Three days remained until the entrance ceremony.
Even though I wasn't the one enrolling—even though I wasn't going to be a student walking through those gates in a crisp new uniform—I felt a strange excitement building in my chest. A nervous energy that made it hard to sit still.
Along with the anticipation came an avalanche of planning. The events that would unfold during the ceremony. The timing for my infiltration. The routes through the Academy grounds I'd need to memorize. The staff members I'd need to avoid. The places where security would be lightest.
My head filled rapidly with contingencies and backup plans until I could barely think straight.
To clear my cluttered mind, I went out to the small yard behind my apartment building and started moving through combat drills. Sword forms practiced ten thousand times until they were burned into muscle memory. Footwork exercises. Breathing techniques to center my mana flow.
The physical exertion helped a lot. The repetitive motions calmed my racing thoughts, creating a meditative state where planning gave way to simply being.
Before I knew it, the sun had set. The sky had transformed from blue to orange to deep black, and my stomach was growling insistently.
'What should I eat for dinner?'
The eternal question. What to eat for three meals a day.
It was, I reflected with grim amusement, a more difficult dilemma than most Platinum-class commissions. At least with a commission, the objective was clear: kill the monster, retrieve the artifact, protect the merchant caravan. Success or failure was binary and obvious.
But dinner? Dinner required actual decision-making.
'It would be great if the Empire officially announced a daily menu,' I thought, not for the first time. 'Just tell me what I'm eating today so I don't have to waste precious time thinking about it.'
I left my apartment and wandered through the capital's evening streets, scanning the various food stalls and restaurants with a critical eye.
Nothing really appealed to me.
A noodle shop? Too heavy. That skewer vendor? The meat looked questionable. The bakery? Their bread was always stale by evening.
After circling the same few blocks several times like an indecisive idiot, I remembered there was a little strawberry jam left at home—probably still good, maybe—so I stopped at a baker and bought a baguette as hard as stone. The kind of bread that could double as a weapon in an emergency.
'At least I won't starve.'
I tucked the baguette under my arm and headed back toward home, walking leisurely through streets that is growing quieter as merchants closed their stalls and families retreated indoors for the night.
'Ne~ve~er~ Never a frown~'
I found myself humming a song from my previous life—a melancholy tune I could no longer hear except in my memory. The melody felt appropriate somehow, matching the bittersweet mood of being so close to the story's beginning yet still an outsider looking in.
As my apartment building came into view, I noticed a familiar figure standing in front of my door.
I stopped mid-step.
The figure had soft brown hair pulled back with a simple headband. She wore the standard uniform of the Adventurer's Guild reception staff—practical clothes that managed to look both professional and approachable.
One of the guild's receptionists. I have seen her countless times, though we never spoke beyond the usual transactional pleasantries of turning in completed commissions.
'What's she doing here?'
As I approached, she noticed me and straightened, her expression professional but carrying an undertone of nervousness.
" Mr. Ryan?" she asked, confirming my identity even though she clearly knew who I was.
"That's me," I replied cautiously. "Is there a problem with the guild? I turned in my last commission report three days ago. Everything was in order."
"No, nothing like that!" she said quickly, shaking her head. "I was asked to deliver a message. From Roland Wolfgang."
My eyebrows rose. 'Roland?'
"He requests your presence for dinner tonight," she continued, pulling a sealed envelope from her bag. "The location and time are written here. He said it's a matter of some urgency and that you'd understand."
I took the envelope, noting the quality of the paper—expensive, with Roland's personal seal pressed into the wax. This wasn't a casual invitation.
"Did he say what this was about?" I asked.
"No, sir. Just that it was important and that he hoped you could attend." She hesitated, then added more quietly, "He also said to tell you that he's calling in that favor you owe him."
My hand tightened slightly on the envelope.
'That favor…..'
Years ago, Roland had done something for me. Something significant. And in return, I gave him a Bronze-ranked adventurer token—the lowest rank, practically worthless—with a promise attached to it.
'I repay vengeance and favors no matter what. That's my creed. I promise this token will hold value beyond a thousand gold. Please help me just this once.'
At the time, as a fresh Bronze-ranked adventurer, the promise was almost laughable.
What could I possibly do that would be worth a thousand gold?
But I meant every word.
And apparently, Roland kept the token all this time.
"Tell him I'll be there," I said.
The receptionist nodded, clearly relieved to have completed her task, and hurried off into the evening.
I stood there for a moment, envelope in one hand, stone-hard baguette in the other, staring at nothing in particular.
'Well. So much for a quiet dinner at home.'
-
Roland Wolfgang was a living legend.
At over two meters tall, possessing unmatched physical strength even in his advanced years, he was an imposing figure wherever he went. His soft brown hair had long since faded to white, but his eyes remained sharp and clear.
He was famous not for elegant swordsmanship but for brutally effective techniques that prioritized results over aesthetics. His spear work was devastating. His swordplay was aggressive to the point of recklessness, overwhelming opponents through sheer force and an apparent disregard for his own safety.
On the battlefield, he earned the nickname "Killing Tank"—a man who charged through enemy lines like a siege weapon given human form, leaving carnage in his wake.
He was, without question, the most senior among the living knights who hadn't retired or died. He served the Empire for decades, accumulating honors and titles that would have made lesser men insufferably arrogant.
And yet, after such a long and distinguished career, he chose to step away. To retire gracefully and dedicate his remaining years to the simple pleasures of civilian life—spending time with grandchildren, tending a garden, drinking wine.
'He could have just retired properly and spend his days getting drunk at home,' I thought as I made my way to the restaurant address written in the envelope. 'Why is he still involving himself in Academy politics?'
I knew, of course, that Roland and Dean Doran Escaro were old friends. Classmates from their Academy days who had maintained their bond through decades of diverging paths.
But friendship have its limits. After the disaster with the Third Prince, after Doran lost an arm, any sensible person would have distanced themselves from the Academy's troubles.
Yet here was Roland, still trying to help. Still pulling strings on his friend's behalf.
'Either he's incredibly loyal, or he's incredibly stupid…. Possibly both.'
The restaurant Roland chose was grand—the kind of establishment where nobles and wealthy merchants conducted business over elaborate meals. The exterior was understated but elegant, with warm light spilling from tall windows.
I felt distinctly under dressed in my practical adventuring clothes.
A hostess greeted me at the entrance, and when I mentioned Roland's name, she nodded immediately and led me through the main dining area toward the private rooms at the back. The room she showed me to was spacious and well-appointed, with a table set for two and enough space to comfortably seat a dozen. Roland sat alone, a glass of wine already in hand, looking entirely comfortable in his surroundings.
"Ryan!" he boomed when I entered, his voice filling the room. "Right on time. Good, good. Sit down, let's start with the meal."
I closed the door behind me and took the seat across from him, eyeing him warily.
"You called in the favor," I said without preamble. "So this is serious."
"Indeed it is." Roland's jovial expression didn't falter, but I caught something more serious beneath it. "But we're not uncivilized beasts. Let's at least eat first. I've ordered several courses—all excellent, I promise."
Despite my suspicion, my stomach reminded me that I have only managed to acquire a rock-hard baguette for dinner. When the first course arrived—a delicate soup garnished with herbs—I ate without further protest.
Roland kept the conversation light throughout the meal, asking about my recent commissions, gossiping about other adventurers, complaining about how the guild's new administrator was too strict about paperwork.
It was pleasant. Easy. The kind of casual conversation that made it easy to forget this man was a legendary knight and I was here because of a debt.
We met occasionally over the years since that first encounter, and I grew surprisingly comfortable around him. Roland seemed to enjoy having someone who treated him casually rather than with the reverent awe most people displayed.
"Even so," I said as we worked through the third course, "you're making our cute receptionist run errands? Sending her to my apartment?"
"Kuhaha!! Sending a woman was indeed the right choice then," Roland laughed, not even slightly apologetic. "What exactly were you expecting? That I'd come personally and beg?"
"Tsk…" I shook my head. "From now on, you can send a man if you need to contact me. Don't send a woman alone to the outskirts of the city. Do you know how dangerous it is there at night?"
Roland's expression softened slightly, something that might have been approval flickering in his eyes.
'As expected, he's got a sense of decency for an adventurer.'
Dean Doran Escaro claimed not to believe in uncertain factors like intuition, preferring logic and evidence. But Roland always trusted his gut more than any reasoned argument.
And his gut told him one thing about Ryan clearly: 'This guy keeps his promises even if it kills him.'
After we bickered our way through the rest of the meal, warm cups of coffee were served, signaling the end of the dinner service.
The conversation was pleasant enough, but now the moment of truth had arrived.
"So…" I set down my coffee cup and fixed Roland with a direct stare. "Now that we're done eating, can you tell me why you called me here? Why you're using that favor?"
Perhaps tired of waiting, I gulped down the hot coffee despite the temperature and glared at him with undisguised impatience.
"It's a hassle to keep a valuable Platinum-ranked adventurer waiting," Roland said, his tone becoming more serious. "I have a favor to ask."
He reached into his coat and withdrew something small—a bronze disc that caught the lamplight.
My adventurer token.
The one I gave him years ago.
Roland placed it deliberately on the table between us.
My entire demeanor changed instantly. The casual atmosphere evaporated like morning mist.
I reached out with my mana, letting it flow from my body in a controlled wave that enveloped the entire private room. It was one of the standard techniques for blocking sound—creating a barrier that would prevent anyone outside from hearing our conversation, no matter how loudly we spoke.
My usual rough, casual posture straightened. I sat up properly, hands folded on the table, every trace of informality gone.
I was no longer just Ryan the adventurer having dinner with an old acquaintance.
I was Ryan the Platinum-ranked solo operator, and this was now a formal contract negotiation.
"I thought you might have forgotten about that token," I said quietly. "Good. It's sudden, but I've definitely received it back. A promise is a promise." I met his eyes steadily. "If you tell me to assassinate a prince, I'd kill him. If you tell me to hunt down the dark mages hiding in the Empire, I'd capture them all. Whatever you need."
"Crazy bastard!" Roland's eyes widened. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that first part… But wait, are there actually dark mages in the Empire? That's not just an example?"
"I have no reason to tell you operational information." I kept my expression neutral. "You get one favor. One request. Choose carefully. I'll do anything that's within my capability."
I always spoke crudely in casual settings, but every word I was saying now carried weight. These weren't jokes or exaggerations. They were statements of fact backed by absolute sincerity.
The problem was that Roland knew this. He knew I meant every word.
"Actually, it's not that big of a deal…" Roland hesitated, which was unusual for him. "No, wait. Is using a Platinum-ranked adventurer for this actually a big deal? Am I wasting your potential?"
"…"
Unlike usual, I didn't interrupt with something like 'Old folks talk too much.' I simply waited in silence until Roland reached his conclusion.
'He has really become a dragon among warriors,' Roland thought, studying the young man across from him. 'Even the Goddess seems indifferent to how powerful he has become. Where on earth did such a person come from?'
Roland looked at Ryan, who completely seized control of the negotiation, and felt a complex mixture of emotions.
Lament that such talent was wasted on the adventuring life rather than knighthood. And profound relief that this particular adventurer operated in the Harun Empire rather than the Federation.
If Ryan was born across the border, he would have been an absolute nightmare for imperial forces.
Finally, Roland spoke.
"I want you to teach classes at Starcrest Academy."