At the iron gates of Notting Academy, the air was thick with the smell of sweat and mockery. One of the two gatekeepers held a parchment, flapping it dismissively in front of an old man and a thin, dark-skinned boy.
"Where did these beggars come from?" the guard sneered, his lip curling in disgust. "Trying to sneak into Notting Academy with a forgery? Blue Silver Grass with Rank 10 Full Spirit Power? Do we look like idiots to you?"
He crumpled the paper and threw it back at the old man's chest. "Take your fake trash and get out of here before we crack your skulls."
Old Jack, the head of Saint Spirit Village, scrambled to catch the document. His face was a mask of frantic desperation. "Please, brothers! This is real! A Battle Spirit Master from Spirit Hall wrote this for Little Jules. Just let us in—the teachers will know the truth!"
"Who are you calling brothers?" the guard barked, stepping forward aggressively. "Scram!"
But the boy, Julian, didn't scramble. In a blur of motion too fast for a commoner to track, he stepped into the guard's personal space. A subtle, invisible force seemed to pull the guard off-balance. Before the man could react, Julian seized his wrist, locking the joint. In the same breath, the boy drove his elbow deep into the guard's solar plexus with a sickening thud.
"Gah!" The guard collapsed, clutching his stomach.
Hidden beneath Julian's sleeve, a mechanical click echoed—the safety of a hidden bolt-launcher sliding into place. Julian's eyes were flat, devoid of the warmth a child should possess. To him, the guard had already stepped onto the "Path of Death."
The second guard roared in fury. "You little brat! You dare hit a representative of the academy?"
Just as the situation peaked toward a lethal conclusion, a cold, dry voice cut through the air.
"Enough. Both of you, stand down."
The guards froze. A tall, gaunt man approached. He had a stiff, rigid gait and a face so hollow and expressionless it looked like a wooden mask. This was Silas, known to some as the Grandmaster. He spent his days watching these gates, waiting for a miracle to prove his "Ten Core Competencies" theory—a theory the great sects laughed at for lack of proof. He needed a student. A lab rat. An exception.
Silas took the document from Old Jack. As his eyes scanned the "Blue Silver Grass" and "Rank 10" entries, a spark of predatory excitement flickered in his dark eyes. Impossible, he thought. Blue Silver Grass cannot produce Rank 10 power unless... there is another spirit.
"There is no mistake," Silas said, his voice regaining its flat chill. "This is an official Spirit Hall certification. Old man, leave the boy with me. I will see him registered."
Old Jack bowed until his forehead nearly touched his knees. "Thank you, Teacher! Thank you! Jules, follow this master. Study hard!"
Julian watched the guards for a second longer—they were lucky to be breathing—before bowing his head in a mask of perfect, obedient humility. "I understand, Grandpa Jack."
Silas glanced at the cowering guards. "Ignorance is one thing. Bullying is another. If I see this again, find another gate to guard."
"Yes, Grandmaster! We're sorry, Grandmaster!" they stammered.
As Silas led Julian through the gates, Caleb and Arthur watched from a distance.
"Quickly, Cael!" Arthur whispered, dragging the boy forward. "That's a high-level teacher. If we follow them, the guards won't dare stop us."
Caleb followed, a faint, amused twitch at the corner of his mouth. The classic Notting Academy face-slap, he thought. He knew Julian could have killed those men before they even blinked.
When they reached the gate, the guards—still stinging from Silas's rebuke—snatched Caleb's papers. When they saw the "Blue Silver Grass" and "Rank 3" entries, they exchanged a bewildered look.
"Another one?" one muttered. "Mutated Blue Silver Grass this time. What is it with this year? Is the whole province growing weeds?"
They didn't dare cause another scene. They shoved the papers back at Caleb and waved them through. "Fine, go. Head straight to the Academic Affairs office. Don't wander off."
Caleb stepped through the iron threshold, his eyes fixed on the retreating backs of the "Grandmaster" and the "Protagonist." The story was moving, and he was finally inside the room where it happened.