The crack Leon left on the training post from Mana Blade remained even after the energy faded. It wasn't deep—just a clean, precise cut—but it was enough to attract a few passing stares.
Damian stared at the sliced wood as if it were evidence of sorcery.
"Leon… that was one swing… one! At Level 1! Do you realize how illegal that looks?!"
Leon ignored him, focusing on the sensation still lingering in his arm. Mana Blade wasn't effortless. It required focus, control, and a precise flow—but it felt natural. Not gifted. Not overpowered. Just synced.
He could tell:
He had barely scratched the surface of this skill.
Damian waved frantically in front of his face. "HELLO? Are you listening? Or are you ascending mentally to the heavens already?!"
Leon lowered his dagger. "We're leaving."
"We are?" Damian blinked. "Where?"
"To train."
Damian groaned. "I regret awakening every day I'm near you."
As they walked across the courtyard, more students turned to stare. Some whispered praise, some admiration, some envy.
But some eyes held something else…
Unease.
Fear.
A single EX-rank in a small world was enough to shake foundations. Rumors spread faster than fire. Some students stepped aside respectfully; others avoided Leon like he carried a cursed artifact.
Leon didn't care.
He headed toward the academy's open training field—a wide expanse of grass dotted with spell targets, straw dummies, and weapon racks.
But before he could begin, a voice called out:
"Leon Gray!"
He stopped.
A group of senior instructors approached, led by a tall, broad-shouldered man with sharp eyes and dark hair tied back neatly. The aura around him felt heavy—like a boulder pressing down on the air.
Damian whispered, "Oh no… That's Instructor Varron. The Combat Head. He eats students for breakfast."
Varron stopped a few steps away from Leon, arms folded.
"So," he said slowly, "you're the boy who awakened EX rank."
Leon nodded.
Varron circled him once, sizing him up from every angle like a craftsman examining a strange new tool.
"I've reviewed your awakening report," Varron continued. "Your dungeon evaluation. Your combat performance. Your training aptitude. Everything."
Damian swallowed loudly. "A-And?"
Varron looked Leon dead in the eyes.
"You're not impressive."
The courtyard erupted in whispers.
Damian nearly fainted.
Leon's expression didn't change. "I see."
"Good," Varron replied. "You're not arrogant. That's the first thing you need if you want to survive being exceptional."
Damian blinked. "Wha—wait, what? That sounded like praise disguised as an insult."
Varron ignored him and addressed Leon again.
"You awakened the rarest rank ever recorded. But rank alone doesn't make you strong. The world doesn't bow because of a title on a crystal. Strength is built. Fought for. Proven."
Leon nodded once. "Understood."
"Good," Varron said. "Then listen carefully."
He stepped back, crossing his arms.
"The academy has decided something. Because of your awakening, the Council wants to see your growth. They expect progress—real progress—before they arrive."
Damian paled. "H-How fast is 'real progress'?"
Varron answered calmly:
"We will measure Leon's improvement in one week."
That shocked everyone listening.
Leon didn't react.
Damian fell to his knees. "ONE WEEK?! THAT'S NOT NORMAL!"
Varron continued, "The academy will assign Leon a private evaluation. Pass it, and you will be deemed stable and trustworthy enough to continue normal training."
Damian blinked. "And if he fails…?"
"Then," Varron said simply, "he will be placed under supervision."
Students flinched.
Supervision meant restrictions.
Monitoring.
Restricted movement.
Limited training freedom.
Constant observation by the academy and kingdom.
Leon finally spoke. "What is the evaluation?"
Varron's lips curled slightly. "A simple test."
Damian whispered, "Nothing is simple with him…"
Varron pointed toward the forest outside the academy walls.
"There is a newly appeared Wild Rift in the East Woods. Low-level, unstable, filled with Rank-F monsters. Your task is to enter, eliminate a minimum number of monsters, and return unharmed."
Damian choked. "A second dungeon?! Already?!"
Varron ignored him again.
"You will go alone."
Every student watching froze.
Even Selwyn, passing nearby, stared in disbelief.
Kain, practicing shield strikes at the edge of the field, dropped his training shield.
Ruth gasped quietly.
Lara covered her mouth.
Leon simply said, "When?"
"Tomorrow," Varron replied.
Damian jumped between them. "WAIT! You want him to go ALONE into an unstable Rift?! He's Level 1! What if he dies?!"
"If he dies," Varron said bluntly, "then EX rank means nothing."
Damian sputtered. "WHAT KIND OF LOGIC IS THAT?!!"
Leon stepped past Damian. "I'll do it."
Damian grabbed his sleeve. "Leeeeon—!!"
Leon looked back at Varron. "What level are the monsters?"
"Mostly Rank-F. Some Rank-E if you go deeper."
Damian shrieked, "THAT'S TOO MUCH FOR LEVEL 1!"
Leon shrugged. "It's fine."
Damian face-planted into the dirt.
Varron nodded in approval. "Good. Your mentality is correct. Overconfidence is foolish, but fear is worse."
Damian raised a trembling hand. "Can I object?"
"No," Varron said immediately.
Damian collapsed again.
Varron turned to leave but paused. "Leon."
Leon waited.
"EX rank doesn't determine your worth. Your actions do."
He glanced at Leon's daggers. "Show me results."
Then he strode away, leaving behind a courtyard full of silent students.
Damian covered his face with both hands. "Leon… this is insane. This is actually insane. You haven't even fully tested your first skill! You can't go into a Rift alone! What if the monsters team up? What if a Rank-E jumps out? What if—what if the Rift collapses?!"
Leon said, "It won't."
"How do you know?!"
Leon blinked. "Luck."
Damian froze.
Then he groaned loudly, falling flat on his back.
"I hate your talent…"
Leon ignored him and walked toward the weapon racks.
He selected his daggers.
Mana flowed naturally around his fingers.
Tomorrow, he would enter a Wild Rift alone.
Not to survive.
Not to prove anything.
But because this was the fastest path forward.
He needed strength—
not for the academy,
not for the Council,
but for the purpose he carried silently.
Luck pulsed behind every heartbeat, guiding him forward.
Tomorrow would be the start of real combat.