The path to the West Courtyard was lined with manicured hedges and statues of past Academy headmasters. It was quiet here, away from the administrative bustle, save for the distant sounds of Soul Skills detonating, cracks of thunder, roars of fire, and the clash of metal.
Arthev walked with a steady, silent gait. He didn't look around with the wide-eyed wonder of a country boy, nor did he strut with the arrogance of a noble. He simply moved forward, his dark eyes focused on the destination, his face a mask of calm indifference.
'Noisy insects,' Shukaku's raspy voice echoed in Arthev's mind. 'I can smell the ozone from here. It smells... weak.'
'It is likely the Second Team,' Matatabi's voice chimed in, elegant and composed.
'They serve as the direct reserves for the Royal Team. We should expect high-level Soul Elders, perhaps even those bordering on the Soul Ancestor realm.Do not underestimate them just because they are children, Arthev.'
Arthev adjusted the black cuffs of his tunic, his expression unchanged. 'I won't. But I have no intention of overestimating them, either.'
He rounded the final corner, and the training grounds revealed themselves.
It was a sprawling circular arena paved with white granite, designed to withstand the punishment of Soul Skills. Around the perimeter, a dozen students clad in the Academy's prestigious gold-and-white uniforms were either recovering from drills or meditating.
In the center, a teacher clutching a clipboard was barking corrections at two sparring students.
Arthev stopped at the edge of the field. He did not call out. He did not wave. He simply stood there, a singularity of stillness in a chaotic room.
His all-black attire absorbed the sunlight, making him look like a drop of ink spilled onto a pristine canvas. It didn't take long for the anomaly to be noticed.
The sparring ceased. The instructor, a stern man with a sharp goatee and eyes that had seen too many undisciplined children, turned on his heel.
"You there," the teacher barked.
"This area is restricted to the Imperial Second Team. Maintenance staff enters through the north gate."
Arthev stepped onto the granite. He did not raise his voice, yet his tone cut through the distance with crystal clarity.
"I am not staff."
He performed a standard bow, precise, mechanically perfect, yet utterly devoid of warmth or subservience.
"I am Arthev. The Board of Education has assigned me to this unit, effective immediately."
A ripple of murmurs swept through the students on the sidelines.
"A transfer?" one whispered loudly. "Now? The Continental Tournament is a year away only."
"Look at his clothes," another sneered. "No family crest. No embroidery. A commoner?"
The teacher frowned, flipping through the papers on his clipboard with aggressive snaps. "I received no... no... ah. Here it is."
He paused, reading the fine print, before looking up with narrowed eyes. He scanned Arthev's slender frame, unimpressed.
"I am Teacher Su," the man said coldly. "We hold high standards here, transfer. I do not care about recommendations from the administration. I care about capability. If you are weak, you will be discarded."
"I understand," Arthev replied, his face a mask of calm.
"Do you?"
A tall student separated himself from the group. He was broad-shouldered, with cropped blond hair and a sneer that seemed permanently attached onto his features. He walked with the heavy, claiming steps of someone who owned the ground beneath him.
"This is the Imperial Academy," the boy said, stopping beside Teacher Su.
"We are the future pillars of the Empire. We don't drag dead weight."
He cracked his knuckles, glancing back at his entourage for validation.
They snickered on cue.
'Standard pack behavior,' Isobu noted quietly, his voice deep and analytical. 'The alpha challenges the intruder to assert dominance over the territory.'
'Boring,' Shukaku yawned. 'Snap his spine and be done with it.'
Arthev regarded the student. He didn't frown or glare. He merely tilted his head slightly, observing the boy with the detached curiosity one might afford a buzzing fly.
"I have no intention of dragging you down," Arthev said evenly. "I intend to walk past you."
The blond student's face reddened. "Talk is cheap," he spat. He turned to the instructor.
"Teacher Su, allow me to test his qualifications. If he can't last three minutes against me, he doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as us."
Teacher Su hesitated, weighing the request. In this world, strength was the only currency that mattered. If the newcomer couldn't handle a hazing, he would never survive the tournament.
"Very well," Su nodded. "Huang Yuan. Keep it to light injuries. He is still a student of the Academy."
"Of course," Huang Yuan grinned, a predatory glint in his eyes. He stepped into the center of the ring and pointed a finger at Arthev.
"Get in here, commoner. I'll teach you the difference between a street brawler and a noble."
Arthev walked into the ring. He stopped five meters away and stood with his hands hanging loosely at his sides. No fighting stance. No tension.
"Spirit Release!" Huang Yuan roared.
Energy surged. Two yellow rings and one purple ring rose from his feet, oscillating rhythmically.
His muscles swelled, tearing at the seams of his uniform as coarse grey fur sprouted from his arms. His fingernails elongated into razor-sharp claws, and his pupils contracted into vertical slits.
"Spirit: Lone Wolf. Level 36 Power Attack System Soul Elder!" Huang Yuan announced, his voice deepening into a growl.
The pressure of a high-level Soul Elder washed over the arena. The other students nodded in approval; Huang Yuan was a powerhouse of the Second Team.
"Arthev," the black-clad boy said softly.
"Level 35. Spirit: Elemental Tree."
He did not release his spirit. No rings appeared. No pressure flared. He just stood there, looking painfully ordinary against the hulking wolf-man.
"You're not even going to summon your spirit?" Huang Yuan growled, his pride stung. "You arrogant trash!"
"Third Soul Skill: Wolf King's Pounce!"
Huang Yuan launched himself forward. The purple ring, his thousand-year spirit ring, glowed violently, enveloping his claws in jagged violet energy. He moved with blinding speed, aiming a swipe directly at Arthev's chest. It was a blow meant to intimidate, to bruise, to break ribs.
The students watched, expecting the black-clad boy to be ragdolled across the arena.
Arthev watched the claw approach.
'Slow,' Matatabi whispered. 'Too much wasted movement in the shoulders. His center of gravity is too high.'
Arthev didn't use his ocular abilities. He didn't call upon the heavy sand. He simply relied on raw physical reflex and experience.
At the final fraction of a second, Arthev pivoted on his heel.
It was a minimal movement. The violet claws shredded the air where his chest had been a microsecond prior.
Huang Yuan's eyes widened. He tried to adjust, but his momentum was fully committed.
Arthev stepped into the boy's guard. He didn't punch or kick. He simply placed his open palm against Huang Yuan's exposed stomach.
It wasn't a strike. It was a release of kinetic force.
"Sit," Arthev said.
Bang.
The sound was like a heavy book being slammed onto a table. Huang Yuan's breath was forcibly ejected from his lungs. He flew backward as if hit by a siege ram, tumbling across the stone floor before skidding to a humiliating halt at Teacher Su's feet.
Silence descended on the courtyard. It was heavy, suffocating, and absolute.
Huang Yuan groaned, curling into a fetal position, clutching his stomach, trying to comprehend how a simple push had felt like the kick of a warhorse.
Arthev smoothed out the front of his tunic. He hadn't moved from his spot since the pivot. He hadn't summoned a single ring.
He looked at Teacher Su, his expression unchanged, calm, mysterious, and utterly unbothered.
"Was that three minutes?" Arthev asked politely.
Teacher Su stared at the boy, then down at the groaning elite student at his boots. He cleared his throat, struggling to regain his composure.
"N-No," the teacher stammered slightly, before steeling himself. "That... will suffice. Huang Yuan, get up. Stop embarrassing yourself."
Arthev bowed slightly to the teacher, then turned to the group of stunned nobles. He didn't gloat. He didn't smile. He just offered a small, polite nod.
"I look forward to learning from you all," Arthev said.
The students stared back. The mockery in their eyes had evaporated, replaced by a mixture of confusion, wariness, and fear.
'Nicely done,' Matatabi purred. 'Minimal effort. Maximum psychological impact.'
'I still wanted to see blood,' Shukaku muttered petulantly.
Arthev walked over to the designated resting area on the far side of the arena. He sat down, alone. From his robe, he pulled a small, leather-bound book titled 'A History of the Continent'and began to read.
As he turned the first page, the sounds of the training ground slowly resumed, though quieter than before.
He was in. Now, the real work began.
To be continued...