The mana airship glided through the sky like a silent, gleaming beast, its massive wings of enchanted steel cutting through clouds that shimmered with morning light. Beneath it rolled a vast landscape of emerald plains, glittering rivers, and towering forests—grand and untouched, stretching toward the horizon. The students packed inside the deck held their breaths in anticipation, excitement, and dread. After all, they were approaching the most prestigious institution in the entire continent—Lyoner Academy.
Kyle Lunaris stood among them, shoulders relaxed, golden eyes half-lidded, as if nothing about this monumental day could shake him. He leaned casually over the metal railing, the wind brushing against his crimson-tinted hair. Voices rose behind him—whispers, insults, curiosity, admiration. All weaving together into a chaotic tapestry of attention he didn't want.
"Who does that commoner think he is, standing there like he owns the skies?"
"I heard he came from a backwater village. A nobody like him will fail the entrance exam."
"Tch, he doesn't even have a crest on his clothing. Definitely common trash."
Kyle heard every word. He simply didn't care.
Let them talk.
He had walked through blood and terror far scarier than judgmental noble brats… even if they never knew it. Even if he himself didn't understand why his instincts leaned toward battle and darkness. He only knew one thing with certainty:
None of them had ever killed an Ogre bare-handed.
The ship's descent began. A harmonic hum reverberated through the construct as mana engines slowed, and a breathtaking sight emerged beneath them—
Lyoner Academy.
A colossal estate surrounded by golden-trimmed walls, towering spires that pierced the heavens, banners flaring with the emblem of a silver lion roaring against a moonlit shield. The entrance alone was a marvel—an enormous archway of obsidian marble, glowing runes carved into the stone like constellations. Waterfalls cascaded through floating rocks around it, creating a misty halo of shimmering mana crystals.
Any first-timer would be speechless.
Any normal someone would collapse in awe.
Kyle simply narrowed his eyes.
…Yeah. Looks exactly like in the game.
No sense of wonder. No astonishment. No reverence. Because he had taken this walk hundreds of times—digitally.
To him, this grand academy was familiar territory.
But reality hit different.
The deck doors opened with a mechanical hiss. Students flooded out, landing in a neat formation as instructed by the guards. Noble uniforms gleamed with family crests—dragons, phoenixes, crowns, and stars. Meanwhile Kyle, in plain black training clothes and his wooden sword strapped behind him, stuck out like spilled ink on pristine silk.
His existence irritated many.
Another wave of hushed chatter surged.
"Seriously—him again?"
"How does someone like that even get invited?"
"I swear, nobles must have secretly lowered standards just to laugh at peasants failing…"
Kyle stepped off the ramp without looking at any of them. Wind brushed through his hair, sunlight reflecting in his predatory pupils—sharp, confident, calm. He walked as if every inch of ground bowed beneath his feet.
The nobles found that infuriating.
And yet…
Some students watched him with fascination instead.
He's not affected at all.Who is he really?How did a commoner get such confidence?
Kyle didn't bother answering unspoken questions.
But someone answered for him.
A pair of blue eyes stared into his from across the crowd.
She stood a short distance away—a girl with flawless snow-white hair flowing down her back like a winter waterfall. Her features were refined and elegant, sculpted almost too beautifully to belong to a mortal. Pale skin, long lashes, noble bearing. Around her shoulders draped a ceremonial cloak marked with a crest of a frozen crown.
She was like starlight in daylight—impossible to miss.
And she was staring straight at him.
Kyle blinked.
Her…
A faint flicker of recognition sparked in his mind. A major character. A powerful ice-attribute prodigy. One of the best mages in Eternal Nexus.
Celestia Frostwhisper.
In the game, she was quiet, aloof, and untouchable—like a lonely moon in an endless winter sky. Admired from afar, feared up close. Rumors said she was destined to rise to the top of the academy.
But right now…
Her cheeks were red.
She quickly looked away, grasping her chest as if her heart had betrayed her composure.
Kyle tilted his head.
Did she just… get embarrassed? By me?
Interesting.
Not in the game.
Before he could think further, a voice thundered across the plaza—deep, commanding, and echoing directly into every mind.
"Welcome, young talents of the continent."
Gasps erupted. Several students clutched their heads, startled.
Telepathy… Kyle recognized immediately.
The air itself seemed to vibrate. Birds perched along academy walls took flight. Even the fountains paused momentarily, the water freezing mid-air like time had stopped responding to its duties.
"We, the esteemed faculty of Lyoner Academy, shall now begin the First Entrance Trial."
Students panicked instantly.
"What!? Already!?"
"I thought we would get a week to prepare!"
"Where is my servant!? I need my potions!"
Kyle sighed mentally.
So it really starts just like the game.
Unlike the others, he was calm. Prepared. But anxious for different reasons.
If the trial is magic-based… I'll fail.
No mana. No magic. No chance… logically.
But logic had never bound him before.
There were always… other paths.
Near him, the green-haired boy—Raven Arcane—looked around sharply, sensing danger or perhaps measuring competition. He caught Kyle's presence and briefly clenched his jaw. Not hostility. Not fear. Something more complex.
Raven was a powerhouse in future storyline events. But for now, he, too, was just a boy with potential.
Kyle didn't plan to befriend him. Nor did he plan to avoid him.
He planned to surpass him.
The telepathic voice deepened, pushing directly into their souls.
"Prove you are worthy to step foot into Lyoner. Prove your talent, your will, your very reason to breathe magic and battle."
The ground rumbled.
Magic circles flared beneath every student's feet—intricate and ancient, glowing like constellations drawn into reality.
Some shrieked.
Some cheered.
Kyle clenched his fists slightly. His instincts screamed battle. His blood roared like a dormant beast waking.
This feeling… excitement?
He hated to admit it, but—
He was thrilled.
The voice boomed once more:
"Those who survive this trial—will join us. Those who fail… shall return home in shame."
A swirl of mana engulfed the plaza.
Winds howled.
Light blinded.
The world itself shattered into brilliance.
Kyle's last thought before the teleportation swallowed everything:
Show me what you've got, Lyoner Academy.
Darkness replaced light.
Then—
The sound of something growling filled the air.
A beast.
Multiple beasts.
When the light faded, Kyle found himself standing in the middle of a vast forest arena—an enormous circular landscape blocked off by a dome of glowing arcane symbols. Students scattered across different starting points, weapons drawn, mana already flaring.
He smirked.
Monsters. Just like the game.
His fingers slid to his wooden sword.
It wasn't heroic steel.
It wasn't legendary.
But it was lethal in his hands.
Growls grew louder.
Trees trembled under the approach of savage predators.
All around him, terror and screams began as unknown creatures broke through the undergrowth—fangs sharp, eyes glowing.
Kyle rolled his neck, cracking knuckles slowly.
His heartbeat synced with danger.
His pulse whispered a promise of carnage.
I don't need magic to survive this.
He inhaled deeply.
Calm.
Unshaken.
Ready.
A single thought echoed through his mind—sharp, confident, almost sadistic:
It's time to hunt.
he silence after teleportation was deafening. Dust drifted slowly through the sunlight cutting between the canopy above. The forest arena felt ancient—trees as tall as towers, roots like serpents, and glowing motes of mana floating in the air like fireflies of pure power. Students stood scattered across the clearing, eyes wide, hearts pounding.
Then, the same telepathic voice echoed again, louder and clearer this time, carrying authority that seemed to pierce through the soul.
"Students of Lyoner Academy," the voice announced, "this will be your first trial—the Trial of Beasts."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"Each of you will face a monster chosen according to the depth of your mana and the strength of your soul. Defeat it… or make it submit. Only then will you earn the right to walk these sacred grounds."
The pressure in the air thickened. Even breathing felt heavier. Mana vibrated through the ground like distant thunder.
Kyle's jaw tightened.Defeat or tame a monster, huh?
He exhaled quietly, fingers brushing the handle of his wooden sword strapped to his back. The familiar roughness of the wood grounded him, though it did little to comfort his mind.
Tame? Impossible for me. I don't even have mana to project domination aura… And this sword— He looked at it briefly. —won't last through a serious hit. It's just a practice tool.
He sighed softly. I need a real weapon soon. Otherwise, I'll be the first one here to die.
The others, however, were anything but calm. Dozens of murmurs filled the air.
"Did he say tame a monster!?""Are they insane? This is the entrance exam, not an execution!""No, this is Lyoner… they're testing control as much as combat."
Kyle stayed silent. He already knew all this. He'd played this very scenario in Eternal Nexus. But seeing it unfold for real—the fear, the uncertainty, the trembling faces—it gave the moment a heavy sense of realism that no game could replicate.
Suddenly, a man appeared in the sky above the arena, floating with his arms crossed. His robe fluttered like a dark storm cloud, and his white beard flowed like river foam. A strange calm radiated from him, the kind that came from knowing he could erase everything below him with a wave.
It was Headmaster Arcten Valerius, the legendary mage who once sealed the Demon King's Heart single-handedly.
His voice boomed like rolling thunder, no longer telepathic—real, loud, and commanding.
"Let the first examinee step forward."
A trembling boy with orange hair and noble attire stepped out. His chest bore a golden crest—House Lioren, a family known for its mastery of flame magic.
The headmaster raised a hand. "Name."
"R-Ren Lioren, sir!"
"Ren Lioren… son of the Marquis of Lioren. Very well."
Arcten's eyes glowed faintly blue. A vast magic circle formed beneath the boy's feet, its runes swirling like ancient serpents.
"Your trial begins now."
The circle pulsed—then exploded in light. From the center of the arena, a massive figure emerged—a White Tiger, its fur shimmering like frost in moonlight, eyes burning with primal fury. The beast roared, shaking the ground beneath them.
The students screamed and stepped back instinctively.
Ren, however, grinned shakily. "Heh… I've trained for this."
He extended his hand, mana coalescing at his palm. "Fireball!"
A bright orb of red flame shot forward, crackling through the air—then slammed into the tiger's chest. Smoke billowed. The students gasped—then froze.
The tiger barely flinched. Its fur absorbed the heat, glinting faintly.
Kyle frowned deeply. Fireball? Against a White Tiger?
He sighed in disbelief. That idiot… White Tigers are resistant to elemental fire. Did he even study before coming here?
The beast let out a low growl, eyes narrowing, then pounced. Its claw tore through the boy's barrier in a single strike, hurling him several meters away. The boy screamed as he hit the ground, clutching his arm, his robe torn and scorched.
The Headmaster raised his hand slightly. The tiger stopped instantly, frozen mid-leap like a statue.
"Failed," Arcten declared coldly.
The boy disappeared in a flash of teleportation light—removed from the arena for his own safety.
Murmurs erupted among the students.
"He failed in one attack…""That monster's power was absurd!""Lioren's son lost!? That means…"
Kyle looked at the frozen tiger that slowly dissolved into mana dust. He thought quietly, So the monsters really do adjust to each person's mana level.
He scanned the crowd. The fear was spreading fast. Even those with noble lineage began to lose their confidence.
The Headmaster's voice thundered again. "Next."
A tall girl with silver armor stepped forward this time, her eyes sharp and determined. She introduced herself as Liana Grent, wielder of the Wind Spear. She summoned her weapon, a glowing spear forged of compressed air, and took stance.
The magic circle flared beneath her.
From it rose a Stone Golem, ten meters tall, its body carved from enchanted rock. It let out a grinding roar.
Liana moved swiftly, leaping high and spinning mid-air. "Piercing Tempest!"
Her spear shot forward in a storm of compressed wind. The impact cracked the golem's shoulder, shattering a chunk of stone. Cheers rose briefly—but the golem barely staggered. It swung its massive arm, smashing the ground.
Liana twisted, dodging the strike, landing gracefully. Her breathing quickened, mana flow unstable. She had power—but no endurance. Within minutes, her attacks lost sharpness. The golem's punch finally connected, slamming her backward into a tree.
"Failed," the Headmaster said simply.
Liana vanished in white light.
Kyle exhaled slowly. So even trained nobles can't handle one-on-one beasts. That means the academy doesn't just value power—they value adaptation.
The next few examinees followed—each one facing different creatures according to their strength.
A boy who specialized in ice magic faced a Lava Serpent.A girl who prided herself on illusions met a Shadow Panther that ignored all deceit.Each time, screams, struggle, failure.
One by one, students vanished.
Each defeat fueled the next student's terror.
"Next!"
A confident laugh answered. A red-haired boy strutted forward, smirking. "Watch and learn, peasants."
The Headmaster raised a brow. "Name."
"Drayk von Helmut. Direct descendant of Duke Helmut, wielder of flame."
"Very well. Begin."
The circle beneath Drayk's feet spun rapidly, glowing crimson. The mana density was far greater than before—this boy had power.
From the circle burst a massive Crimson Wyvern, wings spreading wide, its roar shaking the heavens.
The crowd gasped.
Even Kyle's brows furrowed slightly. A wyvern… that's a Rank B creature. He's not ordinary.
Drayk grinned wildly, eyes burning with arrogance. "Perfect."
Flames enveloped his body as he chanted. "Infernal Spiral!"
Dozens of flaming spears formed and spun toward the wyvern like a storm of fire. The explosions rocked the ground, forcing several students to cover their faces. When the smoke cleared, the wyvern stumbled back—its scales scorched but intact.
Drayk laughed. "Come on! Don't die too fast!"
The wyvern roared, unleashing a torrent of fire breath. Drayk raised a barrier, shouting, "Flame Shield!"
The flames engulfed him. For a few seconds, he resisted. But the wyvern's attack overwhelmed the shield and blasted him back, sending him rolling across the dirt. His uniform burned, his body trembling.
The Headmaster's voice came again, calm but disappointed. "Overconfidence without control leads to ruin. Failed."
Drayk disappeared in white light.
Kyle watched everything quietly, his gaze unwavering.
Each test revealed something.Patterns. Weaknesses. Rules.
The monsters adapt to mana. The stronger your mana, the harder your test. And yet… even those with powerful magic fall easily.
His thoughts darkened slightly. If that's true… then when my turn comes… since I have no mana at all…
He looked up at the sky, expression unreadable.
…what kind of monster will appear for me?
The trials continued for nearly an hour. The students' morale crumbled as failure after failure echoed through the forest. Blood, sweat, and shattered pride painted the ground.
Only a few managed to survive their encounters—those who used intelligence rather than brute power. One boy used illusion to make a wolf chase its own shadow until exhaustion. Another girl froze a slime completely and then shattered it.
But most failed.
Every time a student vanished, the rest grew quieter. The air grew heavier.
Kyle stood still all the while, watching, learning, memorizing.
He analyzed every movement, every mistake, every reaction from the Headmaster.
When one girl managed to tame a baby griffin by offering it her mana as food, Kyle's eyes narrowed. So mana sharing counts as subjugation. Interesting. I can't do that, but maybe… there's another way.
The crowd thinned until only a handful remained. The sun had dipped lower, painting the forest in golden hues.
Then the Headmaster's gaze swept across the remaining examinees. His eyes stopped on one figure standing quietly near the back—the boy with the wooden sword and unbothered eyes.
"You," he said, pointing.
Kyle opened his eyes fully for the first time.
"Step forward."
Every student turned toward him. Whispers began immediately.
"That's him… the weird one.""The one without mana.""He's doomed."
Kyle walked forward slowly, each step deliberate, silent. His black training clothes fluttered gently in the wind, his wooden sword resting on his shoulder.
He stopped in the center of the circle, looking up at the Headmaster.
Arcten Valerius studied him with calm curiosity. "Name."
"Kyle Lunaris."
A faint murmur spread through the air. Some students had heard his name before—the "commoner" who had walked fearlessly off the ship earlier.
The Headmaster's eyes glowed faintly. "Kyle Lunaris… you carry no visible mana flow."
Kyle nodded slightly. "That's correct."
A small, almost amused smile touched the old mage's lips. "And yet you stand here with no hesitation. Tell me, boy—what do you fight with, if not mana?"
Kyle met his gaze steadily. "Instinct."
For a brief moment, silence.
Then, unexpectedly, the Headmaster laughed softly—a low, ancient sound that carried both amusement and interest. "Instinct, is it? Very well."
He raised his staff. The ground trembled violently. The air around Kyle darkened, twisting. Magic runes spiraled outward, ancient and heavy, glowing crimson and violet.
"This will be… interesting."
The other students stepped back, whispering in shock.
The ground cracked open. A chilling aura poured out like fog.
From the darkness, something began to crawl forth—a creature unlike any before. It was tall, humanoid, with dark metallic skin and glowing red eyes. Its body pulsed with mana so dense the air itself warped.
Whispers of fear spread instantly.
"W-What is that!?""I've never seen a summon like that!""Is that… allowed!?"
Even Kyle's pupils constricted slightly.
That wasn't part of the game.
This monster was different.
So they've changed the script, huh?
The Headmaster's voice echoed again, powerful and calm.
"Your trial begins now… Kyle Lunaris."
The creature's eyes glowed brighter, locking onto him.
It stepped forward, cracking the ground beneath its weight.
Kyle tightened his grip on his wooden sword, lowering his stance slightly, eyes gleaming with dangerous calm.
The beast growled, mana flaring like a storm.
And for the first time since the exam began…
Kyle smiled.
Finally… something interesting.
The thing that crawled from the darkness did not belong to the natural hierarchy of beasts. It moved with a deliberateness that suggested age, with a weight that bent the air as it stepped. Where its feet pressed, the soil blackened as though ink had spilled into the world.
Kyle's first thought was practical—there's something wrong—but it was not the kind of wrongness that set off a hunter's alarm. It was the kind that crawled beneath the skin and made the hairs at the nape of the neck stand up, the kind that pressed against the ribs as if the chest itself had been measured by a stranger's hand.
The creature was humanoid—tall, impossibly tall—towering like a ruined statue. Its skin was the color of cooling iron under moonlight, not quite metal, but more than flesh. Two great horns curled from its forehead, black as night and slick like polished obsidian. Muscles braided beneath skin that shimmered when the light struck it the wrong way. Where its face should have been, hollow eyes burned like smoldering coals. A mouth cut through the dark, and as it spoke, the sound was like a cavern's throat exhaling.
Kyle felt it even before it spoke—an ancient presence that carried a name of terrible history. He had only ever read such names in fragments, hidden lines of old myths and game lore. Names meant to be whispered, never spoken out loud.
Something is off about this. It's not just powerful. It's… personal.
Headmaster Arcten Valerius' staff trembled in his hand. The old man's brows drew together with a sudden, pale intensity that made the students around him hush involuntarily. He had been calm all morning, but now his composure was knife-thin.
The Headmaster's voice, usually a great bell of authority, dropped to a level that echoed in the marrow. "This—this cannot be."
All eyes turned to the Headmaster—even Kyle's. He noticed then that the old mage's hands weren't steady. Arcten does not tremble unless the balance of the world wobbles. That my friends—that is notable.
The demon's gaze landed on Kyle.
"Who is this human that has dared to call me forth?" The voice was layered—old stone and wet thunder. It did not just ask; it demanded history be shown.
Kyle blinked slowly. He had expected ferocity, perhaps hunger, maybe something that tested his blade. He had not expected a voice like an empire.
Demon? he thought, testing the word on his tongue. Demon king? A ridiculous thought. The arena had a script. It had rules. The Headmaster had said the exam monsters scale with mana. They were not supposed to produce things out of legend.
The enormous thing stepped closer. It exhaled and the air shivered. The runes at the edge of the dome screamed and then held still under the weight of the presence. Guards pressed back at the perimeter, faces white, hands trembling at their hilts.
"Name?" the Headmaster barked, and though the words left his mouth, they sounded tiny against the demon's vastness.
There was no answer from the human in the circle.
Only Kyle met its gaze.
The demon's eyes flared, and the sound of its name sank into the earth like a blade sheathed in lightning. "I am Aron Albast—the True Sovereign of Calamity."
Gasps ripped through the audience, slicing like wind. Several students choked audibly. A few fainted from shock. Some of the older recruits—those who had studied the oldest tomes—whispered as if repeating a curse.
Kyle's breath caught. That name made a cold ring inside his skull, a memory like a half-seen dream. Aron Albast. He had seen the name before—in old coded files, in a game dungeon labeled deprecated, in a snippet of a myth that claimed a calamity closed the sky. The name felt impossibly ancient and intimate at once, like a scar he could almost touch.
This isn't possible, he thought. The Headmaster sealed—sealed many things. He once claimed to have sealed the Demon's Heart in the northern wastes. If the legend is true, then the world should not be able to call the true sovereign. Not here. Not now.
Aron's voice spilled again, softer, curious—then incredulous. "You—human—how did you call me? You have no visible mana. How could you summon a king of demons?"
"Summon?" Kyle repeated. He should have felt fear at the scent of brimstone and the way the air pulsed with latent hunger. He didn't. The cold tickle of distant thunder felt, for a fleeting heartbeat, familiar: not an enemy but a tool waiting to be held properly.
He smiled. Not a small grin, but a smile that divided his features and seemed to take something from the air. It was the same smile he wore when the ogres fell, the same cruel twitch he'd seen in reflections when his hunger cleared. That smile.
"Summon?" Kyle said in a voice both soft and cutting. "Aron Albast—the Great. You mistake my intentions. I did not summon you to be a curiosity. I did not call you for dialogue."
A ripple ran through the gathered students at his tone. Many recoiled. Some coughed.
Aron's head tilted, horns cutting the sky like broken towers. He looked more amused than incensed. "Then you summoned me to—?"
"To die," Kyle answered simply. The words tasted metallic and pleasant in his mouth.
The demon laughed—an impossible cascade of sound that rolled like thunder. For a second, the sound became something else: not laughter but memory, like scrolls turning and kings falling.
Aron's grin was wide enough to flatten mountains. "You would slay me? A human without mana would murder the True Sovereign? How entertaining—this shall be a tale."
The Headmaster's staff slammed into the earth. He barked, "Stop this! Remove him from the arena at once!"
Aron looked up, and for a sliver of a second—Kyle saw it—he saw something like fear. Not fear of pain. No. Something older. The demon's gaze flicked like a spear to the Headmaster, then to the circle of runes ringing the arena's dome, then to Kyle's face.
Aron shook that glance off and said, "Human—your words taste of blade and bone. Why do you seek my blood?"
Kyle stepped forward, the wooden sword across his shoulder glinting faintly as he shifted his stance. The blade's grain caught the light, but it was still practice wood. He did not need steel to feel the current that thrummed through his veins.
"I don't seek your blood because I crave a name," he said. "I kill because everything I touch becomes honest." He had no mercy left to practice falsehoods; he had learned early that truth was cleaner.
The demon cocked his massive head and sniffed—if a demon could sniff. "I sense an ember of power bound to you, yet it is not mana. It is something base, older… hunger, perhaps. You are not human. You are—"
Kyle's mind flashed with stray images, shards of something the world had stitched into him like a jagged coin—brutal slaughterfields, crowns forged from bone, a winter where cities bled like fruit. He swallowed.
They will never know. Not now.
Aron continued, voice laced with a traitor's curiosity. "You are not a mortal vessel. You are—an eternal in mortal guise. You stride with the gait of kings fallen to common skin."
An audible intake swept across the academy. The Headmaster's face paled, his eyes narrowing into slits that cut through air. He raised his staff, chanted in a low baritone laced with old binding runes.
"Everyone, stand back," he ordered, voice thin with strain. "This being—this summoning—was not a random beast. This is a high-rank manifestation. I must—"
His words died when the arena's perimeter staff sparked and hissed. An invisible wall bloomed like oil on water—the dome's defense flared in crimson light and did not respond to the Headmaster's command.
Aron's smile twisted into something like pity. "You fool of bones—your seals do not bind me here. I am permitted to test the one who called me."
Knees trembled around the circle. Guards shouted instructions that sounded like flapping paper. The old man's eyes flashed anger and fear together. He had commanded and contained so many forces across his life that to see a failure was new and terrible.
"You cannot remove him," Aron said. His voice no longer thundered but rippled like a barbed current. "You cannot take me away from your guest. Too late."
The Headmaster barked at his aides. "Reinforce the barrier! Break the link! Cast anything—nothing must allow this demon to be free!"
Aron shook his massive head as if he had just tasted bitter water. "I will not leave. I will not flee. But if death is what you desire... then perhaps I should bar the way and offer bargain."
A murmur spread like a wet wind. A bargain from a Demon King. The old stories were not meant to be bargains; they were curses. Yet here the monstrous thing offered a voice like a deal.
"You are a fool to bargain with those who aim to kill you," the Headmaster said through clenched teeth.
Kyle laughed softly. The sound was a small star of malice. "Bargain? With you? No. I have a better idea."
Aron's massive eyes narrowed. "Speak."
Kyle tilted his head, the smile curling into a blade's edge. "If you want to stay alive, swear yourself my subordinate. Swear with your name, with the sign of your ruin, bind yourself as my vassal."
Murmurs turned to exclamations—some of incredulous horror, some of disbelief so thick it was almost childish.
Aron's brows lifted. The demon gave a sound that could have been a laugh or the crumbling of empires. "You would enslave a sovereign of calamity? You think words suffice?"
Kyle's grin deepened. "I don't think—I know. But you already know why. Look at your eyes. You are afraid. You are not the boundless force the legends make you. You have hunger and cunning, and also fear."
Aron's gaze locked with Kyle's, and for the first time the demon did not seem amused. He looked… small. It was an odd thing—like watching a mountain stutter under a frost. He fell silent, listening not to the old mage nor to the crowd, but to the voice that sprang like iron from Kyle's will.
Something ancient tucked into Kyle moved—an instinct that did not belong to Rex or Kyle alone. It felt like a pulse of old sovereignty, an echo of a throne carved from ruin. Kyle did not intend to let the crown sit too comfortably; he only wanted the thrill. He wanted proof that the world still yielded to sharpness.
Aron inhaled. The air sucked into him sounded like a bell tolling doom. The demon's mouth opened and produced words like molten lead.
"Very well." The tone was a bargain, not a surrender. "I swear by the ashes of the first ruin. I swear by the night before the sun fell. I shall be bound to you, so long as you do not drive steel into my throat."
The students screamed at the absurdity of it. Headmaster Arcten recoiled as if he had been struck. For a man who had sealed calamities with his bare hands, this exchange was not merely surprising—it was a wound.
Aron continued, and the air itself drew back from his voice as if to avoid being burned. "I will be your subordinate, Kyle Lunaris, not by my own will but by the compulsion of my name. Bind me with blood, and I will follow the one who commands me. But know this: my protection is not for charity. My servitude will reshape the world, and the debt you pay will be heavy."
A shiver passed through the crowd. Even the nobles—the proud heirs of families—turned pale. To have a Demon King swear allegiance to a student was unthinkable. Rumors would warp reality itself.
Headmaster Arcten lifted his staff in a desperate attempt, his voice a low chant of ancient command. The dome around the arena flickered like wavering hope. "I will annul this—you cannot, you cannot accept a bonded demon—"
"Let him speak," Kyle said, his voice like ice and silk at once. "I thought Lyoner would be predictable. Thank you for the entertainment."
Aron pushed a hand toward Kyle, and a veil of mana—dark, honey-thick—rose and wrapped the boy like a cloak. It tasted of old wars and colder nights. Where the demon's protection slid over Kyle's shoulders, the young swordsman felt a pulse like a heartbeat that answered his own—strange, foreign, and not malevolent in intent.
The Headmaster's jaw worked. He spat a string of words like a command to the skies, but the dome would not obey. The rune-lines flickered but did not break. Aron's protection had woven itself into Kyle's aura, and the dome—his prison—found itself a knot, a loop.
Around them, students began to whisper with a mixture of reverence and disgust. The nobles who had once spoken derisively about the commoner paled as the scales of the world unexpectedly shifted.
"How—?" Raven's voice was hoarse.
"How is a human with no mana the master of a Demon King?" a girl breathed.
Kyle turned and glanced at Raven, then to the Headmaster. He blinked, as if noticing the eyes around him for the first time—each one measuring him on some new scale.
Heathed in the demon's dark mantle, he raised his wooden sword—strange and small against the shadowed king's presence—and smiled that same small smile that had sliced through ogres.
"Aron," he said softly, "you protect me. This is not friendship or pity. Consider this a transaction. Follow my orders, and no one will skin you for sport today."
Aron's eyes narrowed, coal-bright. "I do not follow commands lightly, human." He lowered his head in a motion that was almost regal. "But I have seen the taste of your soul. It is… sharp."
The Headmaster staggered forward, shock and fury mixing on his face. "This is wrong. The laws of binding were changed after the Great War! You cannot bind a Sovereign without the Rite of Severance. Someone—some power—has altered the parameters!"
Kyle's lips twitched. I did not alter them. I only asked with a voice that was honest. He thought of the sealing, of legends of Demon Gods that bled into the universe, and the way some things crawled back when a strong will opened the right door.
He could have told them he had not the tools of ritual, that he had not intended to claim a king. He could have lied and said accident and regret and misstep. Instead Kyle felt a contempt for lies as one does for spoiled games. He had a taste for clarity now.
Aron rose like smoke coiling into a blade and spread his protection outward in a ripple that shoved back the shrieking panic of the students, smoothing it like wind over glass. "I will protect my master," he declared, voice like a command and a promise, "and in exchange I demand—safety, and the right to be fed. Feed me with power if you must be noble. Or blood. Or treasures. I do not starve for sentiment."
A murmur that was almost awe rolled through the crowd. Some ran; some bowed. Nobles who had scoffed now averted their faces. This was not mere spectacle—it was the shape of power shifting.
Headmaster Arcten's lips twisted into something like fury—old, righteous fury. "You will not! No student—no novice—shall wield a Sovereign. This contravenes every tenet of our order. I will—"
Aron laughed, a sound of collapse and thunder. "You will what? Use your staff to un-say the spoken name? The binding is a contract sealed by the very breath that spoke it. Do you not remember your infancy, Valerius? Do you forget how even you, with decades of sealing behind you, once could not refuse the night?"
For the first time since his entrance into the academy, Headmaster Arcten looked very small.
Kyle's grin softened into something almost contemplative. He felt the demon's presence like an armored coat. It was heavy, and it changed how the world tasted. His lack of mana was no longer a bar to being dangerous. It was a blank that others could not measure—an axe edge that could cut, precisely because they could not foresee where it swung.
Students whispered, noble voices faltered, and rumors that would become legend were already forming like storm clouds.
Aron knelt—not out of servility, not as a crippled sovereign craven before a child—but as a validation of the pact. "Master," he said, using the word like a weapon and a benediction. "I am bound."
The Headmaster's face drained. His staff drooped like a broken reed. Around him, the academy's order—ancient and stubborn—stuttered into doubt.
The world, small and brittle as a coin, had shifted under Kyle's foot. He had not asked for the crown of calamity. He had simply smiled at the hunger of a thing and said something true: Kill me, and I will kill you. The demon had answered with a bargain that slammed doors closed and opened new corridors.
Kyle breathed the forest air, tasted the copper of fear and the sweet iron of possibility. He felt, strangely, neither guilt nor exhilaration—only an intimacy with the sound of bone breaking and the neat arc of a blade that ends things.
Raven stood rooted, eyes wide, mouth slack with a question that would not form.
The Headmaster's voice, when it returned, was thin and cold as icewater. "Know this, Kyle Lunaris. The debt you hold will be heavier than any test you have yet faced. Binding a sovereign is not a parlor trick. The balance of power will converge on you, and all of Lyoner will watch."
Kyle looked up, and for a fragment of a heartbeat his expression was calm as a moonlit pond. "Then let them watch," he said simply.
Aron's laugh whispered against the leaves, and as the demon's protection pulsed faintly, the dome—the academy's trial ring—settled into silence like a beast tamed for a moment. The Headmaster's aides murmured frantic spells; the dome shimmered but did not break. Arcten's eyes were unreadable; he had seen many things, but he had not seen this.
The students dispersed—some fleeing, many frozen in awe. Rumors would begin this very hour: a commoner, a soulless boy, a demon's vassal. They would stitch a thousand lies and half-truths together and call it a legend.
Kyle slid his worn wooden sword back onto his shoulder, feeling the weight of what had happened as lightly as a man stepping from rain. He had not meant to cause a revolution. He had wanted danger, and the world had served it on a silver platter.
Good, he thought, smiling inwardly. Now the game will be interesting.
And somewhere deep within the knot of ancient power that had wrapped itself around him, something older stirred. Not human, not wholly demon, something that had been waiting for a voice to claim it.
Kyle looked out at the tree line with a predator's calm.
"Let them come," he whispered.
The forest was listening.
The academy was watching.
The Demon King was bound.
The trial had changed from an entrance exam into a prologue to an age.