Getting off the train, Amon stepped onto the railway platform of Elarith.
With excited steps, he left the station and entered the heart of the city.
Elarith was a place where ancient stone met modern steel—a rare marvel that stood proudly between tradition and progress. Known as the "City of Balance," it was where knights in enchanted plate armor strolled along the same streets as mages wearing crystal-imbued monocles.
Commoners rode mana-carts past horse-drawn carriages adorned with golden crests. There were even mana-powered cars here and there.
Surrounded by towering stone walls etched with glowing protective runes, the city stretched far and wide, nestled at the base of the silver-fogged Eldrath Mountains.
The streets of Elarith were paved with polished gray cobblestones, enchanted to clean themselves every morning at dawn.
Along the main avenues, iron street lamps powered by mana crystals flickered on at dusk, casting a bluish-white glow over merchants selling spell scrolls and cafés offering steam-brewed mana coffee.
The markets buzzed with life. Blacksmiths forged swords beside vendors selling pocket-sized golems, while fruit sellers shouted over bards playing music through lute-powered speakers.
Artificers and alchemists had their own district, where the air always smelled of lavender and explosive potions.
You could still hear the rhythmic clopping of horses in the older quarters.
Noble manors stood on elevated grounds like fortresses, overlooking the bustling commoner quarters below.
These estates featured modern plumbing enchanted by water mages, floating gardens, and servants equipped with magical wristbands for communication.
Despite all these advancements, the soul of Elarith remained medieval. Guards in enchanted armor patrolled the streets, and court mages held trials in magic towers.
"Wow... this is so amazing," Amon said with a wide smile, his eyes darting in every direction.
The city was far more beautiful and developed than Valerion.
He walked deeper into the city, smiling happily as he admired everything around him. Slowly, he made his way toward the road leading to the academy.
Even from a distance, he could see the majestic campus.
Perched atop a lush, emerald-green hill at the northern edge of Elarith, Arcadia Academy looked less like a school and more like a sanctuary of arcane beauty. It was a masterpiece carved from magic, stone, and dreams.
The first sight of it stole his breath.
Soaring towers of white marble and enchanted obsidian reached toward the sky, their smooth surfaces glowing faintly with magical sigils that shimmered in daylight and pulsed softly at night.
Between them, arched skybridges made of translucent mana-glass connected the towers, glowing like moonlight as students strolled across them. Some read spellbooks as they walked, while others casually practiced incantations.
After a while, Amon arrived at the front gate.
The main entrance was a massive archway shaped like a crescent moon, guarded not by knights but by two living statues carved from sapphire and jade. They stood like silent sentinels, moving only when necessary.
As students passed through, a sensation of warmth and calm swept over them—a protective enchantment welcoming everyone who entered.
Amon approached a silver-armored guard near the gate.
"Hello, Sir Knight... Uh, anyway, I've come here for admission."
The knight looked at Amon's cheap clothes for a moment before replying, "The entrance exams are already over. If you passed, show me the letter from the academy confirming your admission."
Amon scratched the back of his head and smiled awkwardly.
"Yes, sir. I'll show you."
With a confident grin, he pulled out the golden admission pass and held it up.
Even though the guard wore a helmet, his surprise was obvious.
"A... golden pass? Wait here, boy."
He walked over to the side and pulled out a mana-powered communication device. After making a brief call, he returned.
"I've contacted a professor. He'll be coming to receive you and explain the admission process."
Amon nodded and waited patiently.
Soon, a middle-aged man with striking brown hair and sharp green eyes walked out through the gate.
He wore a white robe with green accents, radiating the unmistakable air of a seasoned magician.
He looked at Amon with an unreadable expression.
"You're Amon Vale, right? Come. Follow me."
He turned and walked through the academy gates. Amon followed.
As he passed through, he felt a warm, tingling sensation run across his body, as though something were scanning him.
Inside, the central courtyard was stunning. Lush trees, shaped by wind magic, flowed like natural sculptures.
Flowers shifted colors with the seasons, and a crystal-clear fountain at the center danced in patterns shaped like ancient runes. Stone benches lined the pathways.
As they walked, Amon spoke up.
"Professor, may I know your name?"
Without turning around, the man replied, "Davern Valmont. I teach Alchemy to first-, second-, and third-year students."
Amon nodded, quietly taking everything in.
Professor Davern led him through wide corridors until they reached the middle spire. He opened the glass-panelled lift and stepped inside. Amon followed.
As they ascended, Amon looked out through the glass walls of the lift, taking in the view of the academy grounds and the entire city beyond.
It was breathtaking.
Eventually, they reached the top floor and stepped out. At the end of the hallway stood a single, large door.
Professor Davern knocked.
"Come in," said a beautiful but firm voice from inside.
They entered a grand room adorned with ancient weapons, magical artifacts, and elegant furnishings.
At the center stood a desk covered with documents. Behind it sat an elderly woman with snow-white hair, her beauty seemingly enhanced by the years and the aura of authority surrounding her. Despite her age, she looked to be in her late forties.
Amon stared.
'Damn… Talk about a GILF. Wait—stop. Stop thinking things that might get you incinerated.'
He straightened up, silently hoping she couldn't read minds.
Professor Davern bowed slightly, unaware of what was going through the young man's head.
"Headmistress, this is Amon Vale. He possesses a golden ticket pass."
The elegant woman looked up from her papers. Her silver eyes pierced through Amon, and a cold shiver ran down his spine.
She was strong. Inhumanly so.
Her name, if Amon remembered correctly, was Isabel Dawnheart—a Mythborn, one of the few humans who had reached the seventh stage of mana mastery.
A Mythborn.
"Hmm. A golden ticket?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "Who gave it to you?"
Amon scratched his cheek.
"Honestly, I don't know her name. She was... drunk. Orange hair, acted all clingy and sweet."
Amon glanced at her, then at Davern, before beginning to explain how he'd received the ticket, starting from the very beginning.
After listening to his entire story, Headmistress Isabel sighed.
"No doubt. Elizabeth Ashbourne."
Hearing that name, Amon's eyes widened in shock.
The woman who had leaned on him, speaking sweetly like a true drunkard, was none other than Elizabeth Ashbourne.
Amon's eyes widened even further.
"Wait! That Elizabeth?! The Duchess of Astron? The youngest Mythborn?!"
Isabel nodded.
"Yes. And as reckless as ever."
Amon's jaw nearly hit the floor. The drunken woman who had hugged him like a schoolgirl was one of the strongest people in the world?
"Well," the Headmistress said after a moment, her expression softening just slightly, "even if it's through luck and Elizabeth's whims, you possess a legitimate pass."
She smiled faintly.
"Amon Vale, welcome to Arcadia Academy."