Across the Empire
Within hours, word began to spread like wildfire.
Troops vanished from contested zones.
Monster subjugation patrols were abandoned mid-campaign.
Letters of panic flooded into noble courts: "Thornevale has withdrawn!"
In some baronies, the only functioning aid force was suddenly gone.
Fires smoldered unchecked. Villages once defended now stood vulnerable.
And nobles began to murmur.
"They say it's because of the Empire's treatment of the heir."
"If the Thornevales truly cut ties, the outer ring will crumble…"
"Do they really value the boy's living quarters more than the realm?"
But in the heart of the storm, one truth was undeniable:
Ace Thornevale might be alone at the Academy… but his house was never far behind.
And this wasn't retaliation.
This was a warning.
Imperial Palace.
The Sunfire Hall of the imperial palace — a vast chamber lined with columns of enchanted gold and banners of the Solarian crest — was quieter than usual.
Emperor Aurelius Solarian, seated atop on the throne, listened in stony silence as the latest reports were read aloud by a pale court official.
"—And as of this morning, the final Thornevale support unit has withdrawn from the western provinces, Your Majesty. The reports from Duke Haell, Count Vesmir, and Lady Estenna request immediate imperial reinforcement, as monster incursions have resumed with casualties."
"Additionally… the noble aid previously sustained by House Thornevale have been halted."
The hall stirred uncomfortably.
Several nobles shifted in their seats, some whispering to each other. Duke Alvan, one of the louder voices of the court and frequent critic of Thornevale, broke the silence.
"They've abandoned the borders. They insult the Empire. This is treason cloaked in logistics!"
But his words were hollow. Even he had once benefited from a Thornevale forces handling a wyvern nest before the Empire's bureaucrats even approved a scouting team.
The Emperor clenched his jaw, veins showing at his temple.
"So now they twist their blades subtly," he muttered. "Withdrawing aid, not out of rebellion… but out of concern for their heir's comfort'."
"They cloak defiance in loyalty — and the world applauds them for it."
He stood slowly, his deep crimson robes trailing behind like flowing lava.
"Do they believe we are weak?"
No one answered.
Because deep down, even the emperor feared the answer.
Aurelius turned sharply toward his advisors.
"We will strip their influence. We'll seize trade permits, cancel their imperial privileges, tax every inch of their land."
That's when a long-serving noble, stepped forward — head bowed low.
"Your Majesty, forgive my boldness. But if I may… such retaliation might ignite a conflict we cannot afford."
Aurelius narrowed his gaze. "You would have me bend?"
Noble hesitated. "No, Your Majesty. But… none of us are willing to cover the territories they've abandoned. We don't have the troops. Or the wealth. Or… the discipline."
"And the people… they trust Thornevale's sword more than our gold."
A hush fell over the court.
Even the most corrupt lords dared not protest. Because it was true — no noble had ever embezzled a single copper coin from Thornevale aid. Their honor was harsh, even cruel…
But it was pure.
Aurelius returned to his throne and sat heavily, the gold creaking beneath the weight of the empire and his pride.
"They shame us. With discipline. With steel. With silence."
He exhaled.
"So be it. Let them have their gesture. Call back the retaliation."
He waved his hand, ending the discussion.
Later, alone in his solar, the Emperor stared at the cracked wine glass in his hand.
"Even the corrupt take freely from my resources," he whispered bitterly. "Yet, no one would risk taking even a single coin from Thornevale."
He looked out the window toward the Academy's spires on the horizon.
"That boy… Ace Thornevale… is becoming the spear at the Empire's throat."
His voice dropped low, as if speaking to ghosts.
"And I fear... he may not pull it away."
The first rays of sunlight spilled through the thin curtains of Ace's modest dormitory, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. There was no fire rune to warm the space, no mana-activated glass to brighten it.
Only cold stone. Bare walls. A cracked window.
And yet, inside, Ace Thornevale sat with poise, sipping warm tea from a plain ceramic cup, seated in a simple wooden chair as if it were a high-backed throne.
His black and silver uniform was pressed to perfection, and his crimson sword leaned against the wall behind him — unassuming, yet dominant.
He was still. Composed. The picture of elegance, as if the world outside the room did not exist.
A knock tapped at his door.
"Come in," Ace said evenly.
The door creaked open, and Lucy stepped in.
Lucy shocked by the scene.
Her breath caught.
She had been living humbly in Thornevale. neglected, yes, but her chambers were still noble-standard. Here… this room felt like it belonged to a retired footman.
And Ace — always shrouded in command and wealth — sat amidst it all like it meant nothing.
Her eyes scanned the space again. No attendants. No robes lined with gold. Not even a bed warmer.
She looked at Ace.
"How… are you okay living here?" she asked softly, almost disbelieving.
Ace didn't even glance at her. He set down the cup with the precision of a swordsman sheathing his blade.
"A place..." he said, "can't change me."
His voice was calm. Cold. Unshaken.
"Even here, I remain what I am."
Lucy stared at him — truly stared. And for the first time, she understood.
This man does not need the world to give him status. He declares it with every breath.
She cleared her throat. "The ceremony starts soon… are you ready?"
Ace stood. "Yes, let's depart."
Just as they turned to leave, a soft knock interrupted.
A young maid stood at the doorway, slightly out of breath. "Lord Thornevale. I… I have been sent to escort you to your new dormitory."
Lucy blinked. "New?"
The maid bowed again. "By the order of the Academy's administration. Effective immediately."
Ace's expression didn't change, but his eyes gleamed with a soft smile on his lips.
He nodded once.
"Lucy," he said, "Go ahead. I'll catch up."
She hesitated. "Are you sure?"
He didn't answer.
She bowed lightly and left.
Ace followed the maid in silence through the winding marble halls of the Academy — a sharp contrast to the dormitory he had been confined to. The corridors widened. The floors gleamed. Enchanted glass bathed the halls in sunlight.
Finally, the maid stopped before a pair of ornate double doors, each marked with ancient noble crests.
"These are your quarters now, my lord."
She curtsied and left quickly.
Ace entered.
The room was nothing like the last.
The space was expansive — silk-draped windows, enchanted lights, a fireplace with mana stones embedded in the brick. A tailored wardrobe, a velvet-lined desk, and a private bath with elemental heating runes.
Fit for a high noble.
Fit for a prince.
Ace lounged in a velvet-backed chair near the fireplace, one leg crossed over the other. Picked up the already prepared cup of tea.
The same maid with a troubled look.
"My lord… the Headmaster requests your presence in his office."
Ace didn't even blink.
He sipped his tea, then gestured to the chair beneath him.
"I am already here," he said, voice laced with calm command. "If the Headmaster desires a meeting, he may come to me."
The maid froze, lips parting as if to protest — but one look at Ace's cool, silenced any thought of objection.
"A-as you wish, Lord Thornevale."
She bowed and hurried out.
Only minutes passed before the door opened again — it was Adalf Valmor, Headmaster of the Imperial Academy — and a Supreme Mage, one of the highest spellcasters in the known empire.
His beard flowed down to his chest, silver with streaks of sapphire threads. The robe he wore bore sigils that pulsed softly with power. He is feared across empire. But today, his eyes held unease.
Ace didn't stand. He didn't even offer a seat.
Instead, he calmly sipped from his cup and gestured vaguely.
"So. The mighty Adalf Valmor comes to my door. I hope the walk was not too demeaning."
Valmor's expression tightened — but only briefly. He had been through wars. He had counseled emperors. And yet, this boy made the air feel heavier.
"Lord Thornevale… I apologize for the oversight regarding your previous quarters. It was a misunderstanding—"
"No," Ace interrupted, still seated. "It was a decision."
Silence.
Ace stood slowly, his presence filling the room like rolling thunder beneath the surface.
"Without our mana stones, Without Thornevale monster corpses, your research halts. And without our materials, your alchemy division is dust."
The Headmaster's wrinkled hands clenched briefly.
"We… acknowledge the mistake. The Empire may fund us, but it is Thornevale that sustains us."
Ace studied him, then set the cup down gently on the side table.
"Normally, I wouldn't have forgiven such insult."
"But since I am studying here," he said with a slight smile, "I'll let it go."
The Headmaster bowed his head in silent relief.
"Then… if I may — the Entrance Ceremony is ready to begin. They are simply waiting on me."
Ace nodded once.
The Headmaster added, "Would you… accompany me?"
Ace stepped forward with quiet grace, his boots echoing on marble.
He strode past the Headmaster, coat fluttering lightly behind him, eyes focused straight ahead.
"I walk first. You follow. Just give me directions."
As they walked through the main corridor of the Academy, students, faculty, and even knights parted instinctively.
Behind Ace, the Headmaster followed in silence.
"That's him…"
"Thornevale's heir."
"Why is the Headmaster behind him—?"
Students and nobles turned to stare.
In that moment, Adalf understood something deeper than any concept the Academy taught.
If Ace Thornevale continues to rise…If he survives this crucible of youth…Then the Empire itself will look like an insect beneath the boots of House Thornevale.
He didn't fear rebellion.
He feared irrelevance.
The grand Imperial Academy Auditorium shimmered with prestige. Crystal chandeliers hung high above, glowing with mana-infused light. Decorative banners of each noble house lined the walls in vibrant colors, dancing in the warm, enchantment-blessed air.
Hundreds of students had gathered, sorted meticulously by family rank.
Earls and Viscounts filled the rear.
Marquises and Dukes sat closer.
And the first row, lined in imperial crimson, was reserved for royalty alone.
But today, four seats sat in that first line:
One for Catherine Solarian, Princess of the Empire, blonde with blue eyes, cloaked in imperial blue with a platinum circlet around her head, sat proudly yet coldly.
One for Emilia Vel'Faera, Elven Princess from the Elven kingdom, rested in dignified silence, her golden-green hair braided with spirit-charms, eyes narrowed in elven disdain.
Pete, the Hero — the boy with no last name, glowing golden hair and eyes, and the holy sword now leaning casually against his armrest like it belonged there.
The last seat… empty, waiting for Ace Thornevale.