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Frederick was a freshman enrolling at Akarind Academy this year.
‘…Hah. Hoo. I finally made it to Akarind….’
His heart felt as though it might burst from tension.
After all, the greatest dream of his fourteen years of life had co true.
Two months earlier, his holand—the Kingdom of Namress—had been ravaged by countless monsters.
In that chaos, his father and older brother had died.
When even his younger sibling and mother had resigned themselves to death, one person appeared like a hero.
A blazing red aura surged around the sword in his hand, and each ti the blade rushed through the air, monsters fell like flies.
They were monsters that soldiers and knights had failed to deal with properly.
And yet, only two or three students wiped them all out.
It was utterly abnormal—and precisely because of that, it was majestic, sacred, like a scene torn straight from myth.
What remained most vividly in his mory was the white uniform.
That white uniform symbolizing the Akarind Tree had, from that mont on, beco the color of peace, heroes, and legend within the Kingdom of Namress.
How many people had co to revere Akarind Academy and strive desperately to enroll here?
Among those his age in Namress, there was probably not a single person who had not applied.
‘Will I be able to see that older brother again?’
Now he stood here proudly as one of them.
If only he could see again that short red hair, those sharp eyes, that overwhelmingly domineering swordsmanship.
With such expectations, he looked around.
‘Wow… look at those clothes.’
People of every sort filled the area.
Those clearly born to nobility wore extravagant attire, even arriving at the entrance ceremony with attendants and servants.
Many even ca accompanied by their noble parents.
More than anything, the atmosphere around the students was overwhelming.
There were many whose eyes already carried the depth and danger of those who had experienced real combat several tis.
It felt as though he alone was the only one still wearing the air of a child.
“Hmm….”
Feeling intimidated, Frederick straightened his uniform.
The rough texture of the brand-new white fabric scraped against his skin.
The heavily starched cuffs irritated his palms.
Because he had bought it slightly too large, it looked awkward, as if he had been forced into an older sibling’s uniform.
anwhile, the students standing nearby wore uniforms perfectly fitted to their bodies.
It was proof that they could easily replace such things whenever they wished.
That wealth—that ease—made him envious.
I…
I…
“…What’s your na?”
“Huh?”
Frederick flinched and turned his head.
A girl slightly smaller than him was looking at him.
“You didn’t hear . Nervous?”
She was strangely bright and lively for a place like this.
Around 170 centiters tall—already tall for a girl, and even more so among students this age.
People had already been sneaking glances at her, and now it felt as though their attention had shifted toward him as well.
“I could tell from your hair. Strong curls and brown skin. You’re from the Kingdom of Namress, right?”
“Ah, uh…”
“That’s amazing. You survived that chaos! That’s why I was curious. What’s your na?”
It was a new experience.
What he had lived through two months ago was a tragedy.
His ho was destroyed, his family lost—a calamity beyond words.
Whenever others brought it up, they lowered their voices and held back tears.
Yet this girl spoke not of the tragedy, but of his survival.
Amazing.
That’s why I was curious.
His heart raced.
“Frederick.”
“Really? I’m Naya. Nice to et you!”
“Uh, uh-huh.”
“You’re from Namress? Then you saw the seniors from Akarind Academy too, right?”
“Yeah… the red-haired one…”
“You saw Senior Bridget! That’s incredible! What else? Did you see Aura too?”
“Mm. Red Aura…”
“Whoa, that’s insane! Aura!”
As Naya and Frederick spoke, murmurs spread among the surrounding students.
Aura. Demons. Those were not ordinary topics.
This year’s incoming students were in a completely different situation from last year’s.
Last year, people had enrolled half-doubtfully after hearing rumors spread by Avril.
Few truly understood how exceptional Instructor Cassian’s teaching was, or how extraordinary the previous students—Pan and the others—really were.
That was why professors and students alike had casually tried to establish hierarchies.
But now, everything was different.
Over the past two months, demons appearing across the world had left unimaginable scars.
Tens of thousands had died. Hundreds of thousands were injured.
Material damage was incalculable, and so small nations had been completely wiped out.
Heroes were needed.
Yet unlike the dead, heroes were few—only dozens, perhaps a hundred at most.
Eighty percent of them were swordsn who wielded Aura, and eighty percent of those were directly or indirectly connected to Akarind Academy.
The world had no choice but to focus on the Akarind territory of the Belin Kingdom.
And now—Akarind Academy had gone even further, declaring itself the largest academy city in the world.
The buildings were rebuilt with elegance. Massive educational capital flowed into the entire territory.
Most notably, the headquarters of the Goldline rchant Guild had relocated here, causing transportation and comrce to explode.
Abrahal, who oversaw the guild’s entire operation, resided here, and the Firestorm rcenary Guild—said to be the strongest in the world—volunteered as guards.
The people forming this city rivaled even the capital of Belin Kingdom.
It was no exaggeration that Belin had dispatched a new administrator solely for this place.
At the center of all this change stood the Kingdom of Namress.
Ocean Hall.
And the countless student strike forces dispatched from Akarind Academy.
The students’ excitent was soon quieted by the person who stepped onto the platform.
—Silence.
A muscular instructor wearing a tight-fitting cotton shirt.
Nearly two ters tall, with a thick double chin that seed to reflect his solid temperant.
His closely cropped yellow hair looked less blond and more delinquent, and the muscles protruding from his sleeves were covered in scars.
He looked less like a teacher and more like a battle-hardened warrior.
—Welco. I am Freutche, one of the swordsmanship instructors of this Academy. We will now begin the Opening Ceremony of Akarind Academy, the academy city of Belin.
As Freutche finished speaking, thunderous celebratory cannon blasts bood in the distance.
At the sa ti, colorful strears fluttered above their heads.
Paper petals resembling the flowers of Akarind Academy scattered through the air.
Trumpets sounded, and music from an orchestra filled the space.
It was the school anthem—sothing even students heard only a few tis a year.
“Wow…”
The students stared, dumbstruck.
From the mont they entered, they had already experienced what an academy city ant.
Libraries lined the entrance. Training grounds and educational facilities filled every street.
Dormitories stretched in all directions, and aerial walkways connected everything—directly or indirectly—to the main building.
A city built solely for education.
That was an academy city.
“This is insane.”
But what the students saw was only the surface.
This was not rely an Opening Ceremony.
The entire city transford into a massive festival, as though celebrating a grand triumph.
Everywhere their eyes reached seed dedicated solely to celebrating their enrollnt.
To them, this was the world.
“Wow…”
In the face of such grandeur, there was no difference between noble and commoner.
No difference between wealth and poverty.
They could only stare in awe at a sight they had never seen before.
The problem was—Freutche felt the sa way.
—Sniff.
The sound of a nose being wiped echoed through the microphone.
Those near the platform could see the instructor’s eyes welling with emotion.
It was an utterly mismatched sight.
—Ahem! Now then! Next is a swordsmanship demonstration by your seniors!
What followed was powerful enough that no one cared about that awkward mont.
As Freutche stepped down, students poured forward.
They were the Advancent Class—the Academy’s third-year students.
“W-Whoa—are you kidding?!”
“P-Pan, senioooor!”
“Eleveth! Take !”
The atmosphere was no different from that of a top-tier stage actor appearing.
The students shouted nas, whistles piercing the air.
Amid the chaos, Pan raised a hand and signaled the twenty students with him.
The teams split.
Bridget, Eleveth, and Pan stood back-to-back in a triangle at the center.
The remaining seventeen ford a circle around them.
A 17-to-3 match.
At that instant, radiant Aura blood from the swords of the seventeen.
“Whoa…”
Students swallowed unconsciously.
The multicolored Aura rippling before them was enough to make their breathing tighten.
Yet the three at the center looked calm, as though unafraid.
“That’s insane. Those are real blades.”
“Blade or practice sword, it’s Aura! If you get hit, it’s over!”
“And this is just a demonstration?”
Even more overwheld than the students were the accompanying adults.
Those who understood swordsmanship best were the most shocked.
Then—
DENG—
A bell-like sound rang from a distant spire.
The seventeen surged inward, swords flashing.
Normally, with that many people moving at once, formations collapsed into chaos.
But their movents were as orderly as a military formation.
“Hah!”
Yet the swordsmanship of the three at the center shattered that formation in an instant.
The mont blades clashed, Aura broke.
The disrupted flow allowed hands, feet, arms, and legs to slip in and topple opponents.
Their movents were as natural as water flowing downhill, seamless and without hesitation.
Watching the flow of their swordsmanship made the students feel as though so indescribable image was passing through them.
Of course, it was not solely due to their skill.
‘General Fantasy is working overti.’
Rozalin smiled with her arms crossed.
There was a reason for this absurd spectacle at the Opening Ceremony.
It was to engrave Akarind Academy and its mbers firmly into the minds of everyone present.
With demons appearing and Aura wielders taking the stage, no fool would dare ignore—or disrespect—their instructor again.
But that was not enough.
Everyone had to worship him.
They had to know his greatness so thoroughly that they would never even consider using him.
For that, she would gladly put on a third-rate show like this a hundred tis over.
Above all—
‘…The problem is that this idiot instructor is way too weak.’
At this mont, her instructor was in the sa state as last year’s entrance ceremony.
Unconscious and collapsed.
‘We cannot let the sickly pretty-boy instructor image stick.’
Rozalin believed that image invited people to underestimate him and do foolish things.
She gave no thought whatsoever to the damage caused by her own overprotectiveness.
‘When are you going to wake up, Instructor. Ah… I miss you.’
Having lost interest, Rozalin looked up at the sky.
It was a refreshing spring.
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