you see one, you run. You don't fight it. You don't try to capture it. You run."
"What about Cataclysm-tier?" Elena Volkov asked, her Russian accent crisp. The A-Rank ice queen looked genuinely curious.
The instructor's jaw tightened. "There are only three confirmed Cataclysms in existence. All three are sealed. If any of them were to break free, Ealdrim would end. Not 'face a crisis.' Not 'suffer casualties.' End. Completely."
Silence swallowed the room.
"Next." He moved on like he hadn't just described the apocalypse.
Regular Spirits - More chalk scraping.
"These are what most summoners work with. Lesser spirits—beasts, elementals, nature entities. They lack true consciousness and legendary power, but they're common enough that guilds and academies can actually teach you how to use them properly."
He counted off on his fingers. "Beast Summoners call wolves, eagles, bears—multiple at once usually. Elemental Summoners bind fire, water, earth, air spirits. Nature Summoners work with plant life and forest guardians. Contract Summoners bargain with spirits for temporary aid."
"These make up about five percent of the population. Respectable profession. Steady income. You can't change the world with these, but you can survive it."
Disdain colored every word.
Heroic Spirits - He underlined this one three times.
"And finally, what makes you lot special."
The instructor's gaze swept across the room, lingering on a few students before skipping over me entirely.
"Heroic Spirits. Legendary figures from history and myth. Heroes, conquerors, saints, warriors, mages—the people who changed the world when they were alive."
He tapped the board again. "These spirits possess true consciousness. They think, strategize, remember their past lives. They can teach you, advise you, even refuse your commands if you're idiotic enough to deserve it."
"Spirit Summoners—Heroic Spirit Summoners—are approximately 0.01% of the population. You twenty-three students represent more Spirit Summoners than some kingdoms have produced in centuries."
Pride rippled through the room. I felt nothing.
"Don't let it go to your heads," the instructor continued flatly. "Rare doesn't mean competent. Half of you will waste your potential through arrogance, another quarter through incompetence. The rest might actually amount to something."
He turned back to the board and wrote one more thing:
Spirit Tier ≠ Summoner Rank
"Your Summoner Rank—F through S—determines your capacity. How much spirit essence you can channel, how long you can maintain manifestation, how many attributes you can use simultaneously. This is fixed. You cannot raise your rank. Ever."
Several students shifted uncomfortably. Faces darkened, especially among the E and D ranks.
"Your Spirit's Tier—Mortal through Sovereign in the orthodox classification—determines their inherent power and potential. This is also fixed. A Mortal-tier spirit will never become a Legend-tier spirit."
He let that sink in before continuing. "What can grow is Fortitude and Attributes. Fortitude measures your spirit's consciousness, autonomy, and sense of self. It ranges from 1.0 to 10.0. The stronger your bond, the higher their fortitude, the more they can teach you and fight alongside you rather than as your puppet."
Marcus raised his hand. "What's the highest recorded fortitude?"
"6.8," the instructor said immediately. "Achieved by Grand Marshal Vaneem the Unbreakable, bonded with the Heroic Spirit 'Titan of the Last Stand.' It took him forty years of constant combat and near-death experiences to reach it."
Forty years for 6.8. My Tyrant Empress was at 8.2 from the start.
I kept my expression blank.
"Attributes are skills and traits you inherit from your spirit's legend," the instructor continued. "A blacksmith spirit grants crafting abilities. A warrior grants combat techniques. These can improve through training and usage. However, when you reach the level cap for the tier, you have to evolve them using Spirit cores and whatever else you need—you'll know when that moment comes.
"Basic, Advanced, Expert, Legendary, and Mythic are the attribute tiers that exist. And your attributes can even branch into specialized versions as they evolve."
He turned to face us fully. "Your Spirit Tier gives you potential. Your Summoner Rank gives you capacity. But your Fortitude and Attribute mastery? Those determine whether you live or die."
The lecture continued—combat classes, manifestation mechanics, essence management. I half-listened, filing away useful information while my mind wandered.
Eight point two fortitude. Calamity tier. Multiple spirits waiting to be summoned.
I had world-ending power locked inside me, and all anyone saw was the F-Rank failure in the back corner.
'Perfect.'
"One more thing," the instructor said as the lecture wound down. "Tomorrow, we begin practical assessments. You'll demonstrate your spirits, your attributes, and your basic combat capabilities. This will determine your class placement, your training regimen, and your access to academy resources."
His eyes finally found me, and something unreadable flickered across his face.
"Everyone participates. No exceptions."
'Great.'
The class ended. Students filed out in clusters, already forming their social hierarchies. S-Rank with A-Ranks. B-Ranks networking with C-Ranks. The D and E ranks clustering together for safety in numbers.
And me, alone in the back corner, watching it all like a documentary on human nature.
***
Author's Note: Sorry about the Info dump, was necessary for a smooth continuation. Please add to your library if you enjoy the book and vote power stones, golden tickets, golden castles, golden gachapon, I love gold!