Meanwhile, Far From the Academy…
The Borderlands –
The wind howled like a wounded beast across the desolate battlefield.
Steel clashed with claw. Flesh met fire. And amidst the chaos stood the King — blade dripping with black monster blood, his cloak tattered and scorched, his eyes burning with grim resolve.
"Push them back!" he roared, his voice rising above the screams of steel and flame.
With one final, ruthless strike, the King cleaved down the last beast in his path. The line held. For now.
"Retreat! Fall back to the camp!" a general shouted.
As they returned, the camp's flags barely fluttered in the smoky air. Silence and blood hung thick like fog.
One of the King's personal guards approached, his face etched with sweat and unease.
"Your Majesty," he said, voice tight, "we scouted near the forbidden trench… We saw something. Something strange."
The King's expression darkened. "Show me."
"B-but sire, that area is—"
"I said, show me."
---
When the King and his knights arrived, they found the trench littered with monster corpses.
Deep gashes marked their bodies — as if some massive creature had torn through them. Some were missing heads. Others were shredded like paper. Blood soaked into the earth. Even seasoned knights turned away, some retching.
Suddenly, a knight slipped — his boot catching on a patch of loose dirt. The ground crumbled unnaturally.
And then, beneath a thin veil of dust… something flickered.
A sliver of light, barely the curve of a circle, shimmered faintly before fading back into the soil.
The King's eyes sharpened. He immediately cast a defensive spell.
"Dig it up," he ordered coldly.
The knights hesitated, but obeyed. As they unearthed the site, the dirt revealed shattered runes and fractured spellwork, buried deep in erratic patterns.
"…What is this place?" a knight whispered.
The King didn't answer. His eyes locked on the broken symbols.
They were trying to seal something here…
And now it's broken.
---
Back at the Academy –
The sun was warm. Birds chirped. Students buzzed with excitement.
"Today," the instructor announced, "you'll be paired for a Swordsmanship Competition! Winners will represent your dorm in the academy finals!"
"YEAHHHH!!" the courtyard erupted.
Students rushed to the racks of training weapons, some testing blades with a flourish.
Cael pulled out his family heirloom — a silver-forged sword that shimmered faintly with mana. He smirked as it hummed in his grip.
Off to the side, Aslan, Alice, and George stood watching.
Alice: "Why don't you join? Could be fun."
George: (Puppy eyes, activated.) "Pleaaaase? For friendship?"
Aslan didn't even glance at them. He adjusted his sleeves and muttered, "I don't know how to use a sword."
Both Alice and George thought in unison: Liar.
Just then, a smug noble boy "accidentally" bumped into Aslan.
"Watch it, lowborn," the noble sneered. "How dare you get in my way?"
George crossed his arms. "You bumped into him, idiot."
The noble's eyes flared. "Did you just talk back to me? Apologize. Now."
Alice stepped forward, smirking. "Why would we apologize? Sounds like that bump knocked your last brain cell loose."
"You—! Then I challenge this brat!" the noble yelled, pointing at Aslan.
Aslan raised an eyebrow. "Not interested."
He turned to walk away—
But the sneering grew louder.
"Running away?"
"Coward."
"Go cry to your mommy, commoner!"
"She should've died the day she gave birth to trash like you."
"Aslan's steps froze the moment he heard the last line."
Silence.
His fists clenched. A dark shadow crossed his eyes.
"I accept."
---
[Two Years Ago – Inside the Royal Palace]
The golden corridors of the Imperial Palace shimmered under sunlight, the polished floors gleaming with power.
Inside a grand chamber, the Emperor of Arctis sat with a composed smile across from the King of Velgrin, their conversation focused on trade routes and alliances.
The Second Prince of Velgrin, Zyrphir, bowed respectfully.
"Your Majesty," he said smoothly, "I shall excuse myself for a walk."
His father barely glanced at him. "Don't cause trouble."
Zyrphir nodded, departing with his butler and personal knight.
As they walked, the butler leaned in with a smirk. "Your Highness, I've heard stories about this empire's third prince…"
Zyrphir raised a brow. "Oh?"
"The weakest of them all," the butler whispered gleefully. "Banned from using a real sword. A disgrace to royalty. Total trash."
Zyrphir chuckled. "Then defeating him should help build my name in high society."
---
[Training Grounds – Afternoon]
The practice field was nearly empty.
Aslan stood alone, lazily swinging a wooden sword. He wasn't training — just killing time after being grounded for sneaking out again.
Footsteps echoed.
Zyrphir arrived with his butler and knight, eyes locking onto Aslan.
"Hey, trash prince!" he called out.
Aslan paused mid-swing and turned slowly. "…Who are you?"
"Zyrphir Velgrin," the boy declared. "And I challenge you to a duel."
Aslan blinked. "Oh." He smiled faintly. "Not planning to back out, huh?"
Zyrphir smirked. "Not a chance."
Aslan thought for a moment. Well, I was bored anyway.
---
[Moments Later – Inside the Palace]
A panicked knight burst into the chamber, ignoring protocol.
"S-sorry, Your Majesties! Urgent news! Prince Aslan and Prince Zyrphir… they're dueling!"
The Emperor rose immediately. "Lead the way."
The Velgrin King chuckled. "Just a childish squabble."
But the Emperor didn't respond.
At the training grounds, both boys stood ready — real swords in hand.
Zyrphir lunged forward, yelling with practiced form.
Aslan tilted his head—
And stepped aside.
Zyrphir stumbled. His strike hit air.
WHACK.
Aslan tapped him lightly on the head with the flat of the blade.
Casual. Lazy.
But humiliating.
The Velgrin King chuckled. "Just a couple of bugs fencing."
Then—
Dust exploded as Aslan suddenly charged. His speed blew sand in every direction.
The Emperor narrowed his eyes. "I'm not worried about my son."
The Velgrin King blinked. "Then who—?"
"I'm worried about yours."
The dust settled.
Zyrphir lay on the ground, groaning. Unmoving.
His butler gasped. "Your Highness!"
The knight rushed over. "He's unconscious!"
The Velgrin King stared in disbelief. "What… just happened?"
The Emperor folded his arms. "I didn't ban Aslan from swordplay because he's weak."
He glanced down at the bruised, broken prince.
"I banned him because… when he fights—
He humiliates his opponents."
The wind whispered through the silent courtyard.
Aslan looked up with a tired smile.
"…Can I go back to my room now?"