The academy changed after the Royal Envoy's visit.
Whispers no longer held curiosity—they held tension. Students stepped aside when Leon passed, some respectfully, others warily. Upper-years watched him with sharp eyes. Instructors spoke in lower tones.
Leon didn't care.
He moved through the halls with a clear goal: train, grow, improve. Nothing else mattered.
Damian marched beside him, holding a stack of books labeled "Common Weakness Patterns in Human Combatants" and "How to Avoid Dying: A Beginner's Guide."
"Leon," he whispered nervously, "upper-years are staring again. The really strong ones. The kind that chew first-years for breakfast."
Leon continued walking.
Damian tried again. "You don't feel it? That pressure in the air? That's killing intent—lightly seasoned killing intent."
Leon said, "Ignore them."
"I CAN'T IGNORE KILLING INTENT, LEON!"
They turned the corner—
—and nearly walked straight into Aaron Vale.
The Level 17 swordsman leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, surrounded by the same four upper-year elites from before. Their presence radiated confidence, bordering on arrogance.
Aaron smirked. "Morning, EX-rank."
Damian froze. His notebooks fell to the floor.
Leon stopped.
Aaron walked forward slowly. "I've been looking for you."
"Why?" Leon asked.
Aaron chuckled. "Because you're interesting. A first-year who clears Rifts alone, refines skills in a day, and gets visited by the Royal Council? You're practically begging for attention."
Damian whispered, "We don't want attention. We want obscurity. Safety. A long life."
Aaron ignored him and studied Leon like a puzzle. "You're calm. Too calm. You don't look impressed by anyone."
Leon didn't respond.
Aaron leaned in slightly. "Tell me something. Do you really believe you're ready for next week's assessment?"
Leon answered simply. "Yes."
Aaron's smile widened—not amused, but sharp. "Good. Overconfidence will make you fall harder."
Damian snapped, "He's not overconfident! He's—he's just direct!"
Aaron's expression shifted slightly—annoyance flickering. "Your friend talks too much."
Damian squeaked. "I-IN A GOOD WAY, RIGHT?"
Aaron stepped closer to Leon. "Let's make something clear. I don't care about your awakening rank. Power is earned. If you want to stand on the same stage as upper-years, you need to prove it."
Leon didn't blink. "I will."
Aaron's smirk faded.
He pressed a hand to Leon's shoulder—slow, deliberate.
Leon's instincts sharpened instantly.
And then—
Aaron's mana flared.
It wasn't a gentle flare.
It wasn't a warning flare.
It was oppressive, cold, deliberately crushing—like a blade resting on one's neck.
Students nearby gasped.
Some stepped back.
Some ran.
Damian fell to his knees immediately. "S-STOP! YOU'RE KILLING THE OXYGEN!"
Leon stood still.
The pressure pressed against him, heavy enough to make the air vibrate. His lungs tightened. His heartbeat slowed. But he remained steady.
Aaron narrowed his eyes. "Still not scared?"
Leon's voice was calm. "No."
Something sharp flickered in Aaron's gaze—a mix of irritation and curiosity.
He increased the pressure.
Damian screamed and rolled across the floor.
Leon's hair shifted slightly from the force, but he didn't step back.
Luck pulsed behind his ribs—subtle, supportive, stabilizing his breath.
Aaron finally pulled his hand away and leaned back.
"Tch. You're… interesting."
He turned to leave, but not before adding:
"I hope you survive next week."
The threat wasn't shouted.
It wasn't loud.
It was quiet.
Serious.
Certain.
Leon didn't follow him with his eyes.
Damian, trembling, whispered, "Leon… you just stared down a Level 17. I think my soul left my body. Twice."
Leon resumed walking.
Damian scrambled after him. "You need protection! No—you need bodyguards! A shield! At least three shields!"
Leon didn't answer.
He went straight to the training yard—because Varron was waiting.
The Combat Instructor didn't scold him for being late. Instead, he simply said, "Good. You experienced hostility today. You need it."
Damian yelled, "HE NEEDS A HUG, NOT HOSTILITY!"
Varron ignored him. "Leon. Today's training changes."
"How?" Leon asked.
"Real combat."
Leon nodded.
Varron gestured to two red-uniformed students waiting by the practice ring. "Year Two duelists. Both Level 10. Faster, more experienced, and aggressive."
Damian panicked. "Two?! Why two?!"
Varron's tone was cold. "Upper-years won't attack him one at a time."
Leon stepped into the ring.
The Year Two students smirked and drew wooden practice weapons—one wielding dual daggers, the other using a reinforced staff.
Varron raised his hand.
"Begin."
The dagger user lunged instantly.
His speed outclassed normal first-years—far sharper than monsters Leon had faced.
Leon dodged the first slash narrowly—Luck nudging him half a step faster.
The staff-wielder struck next, swinging toward Leon's ribs.
Leon raised his arm to block—parrying with the wooden dagger.
The impact vibrated up his arm, but he stayed steady.
The duelists pressed harder.
A stab.
A sweep.
A spinning kick.
A downward strike.
Leon dodged some.
Parried others.
Took one glancing hit to the shoulder.
Varron observed closely, analyzing every movement.
"Footwork is improving," he muttered. "Instincts sharper. He adapts fast…"
But the duelists weren't done.
The dagger user feinted low—then attacked high.
Leon anticipated it, but his reaction was half a second late.
The staff cracked against his side.
Damian screamed, "LEOOOON!"
Leon grunted—but stayed standing.
He stepped back once.
Reset his stance.
Mana stirred inside him.
He whispered, "Mana Blade."
A thin crescent of blue mana surged from his dagger—
The dagger user barely dodged.
The staff-wielder didn't.
The mana wave struck his leg, knocking him off balance.
The crowd watching around the yard exploded with shouts.
"He hit an upper-year!"
"That was clean!"
"That skill is scary…"
The duelists' expressions shifted—annoyed, serious now.
They attacked together.
Leon deflected the dagger with a sharp wrist twist—
then ducked under the staff—
rolled—
and swept the dagger user's leg out.
The student crashed to the ground.
The staff user swung down, but Leon caught the staff with both daggers in an X-block—
his arms trembled—
pressure pushed down—
Luck pulsed.
Leon twisted, redirected, and slammed the staff aside.
The upper-year stumbled.
Leon stepped forward, dagger at the student's neck.
The ring fell silent.
Varron raised his hand.
"Enough."
Leon lowered his dagger.
Damian burst into the ring, half crying. "LEON YOU'RE ALIVE—AND COOL—BUT MAINLY ALIVE!"
The duelists stood, rubbing bruises.
One muttered, "We… underestimated him."
The other nodded stiffly.
Varron approached Leon. "Your progress exceeds expectations. But threats will increase. Today was the beginning."
Damian gulped. "The beginning of WHAT?!"
Varron didn't answer.
Leon didn't need him to.
He already knew:
The academy wasn't just training him anymore.
It was testing him.
Measuring him.
Watching him.
Waiting to see how far he would go.
Leon tightened his grip on his dagger.
He wasn't afraid.
He was ready.