Chapter 14 – "The Portal and the Eyes That Follow"
The carriage ca to a slow halt just beyond the periter of the portal field. Leon, still seated inside, brushed the curtain aside to peer through the glass.
There it stood—massive, swirling, and impossibly vibrant.
A portal of deep cerulean light hovered in the distance, nearly three stories tall, its surface rippling like disturbed water. Magical currents bled from its core in shimring waves, making the air around it shimr like a mirage. Arrayed around it were tents, war banners, stone pedestals etched with runes, and scores of people moving in organized chaos.
He spotted armored soldiers, mages wrapped in arcane robes, scribes carrying sheaves of enchanted paper, and of course, the hopeful candidates—each one young, sharpened, and trying not to show how nervous they were.
The mont the carriage door creaked open, the atmosphere shifted.
Click. Clack. Step.
Commander Seraphine Vael stepped out first, her silver-plated boots striking the cobbled path with practiced grace. The morning light hit her perfectly, catching in the fine weave of her violet hair as it fell in soft waves across her back.
A hush fell over the nearby crowd.
"That’s... that’s Commander Seraphine Vael, right?" a nervous recruit murmured under his breath.
"Who else has hair like that and walks like she owns the sun?" another whispered.
A few of the officials near the front bowed their heads quickly, while several knights straightened their posture imdiately—back stiff, eyes forward, like a general had just passed inspection.
"She’s even scarier in person..." soone muttered with awe.
But there was more murmuring when Leon stepped down beside her.
His cloak fluttered slightly in the wind, but it couldn’t hide the sleek dark armor beneath—lightweight, layered for mobility, custom-fitted. At his waist glead a pair of expertly forged daggers, nothing like the plain steel most recruits wore. Every detail—his silver-white hair, pale skin, and calm, piercing eyes—stood out in stark contrast to the nervous or over-eager expressions around them.
"Who’s the kid?"
"Wait... don’t tell that’s her disciple?"
"Looks too young..."
"Yeah, and too damn pretty."
"I thought she wasn’t the ntoring type..."
"I thought she was the execution type."
Leon didn’t react to any of it. He walked a half-step behind her, his expression unreadable, but his gaze swept the field, sharp and clinical.
They didn’t know who he was. Not really.
But his presence, his bearing—especially beside soone like her—told its own story.
If Seraphine was a blade drawn by the realm, then Leon looked like the knife she kept hidden in her sleeve.
"Think he’s nobility in disguise?"
"Maybe. Or an orphan she picked up. You never know with people like her..."
"Still... walking beside her? That says enough."
The whispers continued as they passed through the portal field, people instinctively parting for them. So bowed slightly to Seraphine. Others just stared—at both of them—with curiosity, awe, or subtle unease.
She offered no greetings. No explanations.
Just that cold, commanding silence.
And Leon?
He didn’t care what they said.
Let them wonder. Let them whisper.
He wasn’t here to impress.
He was here to awaken.
As the two of them continued their quiet walk toward the staging area, the buzz in the air only grew louder—but now, it was edged with confusion.
"He’s gotta be here just to watch, right?"
"Yeah, I an, no way that kid’s entering the dungeon."
"Probably her apprentice or sothing. She’s just letting him see what the big leagues look like."
"Maybe a nephew?"
"Disciple, more likely. She trains him in secret, lets him swing a wooden sword at apples or sothing..."
Leon caught every word.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t glance back.
But a dry thought flickered through his mind as his gaze wandered toward the portal’s azure light.
’They think I’m here on a school trip.’
He didn’t bla them.
Most of the people gathered near the field looked... older. The kind of older that ca with sun-scarred skin, defined jawlines, and the faint shadows of experience in their eyes.
So of the candidates were clearly in their late teens—sixteen, seventeen, maybe older. A few even had the rough outlines of beards, arms thicker than his legs, and that slow, deliberate movent that ca from real combat experience.
Leon was ten.
Physically, at least.
But he scanned their faces, their stances, their unease with one part caution... and two parts boredom.
’They’re older. Bigger. Stronger. But not sharper.’
He’d died at sixteen. Back on Earth.
Spent three more years training here under Seraphine’s boot and fond, suffocating hugs.
By his math?
He was nineteen now.
Nineteen in the body of a preteen with a babyface and borderline ethereal features.
’ntally older than most of them, emotionally more jaded than all of them, and definitely better dressed,’ he mused, casually adjusting his cloak.
Let them underestimate him. That was fine.
Leon had always liked starting from a disadvantage.
Made the victories feel more personal.
And soon?
They’d all be locked in a dungeon together.
And the dungeon didn’t care how old you looked.
Only how well you survived.
A sharp voice rang out near the portal, cutting through the crowd like a whip.
"All entrants form a line! Trial candidates only—entry passes must be shown to proceed!"
Dozens of heads turned.
Several armored guards, each bearing the sigil of the central authority, stepped forward with practiced discipline. One of them raised a scroll and unfurled it theatrically.
"Anyone attempting to bypass protocol without an official trial pass will be detained and imprisoned. No exceptions. No bribes. No begging."
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
The murmuring faded as candidates began moving, boots crunching on stone and grass as a line ford before the swirling blue gate. So looked nervous. Others tried to project confidence, clenching fists, loosening shoulders, muttering half-baked mantras under their breath.
One by one, the guards checked the engraved tokens each candidate presented—sigil-stamped, mana-threaded—and waved them through.
Leon didn’t move.
He remained standing beside Seraphine, arms folded loosely, silver eyes watching the line with quiet amusent.
She hadn’t told him to go yet.
And besides, there was sothing he’d been wondering for a while now.
He tilted his head toward her and asked, casually, "So... what’s your class, anyway?"
Seraphine turned to him slowly, athyst eyes unreadable.
She didn’t answer at first. Just looked at him, her expression calm—but with thoughts clearly flickering behind her gaze.
He was curious. Sincere. And she didn’t bla him.
He had every right to ask.
But after a pause, she gave him a faint, almost playful smile.
"I’m not telling you."
Leon raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"
She smirked softly. "That high."
He blinked. "So, what—top ten?"
"In the kingdom?" she echoed. "There are a few with my rank. None above it."
That made Leon pause.
’So she’s top rank... and still sohow acts like a hug-happy older sister with control issues.’
Still, he didn’t ask again.
Because Seraphine’s tone shifted—just slightly. Not in secrecy. But purpose.
"I’m not hiding it," she added, eyes on the portal. "I just don’t want you chasing after it. Or ."
Leon turned his gaze to her fully now.
"Because you think I’ll fall short?"
She looked at him then, and the softness in her voice was stark against the military command in the air.
"No," she said. "Because I think you’ll go farther."
He stilled.
For a heartbeat, no quip ca to his lips.
Just a quiet flicker of surprise in his eyes.
Then he smirked lightly. "You’re getting sappy again."
"I’m your master. I’m allowed to be."
They both looked toward the line of candidates—growing shorter now.
The portal pulsed.
And Seraphine rested a hand lightly on his shoulder.
"Don’t be in a rush," she said. "The dungeon’s not going anywhere. But you... you’re going to go further than any of them."
Leon didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
His steady breath, the faint curl of his lips, and the focus in his eyes said enough.
He wasn’t here to chase anyone’s shadow.
He was here to cast one.
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