The two weeks blurred together in a haze of activity that left little ti for reflection. Raze threw himself into preparations with intensity that surprised even those who knew him best, organizing everything that needed handling before his departure.
The new knights integrated into his household surprisingly smoothly. Shiro kept mostly to himself, spending hours in the estate’s training yard perfecting forms with his distinctive katana. The blade’s red and black patterns caught sunlight as he moved, creating srizing displays that drew occasional spectators from the household staff.
Ban and Berth trained together under Alvis’s watchful eye, their Breathflow thodology evident in every controlled movent. The synchronized breathing patterns created a rhythm that seed to pulse through the training yard, almost hypnotic in its consistency. Watching them work was educational in itself, demonstration of how technique could transcend raw power when perfected through years of dedicated practice.
Alvis himself was exactly what Raze had hoped for. The weathered warrior assessed Sophie with professional detachnt before agreeing to work with her on foundational conditioning. Not cultivation, not yet, she was too young for that. But breathing exercises, basic body chanics, flexibility training. Building blocks that would serve her well when she finally awakened her core years from now.
Sophie took to the training with enthusiasm that surprised everyone. Apparently having sothing constructive to focus on helped with the anxiety of Raze’s impending departure. She’d co back from sessions with Alvis exhausted but smiling, proudly demonstrating proper breathing technique over dinner while Alvis watched with sothing that might have been approval on his weathered face.
"She has good discipline for her age," the old warrior told Raze one evening. "Listens, follows instruction, doesn’t complain when exercises are difficult. If she maintains that attitude, she’ll be formidable when she’s old enough to cultivate properly."
The praise ant more coming from soone who clearly didn’t give it lightly.
Domain business consud significant portions of Raze’s ti. He rode out with Logan and Oziel to inspect ongoing infrastructure projects, eting with town heads to address concerns that had erged since the conference. The road improvents between major towns were progressing well, construction crews working efficiently despite the scale of the undertaking.
In Silverdale, rra showed him expanded rchant facilities that were already attracting traders from neighboring domains. "Your reputation helps," she said bluntly. "Count who actually cares about economic developnt instead of just extracting taxes. Word spreads. People want to do business here."
Riverside was managing its logging operations more carefully after Cordelia from Ironwood had raised concerns about downstream water quality. Garrett grumbled about the additional oversight but admitted the coordination was probably beneficial long term.
Clearwater continued functioning as administrative hub, with Logan’s office there humming with activity as the steward managed reports and requests from across the domain. The man worked with tireless efficiency that bordered on obsessive, but results spoke for themselves. The domain was running smoothly.
Back at the estate, Raze made ti for his bound creatures despite everything else demanding attention. Bephemoth, Mittens, and Slith had settled into a strange routine of their own, the three juvenile forms creating odd dynamic in the estate’s grounds.
Bephe, the massive prehistoric predator reduced to calf sized juvenile, spent most ti in the gardens where space allowed so movent. The creature’s Grandmaster rank potential was evident even in diminished form, muscles rippling with power that could probably flatten most of the estate if fully released. But around Raze it was docile, almost playful in a clumsy way that belied its true nature.
"You’re basically a giant puppy right now," Raze said one afternoon, scratching behind the creature’s ear ridge while Bephe made a rumbling sound that might have been contentnt. "Don’t let that fool anyone though. You’re still terrifying when you want to be."
Bephe responded by trying to lick his face with tongue the size of his forearm, nearly knocking him over in the process. Definitely still working on coordination in this juvenile form.
Mittens, the Apex Predator bonded to Sophie, followed her everywhere with devotion that was almost touching. The cat-like creature was house trained now, thankfully, though servants still gave it nervous looks despite Sophie’s insistence that Mittens was perfectly safe.
"She wouldn’t hurt anyone," Sophie had declared multiple tis. "She’s a good girl. Aren’t you Mittens?"
Mittens would respond with a purring sound that seed too deep for her size, golden eyes tracking movent with predatory focus that suggested the "good girl" assessnt might be optimistic.
Slith, the Alpha Slither bonded to Fedora, adapted to Castle Town nobility with surprising grace. The serpentine creature could coil around Fedora’s shoulders comfortably, scales shimring with iridescent quality that actually complented formal attire rather than clashing. Several nobles had comnted on the "exotic accessory," not realizing they were complinting a creature capable of Paragon rank devastation once it matured.
"You’re surprisingly elegant," Fedora told the creature one evening. "For sothing that will eventually grow large enough to swallow horses whole."
Slith’s tongue flickered in what might have been serpentine amusent.
Training with Asura consud Raze’s nights. Every evening he’d enter deep ditation, consciousness retreating into his mind space where ti flowed differently. What felt like hours of instruction compressed into minutes of external passage, allowing intensive practice without sacrificing sleep.
The ancient entity was a demanding instructor, correcting mistakes with sharp comntary and forcing repetition until techniques beca instinctive rather than conscious effort. Reality Rejection, Void Step, Transcendent Will, all the awakened capabilities practiced until their application beca smooth rather than chaotic.
"You’re improving," Asura had said during one session. "Still rough, still obviously new to this, but improving. By the ti you reach Elmbridge, you’ll be able to use these abilities without imdiately injuring yourself through poor control."
High praise, coming from entity that had transcended divine limitations through pure determination.
The days accumulated quickly. Preparations completed, affairs settled, goodbyes said to those staying behind. Sophie cried despite knowing this was coming, clinging to him the night before departure with desperation that broke his heart.
"I’ll write every week," he promised again. "And you’ll be safe here. Mariabel, Aslan, Kael, Alvis, all of them protecting you. Plus royal guards. You’re probably safer than I’ll be."
"That doesn’t make feel better," she whispered into his chest.
"I know."
They stayed like that for a long ti, brother and sister facing inevitable separation that circumstances demanded but neither wanted.
The morning of departure arrived too quickly.
Now, standing in the estate’s courtyard with travel supplies prepared and carriage waiting, Raze took a mont to center himself. Everything was ready. Domain secured, Sophie protected, companions positioned appropriately. Ti to move forward.
Fedora approached, her diplomatic mask firmly in place despite lingering concern visible in her eyes. "The delegates are gathering at the palace. We should go."
"Right." He turned to face the assembled household one more ti. Sophie with tears threatening again, Mariabel standing solid and reliable, Aslan’s silver streaked arms showing he was barely controlling his protective instincts, Kael looking uncertain but determined, Oziel’s scarred face showing rare emotion, Logan with his ever present notebook, and the four knights standing at attention.
"Take care of each other," Raze said simply. "I’ll be back before you know it."
Then he climbed into the carriage with Fedora, and they departed toward the palace where Westia’s delegation to Elmbridge Academy was preparing for their journey.
The palace courtyard was organized chaos. Thirty young people, aged eighteen to twenty, all exceptional enough to earn spots representing Westia at the Academy. Most were nobles’ children, though few commoners had apparently qualified through extraordinary talent or cultivation achievent.
Raze recognized so faces from various noble functions. Others were complete strangers, warriors or mages from parts of Westia he’d never visited. All of them carried themselves with confidence that ca from knowing they’d been selected as their kingdom’s best.
Several noticed his arrival, recognition clear in their expressions. Count Dragonheart, the commoner elevated to nobility who’d exposed massive corruption and survived Sovereign rank assassination. His reputation preceded him.
A royal official approached, clipboard in hand. "Princess Fedora? Count Dragonheart? Excellent. You’re the last to arrive. We depart within the hour."
King Harold appeared on the palace steps, commanding attention without apparent effort. The gathered delegates fell silent imdiately, recognizing their monarch’s required audience.
"Delegates of Westia," Harold’s voice carried across the courtyard. "You represent our kingdom at Elmbridge Academy, training ground for the greatest warriors, mages, and scholars of the human domain. What you learn there, the connections you forge, the strength you develop, all of it serves not just yourselves but Westia itself."
He paused, gaze sweeping across the assembled youth.
"The Academy was established as the cornerstone of the Fifteen Nations Alliance. In recognition that humanity, alone among the races of Istea, lacks inherent advantages. We’re weaker than the dragon lords of Dracaria, less magically gifted than the elven kingdoms of Sylvara, shorter lived than the dwarven strongholds of Khaz Dorrum, less nurous than the beast clans of Feralis."
The assembled delegates listened with complete attention. This was history they all knew, but hearing it from their King carried weight that textbook study lacked.
"So our ancestors made a choice," Harold continued. "Rather than compete separately against superior forces, we would unite. Fifteen human kingdoms forming an alliance that would allow collective strength to compensate for individual weakness."
He gestured broadly, encompassing concept larger than simple geography.
"Aeloria, with its legendary Sword Saints and military tradition spanning centuries. Cindral, controlling richest trade routes and most advanced alchemical research. Valtor, whose magical academies produce combat casters without equal. Northrend, hardened by constant warfare against northern threats. Duskhaven, masters of shadow techniques and intelligence networks."
The King’s voice took on almost reverent quality as he continued listing their allied kingdoms.
"Silverpeak, whose mountain fortresses have never fallen to siege. Talonis, breadbasket of the alliance with agricultural abundance. Solara, where solar cultivation techniques create warriors of blazing power. ridian, balancing martial and magical traditions in perfect harmony. Astoria, whose naval forces dominate the western seas."
He paused before continuing.
"Ashenvale, with ancient forests hiding cultivation resources found nowhere else. Elmbridge Empire, strongest of all fifteen with resources and power exceeding any other human nation. Ironhold, whose master craftsn forge weapons and armor of legendary quality. Stormwatch, controlling the eastern passes and weathering constant monster incursions. And Westia, smallest of the fifteen but positioned at borders where threats historically erge first."
Harold’s expression grew more serious.
"Each kingdom contributes thirty exceptional youth annually to Elmbridge Academy. Four hundred fifty of humanity’s brightest prospects training together, forging bonds that transcend individual kingdom loyalties. Learning from masters who’ve achieved Paragon rank and beyond. Developing capabilities that will make you pillars of human civilization when you return."
The weight of expectation was palpable. These weren’t just students being sent for education. They were investnts in humanity’s collective future.
"The Academy exists because we recognized fundantal truth," the King said quietly. "Humanity survives through cooperation and excellence. We band together, we train our best to transcendent heights, we forge alliances that make our collective strength exceed what we could achieve separately."
He swept his gaze across them one final ti.
"You thirty represent Westia’s contribution to that collective strength. Learn well. Grow strong. Forge connections with delegates from other kingdoms. And return to us capable of facing whatever threats erge in years ahead."
Harold nodded formally. "Dismissed. Safe travels, and may you bring honor to Westia."
The delegates began boarding carriages, organizing themselves for the long journey ahead. The Elmbridge Empire was weeks of travel away, distance requiring careful planning and coordination.
Raze climbed into the assigned carriage followed by Fedora, finding himself sharing space with two other delegates he didn’t recognize. They introduced themselves politely but seed content with quiet contemplation rather than forced conversation. Fine by him. He had plenty to think about.
As the carriage rolled through Castle Town’s gates, beginning the journey toward Elmbridge Academy, Raze felt a strange mixture of anticipation and calculation. The Academy represented opportunity, concentration of humanity’s best prospects in a single location. Resources, instruction, connections with warriors and mages who’d define their generation.
But more importantly, it represented the plot. Storylines from Records of Istea that would unfold around key characters gathering at the Academy for training. Events he could manipulate, quests he could complete before the protagonist arrived, advantages he could secure through transmigrator knowledge.
Alex Dawnsblade would eventually arrive at Elmbridge, the protagonist’s divine blessing attracting opportunities and conflicts like a magnet. But Raze would be there first, already established, already positioned to intercept critical plot points before the hero could stumble into them through narrative convenience.
He’d swallowed plot in Thornwick by completing quests early. He’d swallowed plot in the capital by exposing corruption ahead of schedule. Now he’d swallow plot at Elmbridge Academy, positioning himself to benefit from storylines while Alex was still wherever divine guidance had sent him.
The thought brought grim satisfaction. Let the protagonist arrive to find the best opportunities already claid, critical connections already forged, dangerous situations already resolved. See how blessed advancent worked when soone else kept eating the plot before divine intervention could arrange perfect timing.
Asura’s presence stirred within his consciousness, clearly amused by his thoughts.
[You’re developing the proper mindset, successor. Take what you need, leave nothing for those who’d claim it through unearned providence. The Academy is rich with opportunities for those bold enough to seize them.]
"That’s the plan," Raze murmured quietly enough that his carriage companions didn’t notice.
The journey ahead would take weeks. Ti enough to plan, to strategize, to prepare for imrsion into an environnt concentrated with humanity’s exceptional prospects.
Elmbridge Academy awaited. And with it, opportunities to grow strong enough to face cosmic threats while simultaneously swallowing every plot point he could identify before fate could arrange them for the protagonist’s convenience.
The carriage rolled onward, carrying Westia’s delegates toward whatever future awaited at the training ground of humanity’s greatest.
Raze settled back against the cushions, mind already working through what he rembered about the Academy from ga lore and what he’d need to accomplish once he arrived.
The developing plot waited ahead. And he intended to devour it completely.
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