It was a day off. Sai couldn't remember the last time he'd had a real one—no assignments, no training, no extra part-time jobs. The morning was warm, a rare sunbeam for these latitudes breaking through the clouds. He decided not to stay in his room: he walked through the Academy's deserted corridors, went out the gates, and headed towards the market, where he knew a bakery that made real bread and pastries—a simple, earthly joy he wanted most right now.
The bakery was a small, wooden house with a wide display window. Steam from the warm bread wafted outside and mingled with the morning chill. He bought a couple of hot pastries—one with cinnamon, one with meat—and, wrapping himself in his cloak, stepped out to a wide bench by the fountain to eat them on the go.
As he walked down the path to the bench, he noticed a familiar figure: Lars was sitting under an elm tree, legs stretched out, a book pressed to his knees. It was rare to see Lars outside the Academy, and it was clear he was using his day off in his own way: buried in reading and completely tuned out from the world.
"Hey, bookworm," Sai greeted him, sitting down next to him and showing him the pastry. "What's so serious that even a tree can't distract you?"
Lars looked up from the page and grinned menacingly:
"Yeah, I'm having a revelation here. Listen, 'Hero's Rebirth: The Path to Destroying the Demon King'. Have you seen this?" He held up the book so the bulky title and an illustration of a guy in knight's armor with a huge sword were visible.
"Another isekai?" Sai frowned disdainfully. "Aren't they tired of it… the same script: 'I died, was reborn, got stronger—went to kill the supreme evil'. Where's the originality?"
Lars laughed and shrugged:
"You know, it's not the plot itself that bothers me—it's just always so funny. In every second book, the main character has to gloomily recall his past and then loudly declare 'I will destroy the Demon King!' And then spend three hundred chapters looking for a legendary sword. Damn, as if the world can't manage without this standardized drama."
Sai smiled slightly, but his mind, as always, went elsewhere—not to the joke, but to an echo. "Demon King"—words that in textbooks sounded not like a romantic goal, but a historical term. Not a fictional plot, but a real threat that had once torn worlds apart in a nightmare. He remembered the lecture about The Fall, the Rifts, the battles against impossible creatures. And in that memory, the demon king was not a book character, but a horror with claws that shredded the world to pieces.
"Alright," he replied aloud, pulling himself from his thoughts. "Maybe it is a template. But you know, in some of those stories, there's something you can latch onto. Like, a meaning, not just a cliché."
"Meaning?" Lars raised an eyebrow. "Are you starting to read for philosophy now? Sai, you're growing up."
"It's not that," he replied, looking at the pastry in his hands. "It's just that sometimes, beneath the clichés, there are things worth remembering. For example: why people fight, and what remains after a war. Sometimes the same things repeat in unknown forms."
Lars snorted. "Well, if you want, you can imagine you're that very reborn hero. Just don't forget to buy a sword from Rudd's shop, or your 'Erebus revolver' will look unconvincing."
"Ha ha," Sai didn't respond with a joke. His gaze slid down the path: several students walked in groups, some were training with crystals on the lawn, others were discussing exams. The world was slowly waking up. It felt pleasant—and strange at the same time—to hear ordinary human chatter when fragments of dark centuries past were swirling in his head.
Lars turned his gaze back to the book:
"Listen," he said, "want to read it? I'm already on the third chapter. The main character is an awfully awkward guy, but he fights. Maybe we can laugh about it together?"
Sai silently reached out and took the book. The cover was soft, smelling of print and ink. He flipped through a couple of pages and looked at the illustration. It showed the hero pointing his sword towards a huge shadow wearing a crown.
He handed the book back to Lars:
"No, thanks. I'd rather take a walk in the park. Get some fresh air. I need to think."
"Alright," Lars set the book aside and stood up. "I'll walk with you. Or at least make sure you don't get into another 'Demon King' adventure. You promised to live, after all."
They walked slowly along the path, surrounded by old maples. The park was peaceful: benches, a pond with a few ducks, several students doing yoga. The morning air was invigorating. Sai felt the sleepiness receding with every second, and the nightmares of the previous night—at least for now.
"You never told me," Lars began, finally, "why you react like that to these topics? It's like in our textbooks, all those monsters are just history. But you… it's different somehow."
Sai sighed. "I've seen things, Lars. Not from books. They leave a mark. And sometimes it seems like those stories aren't fiction, but a warning. People just like turning nightmares into fairy tales to sleep easier. I don't want to do that."
Lars nodded silently. His gaze held no judgment, only a quiet understanding that came rarely, but was precious.
They headed back towards the Academy, and at the entrance, Sai stopped, looking up at the white columns and high windows. Inside awaited the routine: classes, training, assignments—and the mysterious pages in the library, and the revolver on his belt, and the torn illustration where a fragment of text spoke of 'Shadow control' and a 'dragon spirit'.
"Let's go," said Lars, "you have a class in an hour. Don't be late, or I'll write in your diary 'reborn as a failing student'."
Sai smiled, feeling genuinely light for the first time that day.
——
Two days later...
Chapter 17 — "The Seventh Level Awakens"
Sai returned to the lecture hall after his morning walk.
Inside, it was familiar: bright walls, rows of desks, the instructor preparing for the lesson. But today, something was different—a slight tension hung in the air, as if the Academy itself sensed a change.
He took his seat, took out his notebook and pen, placed the revolver on the desk, and quietly looked around. Lars was already in the next seat, smiling in greeting.
"Philosophizing again this morning?" Lars joked quietly.
"No," Sai replied with a slight smile. "Just observing."
The instructor entered quietly and began handing out sheets with the results of training and practical tests. When Sai's turn came, he noticed the instructor's gaze linger slightly on his surname—which was strange, as he hadn't shown anything supernatural yet.
"Sai…" the instructor said with a slight smile, "your statistics… are impressive."
His stats appeared on the system screen:
Sai — Level 7 among humans.
A light whisper spread through the hall: a regular student at level 7? Nothing unusual, except for one thing—among all humans in the world living on the surface, such a level was extremely rare.
The instructor continued:
"For comparison: the most outstanding human alive 117 years ago reached the maximum level—249. His nickname was 'The Black Raven'. He died fighting one of the strongest monsters of the North American part of the continent, the place now called… Frostgrave."
Sai involuntarily tensed.
"And no one is surprised that you are level 7. This makes you unusual," the instructor nodded. "But be careful: statistics are only a reflection of potential, not a guarantee of survival."
A nickname appeared automatically next to Sai's name in the system: "Raven of the Ashen Wind."
"Sai…" Lars whispered. "Unexpectedly cool."
"A nickname?" Sai asked, frowning slightly. "Why that one?"
"The system sometimes assigns nicknames, linking achievements to legends of the past," the instructor explained. "'Raven of the Ashen Wind'—it's a hint: the ancient hero who died 117 years ago was nearly invincible. You're not there yet, but the potential is there."
Sai looked at the stat bar. He understood: even without awakening his special powers, his body, mind, and reactions were already at a level inaccessible to ordinary people. He could act quickly, analyze situations instantly, make decisions, and even survive in real fights where others would fall.
"And if someone asks…" Sai began, "what does my level 7 mean?"
"Just be silently surprised," the instructor smiled. "Everything else will come later."
Sai felt a strange calm inside.
He realized his path was only just beginning. Even the seventh level was just a starting point.
"So," he said to Lars after class, walking down the corridor. "Seems I have a name and a level now, but the real test is ahead."
"Well then, 'Raven of the Ashen Wind'," Lars teased lightly, "don't forget we still have loads of classes and training. Look too high, and your legs might buckle."
Sai smiled. He looked at his hands, gripping the revolver.