Morning came quietly to the Academy—quiet, but not calm.
The courtyard, once a training ground filled with nervous sixteen-year-olds, had turned into a repair site. Workers hammered fresh plates of reinforced metal across the broken gate, their tools clanging rhythmically. The smell of molten iron still lingered faintly.
Aren walked along the stone pathway, ribs bandaged tightly beneath his shirt. The healer's medicine dulled the pain, but he still felt a faint sting every time he took a deeper breath.
He didn't mind.
Pain meant he survived.
Students were already gathering near the announcement board—a tall stone slab in the central courtyard where major events were posted.
Buzzing voices rose instantly:
"Today's the day!"
"The trial rankings—finally!"
"Do you think someone broke last year's record?"
"I doubt it. Last year's top student reached level 4."
"Level 4? Seriously? That's elite!"
Aren stopped near the back of the crowd, leaning subtly against a pillar. He wasn't excited, but he was curious. The trial had gone smoothly—until the demonhound interrupted everything.
He still found it surreal, almost dreamlike.
One moment he was hunting wolves.
Next moment, a demon broke through the Academy's barrier.
A few students turned to stare at him briefly, then whispered among themselves.
"That's him…"
"The guy who fought the demon."
"Is that why his level's so high?"
"Lucky he survived."
Aren ignored them.
He didn't need praise, and he didn't need their theories.
Soon, Vice Instructor Lora arrived with other teachers, carrying stone tablets inscribed with the trial results.
She placed them onto the announcement board.
"Students," she called out. Her voice carried naturally—calm but firm. "We will now announce the rankings for the Forest Trial."
Instant silence.
Every student leaned forward.
Aren remained still.
Lora lifted the first stone.
"Rank 10: Leo Ferin. Level 3."
Leo stepped forward, looking both relieved and proud. A polite round of applause followed.
"Rank 9: Mira Tal. Level 3."
"Rank 8: Harnal Vos. Level 3."
"Rank 7: Juno Kett. Level 3."
"Rank 6: Kale Rin. Level 3."
Most of the students who appeared in the top ten reached level 3—expected from those with decent talent and effort.
Whispers began again:
"Wow, so many level 3s this year."
"Pretty strong batch…"
"But who's higher?"
Instructor Lora lifted another stone.
"Rank 5: Sera Vaine. Level 4."
Sera walked forward gracefully, her expression neutral but confident. She had shown strong skill during the trial—swift movements, excellent dagger work. The level was deserved.
"Rank 4: Reyn Alders. Level 4."
Reyn's lips curled slightly into a competitive smirk. His heavy-weapon fighting style suited him well.
"Rank 3: Vellon Gray. Level 4."
Vellon nodded respectfully toward the teachers and stepped aside.
A hush fell.
Only two names left.
Everyone knew who they were.
"Rank 2," Lora announced, lifting the next stone, "Kael Dray. Level 4."
Gasps.
A few surprised shouts.
Kael Dray—a spear prodigy with great talent and physical strength—had seemed like a solid contender for first place.
Kael walked up slowly, his jaw tightening subtly. He wasn't angry, just… processing.
He took the stone and stepped back.
In the crowd, students nudged each other.
"If Kael is level 4… then rank 1…"
"It has to be him, right?"
"The demon thing… it must've boosted him."
Aren waited.
He already suspected the answer, but hearing it aloud always felt different.
Instructor Lora lifted the final stone.
"Rank 1," she announced clearly, "Aren Vale. Level 5."
The courtyard erupted.
"What?!"
"Level 5?!"
"How did he go that high?"
"A demon appeared near him, right? That explains everything!"
"So he wasn't targeted? Just unlucky?"
"Still, level 5… That's crazy."
Aren stepped forward calmly.
No smile.
No pride.
Just a steady, composed expression.
He accepted the stone tablet from Lora.
"Well done," she said quietly, her eyes soft with approval.
Aren bowed his head slightly. "Thank you."
Behind him, Kael watched silently—no resentment, just genuine surprise.
Reyn crossed his arms, evaluating.
Sera gave Aren a small, respectful nod.
Aren nodded back.
As the ranking ceremony wrapped up, students dispersed in groups, buzzing with more energy than before.
"Level 5 at the start?"
"He's going to dominate the first year."
"What profession did he awaken?"
"I heard it was 'Unique Rank'—whatever that means."
"That's weaker than S-rank, right?"
"No idea. Unique probably means trash."
Aren didn't correct them.
He liked the misunderstanding.
It made people underestimate him.
He turned and walked toward the training wing.
Kane appeared beside him without a sound.
"Rank 1," he said. "As expected."
Aren shrugged. "Coincidence. I was near the wall when the demon breached."
Kane shook his head lightly. "Coincidence gets you level 5. Survival gets you rank 1."
Aren didn't reply.
Kane motioned with his head. "Follow me."
They walked through the long Academy corridor—a place Aren was slowly getting used to. Natural light filtered through tall windows, and students hurried past with training gear strapped to their backs.
Some glanced at Aren briefly, unsure of how to react.
Kane led Aren into a quieter hall.
"This Academy," Kane said while walking, "exists to produce capable fighters. Hunters. Soldiers. Survivors."
Aren nodded silently.
Kane continued, "Many think talent guarantees strength. They're wrong. Talent only gives you a path. You're the one who walks it."
Aren's steps remained steady.
He agreed.
"When I saw your trial performance," Kane said, "I thought you were above average. When I saw you fight the demon, I realized you're on a different path entirely."
Aren looked forward. "So you're training me."
"Yes."
Kane didn't sugarcoat it.
"You'll be under my direct supervision. Every day."
Aren didn't hesitate. "I'm ready."
"Good."
They entered Training Hall Two.
It was spacious and quiet, lined with training weapons, metal mannequins, and rune targets constantly floating and rotating in the air.
Kane stood at the center of the room.
"Take your stance."
Aren positioned himself instantly—bow raised, posture controlled.
Kane nodded.
"Now show me," he said, "how you fired the curved arrows yesterday."
Aren inhaled and released a slow breath. He pulled the bowstring gently, focusing.
His arrow glowed faintly with a thin thread of void energy—the same essence that let his attacks bend unnaturally through space.
He released.
The arrow curved—clean and smooth—before sinking exactly into the target's center.
Kane didn't react outwardly.
But his eyes sharpened.
"Again."
Aren fired.
Another clean curve.
"Three more."
Aren shot each one, adjusting slightly—some curves wider, some sharper.
Kane watched every detail closely.
Finally, he spoke.
"Your control is raw," he said, "but your ability is real."
Aren lowered his bow. "What do I fix first?"
Kane answered immediately.
"Foundation. Stamina. Draw strength. Reaction time. Arrow discipline."
Aren nodded.
Kane continued, "After that: void control."
Aren felt a faint thrill.
This was what he wanted—direction.
Kane tossed an iron sphere into the air.
"Hit it."
Aren fired.
The arrow bent slightly and sliced the sphere.
Kane nodded.
Two spheres.
Aren hit both.
Three.
Aren's breathing stabilized, posture tightening.
He struck all three.
Kane watched the fragments fall to the ground.
"Training begins now."
Aren breathed in slowly.
The Academy was behind him.
Strength was ahead.
He pulled back the bowstring again.