"Listen carefully," the girl said, her voice turning sharp and serious. "You go first, then I follow. Once you're through, take two steps forward so I can pass through the portal as well. Understood, Prince Aluric?"
I gave a silent nod and stepped toward the portal.
As I crossed the threshold, I braced myself for something unpleasant.
Dizziness.
Pain.
The sensation of my organs being creatively rearranged.
Anything, really.
But there was nothing.
No discomfort.
No strange pull.
Just one step—
and suddenly I was somewhere else.
After moving aside, I waited for the girl while taking in my surroundings.
We appeared to be inside some kind of building constructed from polished white stone.
To my left and right stood similar archways, though none of them were active.
Students moved through the hall in small groups.
Girls and boys.
Different races.
Different appearances.
But all wearing the same uniform.
Black trousers.
White shirts.
Blue cloaks draped over their shoulders.
An emblem was stitched into the upper corner of each shirt, though from this distance I couldn't make out the details.
"Come on, Trey. They're already waiting for us."
A pause.
"Trey, are you deaf?"
I turned at the sound of her irritated voice.
There was clear annoyance written across her face.
I only smirked faintly and followed after her, still glancing around as we walked.
Along the way, I learned her name.
Luan.
Apparently, we were already inside the academy.
Her task was simple: escort me to the admissions office, hand me over, and presumably forget I existed.
A deeply efficient system.
I asked her several questions along the way.
About the uniforms.
The classes.
How training worked.
General things one might reasonably want to know before being dumped into an unfamiliar institution in another kingdom.
She refused to answer all of them.
"You'll find out yourself."
That was apparently her preferred teaching method.
How inspiring.
So I just shrugged and kept walking.
We passed through corridor after corridor, climbed staircases, turned corners, and each new section revealed even more students.
Their uniforms varied slightly.
Different crests.
Different cloak colors.
Likely denoting different departments or specializations.
There were representatives from nearly every race I could recognize.
Dwarves.
Orcs.
Light elves.
Humans, who seemed to make up the majority.
At one point, I glanced through an open classroom door and saw several students sitting with the exact expression of people whose souls had already left their bodies.
Their eyes were fixed somewhere vaguely in the direction of a professor speaking at the front.
A familiar academic tragedy, apparently universal across all civilizations.
Elsewhere, someone sprinted down the corridor, clearly late for class.
Another student staggered past carrying a stack of books large enough to qualify as structural instability.
After several more turns, we stopped in front of a wooden door.
A small plaque hung beside it.
Admissions Office.
Luan knocked.
A voice from inside granted permission to enter.
She turned toward me.
"Wait here. Don't go anywhere, Trey."
Her tone left little room for interpretation.
After I nodded, she entered the office and shut the door behind her.
While waiting, I glanced around again.
Portraits and paintings decorated the walls opposite the office.
One depicted an elf clad in golden armor, fighting against a horde of monsters.
Below it, in small script, was written:
G'len the Vengeful against Zak'Un
Another painting showed an orc surrounded by his kin, casually holding a two-handed sword with one hand.
Naturally.
The inscription beneath read:
Kumur the Wise at the Great Assembly
The third painting caught my attention the most.
An elf and an orc stood side by side, fighting against a human wielding two blades.
Even from the painting alone, there was something unsettling about it.
A sense of violence.
Bloodlust.
As if the image itself still carried the intent of the battle.
I searched for a title beneath it.
There was none.
Before I could examine it further, the office door opened.
Luan stepped out, leaving it open behind her.
"Go in, Trey. This is where we part ways. Good luck."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away.
Just like that.
I exhaled quietly, stepped inside, and shut the door behind me.
The office was neatly arranged.
Portraits hung along the walls—likely former graduates or notable figures recognized by the academy.
At the center sat a light elf woman.
She wore a strict white blouse with a golden cloak draped over her shoulders.
Her blue eyes were completely unreadable.
No curiosity.
No warmth.
No hostility either.
Just efficient indifference.
Luan had most likely already handed over my documents.
That explained the complete lack of interest.
"Trey, sit down," the light elf said.
"I'll explain what you need to know to survive training within these walls."
Survive.
Comforting phrasing.
I nodded and sat opposite her.
Then listened.
The academy was called Lomu'in.
In Elvish, it meant Citadel of Knowledge.
Inside the academy were separate training paths for both mages and swordsmen—those without magical talent.
Swordsmen, like mages, were divided into different professions.
Their aptitude tests, however, were conducted directly by professors or the dean responsible for the swordsman faculty.
There was also an internal ranking system.
Naturally.
Apparently, suffering required organization.
Students could challenge others within their approximate strength range to improve their rank.
For example, if a student held rank five hundred twenty, they were allowed to challenge anyone up to rank four hundred ninety-nine.
Battles could only take place inside the arena under professor supervision.
A maximum of two duels per day.
If you lost, you were prohibited from issuing challenges for an entire week.
Each student wore a crest on their shirt indicating their course year and specialization.
The total study period lasted five years.
Every half-year, students underwent both theoretical and practical examinations.
Failure in either could result in expulsion.
Cheerful place.
The academy also had its own currency, earned by completing academy-issued assignments or tasks requested by other students.
Attacking someone inside academy grounds was strictly forbidden.
The crest sewn into each uniform functioned as both a tracking beacon and a protective signal.
If someone was attacked, the crest alerted nearby professors, who would arrive and deal with the offender.
Efficient.
Slightly terrifying.
But efficient.
Student here were referred to as stufon.
An odd word.
There was also a large library open to all students, as well as a dining hall.
Dormitories were assigned based on profession, course year, and talent level.
So if you were a second-year swordsman with mediocre aptitude, congratulations—you would be placed accordingly.
How motivational.
"After you complete your swordsman assessment and receive your uniform, you will be assigned a room," the elf concluded.
Then she looked at me directly.
"Did you understand everything, Trey?"
Before I could answer, she handed me two items.
A rulebook.
And a map of the academy.
"You'll need these for the first few days."
She then lifted a white staff and struck it lightly through the air several times, as if activating some sort of signal.
"I'll call one of the senior stufon to escort you to the swordsman wing."