The moment Leon stepped out of the Rift, the world seemed to hold its breath.
The swirling tear behind him hissed shut with a final pulse of distorted mana, vanishing into thin air. The clearing outside the academy gate went silent. Even the wind felt muted, as if nature itself had stopped moving.
A single figure—calm, steady, dirt-covered—walked out.
Leon Gray.
He stood there with torn sleeves, scratches across his arms, and dried green residue clinging to his daggers. His hair was messy from the fights, a faint line of blood dried near his jaw. But his breathing was stable. His eyes were focused.
He didn't look like someone who had just fought inside a collapsing Rift alone.
He looked like someone who had simply returned from routine training.
Damian Crest let out a shrill scream and fainted on the spot.
Nobody helped him.
Every gaze was fixed on Leon.
Instructor Hale rushed forward, expression tight with panic. "Leon! Are you hurt? You were supposed to clear only the outer zone—how far did you—?"
"I'm fine," Leon interrupted.
Hale scanned him frantically anyway, checking for bleeding, broken bones, mana imbalances. There were scratches and dried blood—not life-threatening. Nothing that explained how he survived an unstable Rift.
"Leon," Hale whispered, "tell me honestly… did you fight anything above Rank-F?"
"Yes."
Students around them gasped.
Hale's face drained of color. "Leon… what rank?"
"Rank–E."
Someone dropped their spear.
Someone else choked on air.
Damian, still half-conscious, shrieked from the ground, "HE WHAT—?!"
Instructor Varron stepped forward.
Unlike Hale, he didn't look shocked.
He looked… interested.
"Let him speak." His voice cut cleanly through the chaos.
Leon turned toward the Combat Head.
Varron stopped just an arm's length away, staring directly into Leon's eyes. "Describe what you encountered."
Leon answered simply, as if giving a weather report.
"Multiple Moss Creepers. Groups of three to eight at a time. Then a Mosswood Guardian deeper inside."
"The Guardian," Varron repeated. "You killed it."
"Yes."
"How?"
"Cleanly."
Damian sat up, screaming, "THAT EXPLAINS NOTHING!"
Leon paused. He seemed to think for a moment, then offered more detail.
"It was large. Slow. Overconfident. I waited for an opening. I used Mana Blade to cut its core through the chest vines. It wasn't complicated."
Hale stared at him, horrified. "Leon… that's not something a Level 2 should be able to say casually!"
Varron, however, let out a deep exhale—not frustration, not relief, but something closer to approval.
"Leon Gray," he said, "you completed the assignment flawlessly. You surpassed expectations."
Whispers erupted.
"No way…"
"He really killed a Rank-E?"
"At Level 2?"
"He's not human…"
"No, he's EX rank…"
Damian staggered to his feet, wobbling like a drunk bird. "Leon… how are you even alive? I thought you'd come out on a stretcher—or as a ghost! Or not come out at all! YOU FOUGHT A GUARDIAN ALONE!"
Leon looked at him, expression unchanging. "It wasn't difficult."
The courtyard exploded with noise.
Hale practically shouted, "STOP SAYING THAT! Rank-E monsters are stronger than many trained adventurers!"
Leon tilted his head. "It moved slowly."
"SO DO GIANTS," Damian screeched, "but they still kill people!"
The guards watching from the side exchanged uneasy glances. Many had fought Rank-E monsters before—and barely survived. The idea of a Level 2 killing one was absurd.
But the evidence was right in front of them.
Leon stood alive.
Unbroken.
Unshaken.
A silence fell when Varron raised his hand.
"All of you," he said, "listen carefully."
The courtyard quieted instantly.
"This proves something important," Varron continued. "Leon Gray does not rely on his rank. He does not rely on luck alone. He has talent, instinct, and control. And he possesses the composure to fight above his level."
He paused.
"This makes him qualified."
Hale frowned. "Qualified for what?"
Varron turned to face him fully.
"For advancement."
Hale's eyes widened. "Already? He just awakened!"
"He is not like the others," Varron said calmly.
Damian squeaked, "You're going to make him skip grades? Throw him into the elite class? Throw him into the royal academy? Please don't. He'll die. Or kill everything. Possibly both."
Varron placed a hand on Damian's head and pushed him aside like swatting an annoying fly.
"Leon," Varron said, focus returning to its original target, "your evaluation is complete. As of this moment, you are cleared of all suspicion, concerns, and monitoring. You will be allowed to train freely."
Hale sighed in relief.
"But—" Varron continued.
Everyone tensed again.
"You are also required to attend an advanced combat assessment next week."
Damian screamed, "STOP GIVING HIM HARDER THINGS!"
Leon nodded. "Okay."
"STOP ACCEPTING SO EASILY!"
Varron smirked. "Your next test won't be solo."
Leon waited silently.
"You will spar against upper-year students."
Whispers exploded.
"Upper-year?"
"He'll die!"
"They're level 10–20."
"This isn't normal…"
"Why HIM?"
Hale opened his mouth to protest—but Varron raised a hand.
"This is not punishment. This is pressure. He needs challenges that match his rank."
He added quietly, almost as if only Leon should hear:
"And this world needs to see what an EX rank truly means."
Leon nodded again. "I understand."
Varron turned away. "Good. Rest. Tomorrow, you begin new training."
As the instructors dispersed, students slowly drifted back, whispering excitedly. The story would spread across the academy within minutes.
Leon walked toward the dorms.
Damian ran beside him, half-limping, half-panicking. "Leon! LEON! You—You're going to fight upper-years! Do you know how insane that is?! They're not Moss Creepers—they're PEOPLE. People with skills. People with grudges! People who don't want to lose to a first-year!"
Leon didn't answer.
Damian tugged at his sleeve. "At least say you're nervous!"
"I'm not."
"That is NOT NORMAL!"
Leon entered his room and set his daggers on the table. His body ached faintly from the fight—nothing severe, just enough to remind him he wasn't invincible.
He sat on his bed and opened his status panel.
Name: Leon Gray
Level: 2
Profession: Battlemage — EX Rank
Talent: Luck (EX Rank)
Stats had increased slightly from the level up. His mana felt more fluid now, his movements sharper.
He quietly replayed the battle with the Mosswood Guardian.
Not to admire it.
Not to fear it.
But to learn from it.
He corrected openings.
He noted inefficient strikes.
He memorized the monster's patterns.
Luck had helped.
But skill?
Skill needed to grow.
Fast.
He closed the panel.
Tomorrow, training would begin again.
One week until the upper-year assessment.
Leon lay back on his bed, closed his eyes, and allowed exhaustion to seep in.
He would become stronger.
Much stronger.
This was still only the beginning.