chapter 3: Magic Academy
The wooden carriage came to halt.
Before Azek could move, Hensen was already outside, placing a footstool neatly before the door.
Azek stepped down and lifted his gaze.
The academy loomed overhead—stone walls carved with ancient runes, with four pillars tall enough to pierce the sky.
Even among nobles, this place carried weight.
"Ah."
A soft, almost pleasant sound came from his right.
"So this is real."
Azek turned.
A red-haired youth stood there, posture relaxed, His droopy eyes curved into a smile that looked practiced—polite, courteous…
…and yet utterly fake.
"The Willowhearts really did send their son,"
the youth said mildly. "I was sure it was just a rumor."
He tilted his head, examining Azek like a curiosity.
"To think the Empire's famed Sword family would contribute a student with no sword talent at all."
The smile widened—just a little.
"How inspiring. Even the heavens believe in equal opportunity."
Azek stared at him in silence.
"Ashian de Voltliar," the red-haired youth continued, giving a shallow bow. "Second son of the Voltliar family."
Of course.
The type who wrapped insults in silk.
Ashian sighed theatrically.
"Oh dear. Don't tell me I've offended you already?"
He tapped his chin, feigning concern.
"Or are you simply not used to conversations without a blade in hand?"
A faint ripple of laughter spread from the students nearby.
Azek's gaze drifted past Ashian—to the companions at his side.
A black-haired girl trying too hard to look calm.
And another male student from some anzeik??? anziak?? whatever family,
If he couldn't remember the name, it only meant that family wasn't worth much.
The gathering crowd thickened near the academy gates.
Whispers buzzed.
Eyes gleamed with anticipation.
hmmmm...A public stage, Azek noticed.
How thoughtful..
he then replied in a calm voice,
"I didn't realize the Voltliar family's standards had fallen so low, Since when does a baron house address a marquis house so casually?"
the murmurs faltered.
He finally met Ashian's eyes.
"Care to explain, young master Ashian?"
The air shifted.
Ashian's smile froze—only for a heartbeat.
But it was enough.
The color drained from the faces of his companions.
Everyone here understood the rules.
Hierarchy wasn't tradition in the Saika Empire—it was law.
One wrong step could erase a family's future.
"Haha…!"
The black-haired girl laughed awkwardly.
"Of course not, Young Master Azek! It's just friendly banter. How could we ever—"
"Who gave you permission to speak?"
Azek didn't raise his voice.
He didn't move.
That made it worse.
The girl's words died in her throat.
Ashian's thoughts spiraled.
Damn it.
He knew almost nothing about Azek Willowheart—only that he was a Grade Five mage born among swordmasters.
A disgrace.
A convenient target.
Or so he had thought.
But standing this close, Ashian felt it.
That quiet pressure.
That unsettling calm.
This wasn't the aura of someone unsure of their existence.
"Hm?"
Azek hummed softly.
All three of them stiffened, faces pale.
Tap.
A hand rested on Azek's shoulder.
"Shall we proceed inside?"
The voice was gentle.
"You're blocking the entrance."
Azek turned.
Daniel Rotherham stood beside him.
The Crown Prince of the Saika Empire.
"Your Highness!"
Bodies bent in unison. Heads lowered. No one dared breathe too loudly.
"We apologize for the disturbance," Azek said, bowing briefly.
The others hurried to follow, fear etched into every movement.
"enough with formalities," Daniel said.
He passed Azek without another word, accompanied only by a single knight and servant.
And just like that—it was over.
Azek remained still, the faint pressure on his shoulder lingering in memory.
Efficient, he thought.
And deliberate.
That hadn't been help.
It had been a warning.
When Daniel had looked at him, there was only one thing visible
Pity.
Azek's lips curled upward.
"I really should get used to this," he murmured.
Then his eyes sharpened as he turned towards the academy gates.