Morning sunlight filtered through the tall Academy windows, casting long golden beams across the polished corridors. The sounds of repair work had faded overnight, and today, the Academy was returning to normal.
Aren stepped into the main hallway, adjusting the strap of his bow. His arms still felt tight and slightly sore from last night's training, but the pain was manageable—almost refreshing.
He passed groups of students heading toward their first day of classes.
"Is that Aren?"
"He's the one from the rankings."
"Level 5 already… insane."
"I heard he killed a demon, too."
Aren ignored the whispers.
He wasn't interested in attention.
He tightened his gloves and walked toward the large lecture hall marked with a glowing rune: Theory Hall 3.
The First Lecture
Students filled the wide room, sitting in curved rows around a central podium. Aren chose a seat near the back, leaning his bow against the bench.
Moments later, the instructor entered.
A tall man with ash-gray hair and a calm expression. His robe bore the emblem of a senior lecturer—two silver lines crossing over a shield.
He placed several metal spheres, books, and crystalline slabs on the table before him.
"Good morning," he said. "I am Instructor Marlen. Today begins your formal education in combat theory. You will learn about dungeons, monsters, demons, and combat hierarchy."
He raised a crystal slab.
Light flickered across it, projecting a floating diagram.
Aren paid close attention.
Marlen tapped the projection.
"Let's begin with beast levels and ranks. Every monster has two attributes:"
He pointed at the diagram:
Rank — F to SSS
Level — numerical measure of growth
"For example," he continued, "a Level 18 E-rank beast can sometimes overpower a Level 10 D-rank beast, but never a Level 25 D-rank beast."
Students leaned forward, listening carefully.
Aren kept his expression neutral.
He had learned most of this from Kane already, but hearing it systematically helped solidify the knowledge.
Marlen continued:
"Beasts grow through instinct. Humans grow through discipline. That is why academies exist—without training, talent goes to waste."
Aren nodded to himself.
That part was true.
Instructor Marlen placed the crystal aside.
"Now, about demons."
A hush fell.
Marlen spoke calmly:
"Demons are different from beasts. They are organized. They have strategy. And they do not stop until killed."
Several students swallowed nervously.
Marlen didn't soften his tone.
"The demon that breached the Academy yesterday was a C-rank demonhound. That means it was at least Level 12–18. Most of you would die against it."
A student raised a timid hand. "Instructor, why did it appear?"
"Coincidence," Marlen said firmly. "The outer barrier had a temporary weakness. These incidents have occurred before, and will likely occur again."
Aren relaxed slightly at the confirmation.
Even the instructors saw it as nothing but an accident.
Marlen continued the lecture for another hour—breaking down demon patterns, common dungeon structures, and survival methods.
Aren filed each detail away in his mind.
When the lecture ended, students stretched, talking loudly as they left.
Aren stood quietly and walked toward Combat Hall 1 for the practical class.
Combat Class
Combat Hall 1 was larger than Training Hall Two—long, spacious, with wide sparring platforms lined with protective barriers. Several instructors stood at different stations.
Students filled the hall, buzzing with excitement.
A muscular instructor wearing heavy armor smashed his fists together, his voice booming:
"Today, we begin physical assessment!"
Groans filled the hall.
"Don't complain!" the instructor barked. "You want to live past twenty? Then warm up!"
Aren joined the group, stretching calmly.
Sera stood a few meters away, rotating her wrist blades. She glanced at Aren, then nodded once.
Reyn cracked his knuckles, eager to show off.
Kael adjusted his spear with a focused expression.
Aren remained quiet.
The instructor blew a whistle.
"First test—strength!"
Students took turns striking a reinforced target. Numbers glowed above it.
Reyn stepped forward first.
He slammed his fist into the target.
36
"Not bad," the instructor said.
Kael went next, driving the butt of his spear into the target.
42
Whispers followed.
Sera sliced with a clean, sharp motion.
33
Finally, Aren stepped forward.
He didn't strike with his bow.
Just his fist.
He inhaled—
exhaled—
and punched cleanly.
31
The result glowed faintly.
Some students blinked.
"That's… normal?"
"I thought he'd be higher."
"He's only level 6. Strength stat must be low."
Aren stepped back.
He wasn't bothered.
Raw strength wasn't his focus.
Kane had said it himself—Aren needed foundation first.
The instructor grunted. "Not bad. Next—speed assessment!"
Students lined up again.
This time, they had to run across the length of the hall and back. The floor marked their times with glowing numbers.
Sera sprinted like a shadow.
Reyn thundered forward with heavy steps.
Kael moved in long, smooth strides.
When Aren ran, he didn't go all out.
He ran as Kane taught—controlled, efficient, minimizing wasted movement.
He finished with a respectable time.
"Good enough," the instructor said.
Next came reflex testing.
Targets shot small wooden pellets at random angles.
Sera dodged gracefully.
Kael deflected some with his spear.
Reyn blocked with sheer instinct.
Aren closed his eyes briefly and relied on movement patterns he had practiced with Kane.
He moved cleanly—ducking, sidestepping, twisting.
He didn't dodge everything, but he avoided more than most.
The instructor nodded slightly. "Interesting."
The physical tests ended, and the hall shifted to sparring matches.
Sparring
"Pairs of two!" the instructor shouted. "Show your fundamentals!"
Students formed pairs quickly.
Reyn fought aggressively, overpowering an opponent with heavy strikes.
Sera outmaneuvered her opponent, using speed and precision.
Kael's spearwork was fluid and crisp.
Aren waited until an instructor waved him over.
"You," the man pointed. "Spar with Vellon."
Vellon—the third rank in the trial.
Aren nodded.
They stepped onto the sparring platform.
"Rules," the instructor said. "No lethal attacks. No weapons for now—hand-to-hand only."
Aren set aside his bow.
Vellon rolled his shoulders confidently.
The instructor raised his hand.
"Begin!"
Vellon moved first—swift, heavy steps aimed to pressure Aren immediately. His style was direct, controlled, and built around overpowering the opponent.
Aren shifted lightly, observing.
Vellon threw a punch.
Aren tilted his head, letting it graze past.
Another punch.
Aren blocked lightly.
A kick.
Aren stepped back cleanly.
Vellon frowned.
He wasn't hitting air—he was just barely missing.
Aren's movements were small, efficient.
Vellon pushed harder.
Aren noticed three things:
Vellon favored his right leg
His shoulder dropped slightly before every heavy strike
His style had strength, but predictable lines
Aren countered.
He stepped in during Vellon's punch and tapped his palm against Vellon's ribs—soft, but precise.
The instructor nodded.
"Point to Aren."
Vellon drew a sharp breath.
He rushed again.
Faster.
More focused.
Aren sidestepped and swept his leg.
Vellon stumbled, nearly falling.
"Second point, Aren."
Aren's breathing stayed calm.
Vellon exhaled slowly.
"You're better than I expected," he said quietly.
Aren shook his head. "Just trained."
The instructor raised his hand.
"Match—Aren wins."
Vellon nodded respectfully and stepped back.
A few students stared at Aren with new interest.
"He's not just lucky…"
"His movements are clean."
"No wonder Kane took him."
The instructor clapped loudly.
"Sparring ends here!"
After Class
As students dispersed, Kane appeared in the doorway silently.
Aren approached him.
Kane asked, "How was class?"
"Basic," Aren replied.
Kane smirked faintly. "Good. That means your foundation is growing."
He motioned toward the hallway.
"Follow me. Evening training will be harder today."
Aren adjusted his bow and walked alongside him.
The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the courtyard.
Workers finished the last touches on the repaired gate.
No demons.
No surprises.
Just the Academy returning to normal.
Kane stopped at the entrance to Training Hall Two.
"Aren," he said, voice firm, "from today onward, your training intensifies."
Aren lifted his chin. "I'm ready."
Kane looked at him for a moment—measuring, weighing—and nodded.
"We'll see."
They entered the hall together.
Aren's life of survival, discipline, and growth had officially begun.