Kael stood in the spacious training hall of the Academy—surrounded by the students of his course. The air was thick with tension, and the wooden floor trembled beneath the rhythm of dozens of synchronized steps.

  They all moved in unison—raising their arms, crossing them before their chests, then sinking into smooth, flowing stances. From the outside, it looked less like ordinary training and more like some ancient ritual.

  “Inhale… move… exhale… mana!” came the loud, rasping voice of the instructor.

  At the front stood a tall man with short silver hair, a scar running across his entire face, and eyes that carried the discipline of decades of service. Everyone knew his name—Instructor Ardran, former battle mage, now teacher of “Fundamentals of Combat Magic.”

  His movements were precise and powerful, showing no trace of fatigue; each step reverberated through the hall.

  When Ardran raised his arm, a red current of energy ran beneath his skin—streaming like coils of mist along the muscles before dissipating into the air.

  “With the movement,” he shouted, twisting his torso, “let the mana flow through the limb with the same smoothness!”

  His voice boomed like a drumbeat.

  “You must learn to feel it as your second breath! Not as power—but as an extension of yourself!”

  Kael followed each motion precisely, his focus absolute. His body moved fluidly, without a single jerk, while mana flowed gently through his channels.

  But achieving that effect was far from easy—beneath those graceful motions trembled his muscles. Again and again, he felt the urge to drop his arms, straighten his back, to take a brief breath of rest.

  Unlike Ardran, however, there were no visible signs of magic around him—no flashes, no streams of energy. Everything happened deep within.

  “Funny…” Kael thought, his gaze drifting over the students nearby. “Now these drills actually make sense. But in my previous life I despised them—always felt like a fool. Without mana, I was just mimicking strange movements, never grasping their purpose…”

  He steadied his breathing, letting mana pass through his legs, then through his arms—feeling his body gradually respond, adapting to the new rhythm.

  Instructor Ardran’s commanding voice continued to boom across the hall:

  “When you reach the rank of Steel Mage,” he declared, spinning sharply and striking the air with a gesture that left a brief crimson flash “you will forge a contract with your first spirit!”

  He swept his gaze across the rows of students, his eyes gleaming like tempered steel.

  “Until that day, your body must learn to control mana perfectly. Only then will you move on to the next stage of training—combat magic!”

  His voice rose, filling the hall with raw, driving energy.

  “The bond with a spirit will amplify your mana. Without a trained body and a steady flow, you’ll only injure yourselves. Worse still—you’ll never wield your spirits’ abilities properly!”

  He suddenly turned toward one of the students in the front row—a blond boy performing the motions lazily.

  “Leon!” Ardran barked. “Smoother with that strike! Don’t want to learn now? Then get used to losing later!”

  The instructor smirked with mocking amusement and added:

  “I think I saw you flirting with the girls during the break. If you stay weak, that pretty face won’t help you.”

  Laughter rippled through the group as the other students began teasing.

  “He slacks off in theory too!”

  “That’s our Leon! Only thinks about girls, ha-ha!”

  Flushed red, Leon straightened up and began performing the exercise with renewed vigor. The rest of the students—Kael among them—instinctively picked up the pace, not wanting to draw the instructor’s sharp tongue.

  Kael watched the scene unfold, a faint, knowing smile touching his lips as he moved in slow harmony with his breath.

  “This training isn’t bad—just too basic,” he thought, guiding mana along his spine and feeling a faint warmth stir within. “Once I break through to the Core Mage stage, I’ll start refining my body through the Path of Silent Pillar. Then, step by step, I’ll uncover the principles of its combat magic…”

  As Kael continued moving within the flow of the group training, he noticed that more and more of his classmates’ gazes were falling on him.

  But not with mockery—not like before.

  Something had changed.

  Now their faces showed a different expression—a glimmer of curiosity mingled with disbelief… and even caution.

  “It’s been three days since my visit to the Council of Elders,” Kael noted calmly, not breaking the rhythm of his movements. “Looks like the rumors are finally reaching the students.”

  Just then, a deep, resonant sound rolled in from outside—like someone had struck a massive bronze gong. The vibration echoed through the hall, thudding in their chests.

  Instructor Ardran froze, dropped his hands, and nodded with satisfaction.

  “Lesson’s over,” he announced loudly, cutting through the students’ cheerful murmuring. “But don’t forget to train at home. If you want to become powerful mages someday—you can’t neglect the body.”

  He said it with his usual sternness, but he already knew his words were being drowned out by laughter and chatter. Some students were joking, others were discussing where to go during the break.

  For most of them, this was nothing more than routine.

  But not everyone was in a hurry to leave.

  A few students lingered, sneaking glances at Kael, nudging one another—as if daring each other to go first.

  The first to break the silence was Lili—a slender girl with rose-colored hair, also considered a “bookworm,” much like Kael himself.

  She stepped closer, fidgeting with the sleeve of her uniform and smiling uncertainly.

  “Kael…” she began softly. “I was worried when you stopped coming to the theory classes. And… I was really glad to see you today. Did something happen to you?”

  Her voice was sincere, without pretense—the voice of someone who genuinely cared.

  But before Kael could answer, a twin burst of mocking laughter came from behind.

  “Lili, haven’t you heard the rumors?” two voices chimed in at once.

  Approaching were two identical boys—the brothers Bronan and Dronan. Their long violet hair fell over their shoulders, and their matching smirks revealed their habit of speaking in perfect unison.

  They exchanged a glance, then turned toward Kael, their eyes gleaming with mischievous curiosity.

  “They say he’s a Third-Rank Master now,” said Bronan.

  “And that the Council of Elders personally rewarded him,” added Dronan. “So careful, Lili… soon he might start grading us! Ha-ha!”

  Lili blinked, confused, glancing from one twin to the other.

  “What are you even talking about?” she asked, genuine bewilderment in her tone.

  The twins’ words were the spark—at once, a swarm of voices rose around them. Those who had been standing aside began inching closer, surrounding Kael in a loose circle.

  “Kael, is it true you were at the Council of Elders?” asked a copper-haired boy, his tone full of open admiration.

  “I heard they excused you from the theory lectures! Lucky you!” shouted a girl, practically bouncing on her toes. “Is that true?”

  “And what were you doing there, anyway? They say it was because of some discovery!” another voice chimed in.

  The questions overlapped, one atop another—whispers, exclamations, gasps. Some students tried to edge nearer, others simply gawked at him with wide eyes.

  Kael stood in the middle of the growing circle, feeling the press of curiosity and attention closing in from all sides.

  “Damn…” he exhaled inwardly, maintaining a calm expression. “How do I get rid of them? I need to get to that crook at the market—he should’ve already stocked up on my mana elixirs…”

  He allowed himself a polite, mild smile and lifted his hand slightly, as though to quiet the crowd.

  “The Council’s reward was just a matter of luck,” he said evenly, lowering his voice just enough to sound measured and believable. “But yes, I did manage to become a Master in the Hall of Ancient Research.”

  A collective gasp swept through the room—followed by murmurs, wide eyes, and even a few impressed whistles.

  But Kael gave them no time to ask more questions—he inclined his head slightly, keeping the same composed smile.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Sorry, everyone, but I’ve got to run. See you in practical class!”

  With that, he turned gracefully and made his way toward the exit. The students’ eyes followed him, their chatter swelling behind him—no longer merely curious, but now charged with a newfound fascination.

  “Rumors are a useful thing,” Kael thought with a faint smirk as he stepped out of the hall. “Sometimes they work better than any title.”

  The moment the training hall door closed behind him, the noise of youthful voices only grew louder.

  In the far corner, leaning against the wall, stood a tall boy with long blue hair and a piercing, heavy gaze. His arms were crossed over his chest, lips pressed into a thin, cold line.

  Draxion.

  He stared at the door with a look that mixed anger and disdain. His icy-blue eyes glimmered—as though barely restrained fury was simmering beneath the surface.

  Beside him stood his usual followers—Nir, a wiry boy with short gray hair, and Torm, a stocky redhead with a round face. The first let out a derisive snort.

  “What nonsense. He must’ve cheated. How could the Elders actually believe him?” Nir sneered, curling his lips.

  Torm nodded in agreement, muttering under his breath:

  “They just pitied the bastard—sure, he’s smart, but as a mage he’s worthless. Probably decided to protect him. There’s no other explanation.”

  But before either could say more, Draxion abruptly pushed off from the wall and strode toward the door. His steps were fast, deliberate—almost sharp with irritation.

  “Hey! Draxion, wait up!” Nir called, hurrying after him.

  The boy turned just enough to throw a brief, cutting glance over his shoulder.

  “Don’t follow me,” he said evenly, his voice devoid of emotion. “I’ll be back soon.”

  And without waiting for a response, he flung the door open and walked out after Kael.

  Nir and Torm exchanged uneasy looks.

  “I’d be happy to help,” Torm muttered, scratching the back of his head. “I used to enjoy messing with Kael too.”

  “Better not,” Nir replied quietly, his gaze lingering on the door through which Draxion had vanished. “When he’s got that look… it’s smarter to stay out of his way.”

  ? ? ?

  At that moment, Kael was striding quickly down the main corridor of the Academy. His thoughts were focused on one thing only:

  “The monthly sparring matches are coming up soon… It’d be good to make a breakthrough before then, and train the Path of Silent Pillar a little. Maybe even test it in practice…”

  He turned into a side hallway leading to the exit when a familiar, irritating voice called out from behind him:

  “Kael. Wait.”

  Kael stopped automatically but didn’t turn right away. He knew that voice all too well—and already felt irritation spreading through his chest.

  When he finally turned, he saw Draxion standing in the middle of the passage—tall, tense, his expression grim. His gaze was cold and guarded, as if he didn’t even want to start this conversation.

  “What do you want?” Kael said dryly, narrowing his eyes. “We’ve been ignoring each other for over a week now.”

  Draxion took two quick steps forward, stopping right in front of him. His movements were sharp, almost desperate—as though he feared he might lose his nerve if he hesitated for even a second.

  “I heard…” he began, his fists clenching. “That you were recognized by the Council of Elders…”

  Kael raised an eyebrow slightly.

  “And what of it?” he replied, his voice flat, his gaze unwavering.

  Silence fell between them. The wind slipping through the window slits stirred the edges of Kael’s robe.

  Draxion shifted from foot to foot, visibly battling himself. His face had gone pale, and his jaw was tight with strain.

  “My father found out that we…” he faltered, then forced himself to continue: “…that we’re classmates. And he started asking questions about you.”

  With that, he slowly reached under his cloak. Then he pulled out a small box—dark wood, bound with silver, the clasp shaped like a triangular sigil.

  Before Kael could speak, Draxion extended the box toward him—both hands forward, eyes averted.

  He lowered his head slightly, and in that moment, everything was written across his face: humiliation, resentment, and inner conflict. Every movement seemed painful, as if he were grinding his pride down to dust just to get the words out.

  “I… apologize for bothering you,” he said hoarsely, the words catching in his throat. “I hope this modest gift will smooth things over.”

  Kael froze for a moment, watching him, then slowly crossed his arms over his chest. A sly, almost lazy smirk spread across his lips.

  “So that’s what this is…” he mused inwardly. “They found out their little brat was bullying me and now they’re trying to make nice?”

  He tilted his head slightly, savoring the sight, and said with exaggerated politeness:

  “What’s inside?”

  Draxion’s hands tightened into fists, but he still didn’t lift his head.

  “Concentration Pills,” he muttered, every word scraping against his pride. “They help with mana control during training.”

  He paused, lowering his gaze, then muttered through clenched teeth, barely loud enough to hear:

  “Not that you’d need them… You’re still a no-talent.”

  Kael chuckled softly, as though the insult had simply passed through him without leaving a mark.

  “I’m not a proud man,” he said lazily, plucking the “gift” from Draxion’s hands without ceremony. “So I’ll gladly accept your apology.”

  He turned the box in his fingers, weighing it, admiring the craftsmanship, then slipped it into his inner pocket. A mocking smile flickered on his lips, and a glint of mischief lit his eyes.

  “But that won’t be enough, boy…” Kael thought coldly, looking down at him.

  “I think these pills might help heal my wounded heart,” he said aloud, in a tone of feigned thoughtfulness. “At least a small part of it. After all, you tormented me for quite some time…”

  With that, Kael turned toward the exit and started walking, not even glancing back, his voice carrying smoothly down the corridor:

  “I see your elders are far more reasonable than you. I hope they understand my hint…”

  With those words, Kael fell silent, and the corridor filled only with the sound of his retreating footsteps—and the faint grinding of Draxion’s teeth.

  “That gift will do nicely,” Kael murmured inwardly as he stepped out of the Academy building. “With it, my training will become even more efficient…”

  Meanwhile, behind him, Draxion slowly lifted his head. His shoulders trembled; his fingers clenched into fists so tightly that the knuckles turned white.

  He stared at Kael’s departing figure with hatred—a hatred so sharp it seemed almost tangible.

  “They should’ve given those pills to me…” he hissed through his teeth. “Damn old fools… they’ve completely lost their minds.”

  For a moment, he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, as though trying to suppress the fury clawing its way up from within. But soon his lips twisted into a cold, predatory smirk.

  “No matter…” he whispered softly, almost tenderly. “I’ll make that arrogant wretch pay in full during the sparring matches.”

  He straightened, squaring his shoulders, and after casting one last disdainful glance in Kael’s direction, muttered with quiet contempt:

  “In Lasthold, strength matters—not memorized books.”

  ? ? ?

  The break flew by quickly.

  Children’s laughter, footsteps, and bright voices gradually died away, dissolving into the corridors of the Academy. One by one the students returned to their classrooms—some with a snack in hand, some with a clutch of parchments under their arms.

  Soon silence reigned in the building again.

  And at that very moment, on the other side of the city, life ran its own course.

  On the sun-drenched market square, a man in his fifties sat lazily slouched on an old, creaky chair. His sweaty bald spot gleamed so brightly it could’ve blinded passersby, while the thin strands atop his head clung desperately to the wind.

  He grumbled, shifting the chair left and right, trying to find even a scrap of shade.

  “What the…” he muttered, kicking a pebble in frustration. “Who put this cursed stone here? Can’t even sit straight!”

  The chair creaked again—one leg slipped into a crack between the cobbles, and the man nearly toppled over. He froze, snorted, and began to steady the chair, muttering curses under his breath.

  “Wouldn’t hurt if the nobles fixed their damn pavement for once…”

  But a calm, familiar voice at his side cut him short:

  “Hey, crook. Got my order ready yet?”

  The man flinched, glancing angrily toward the speaker, ready to snap back, but when he saw who had approached him, his expression changed abruptly.

  The wrinkles on his face smoothed, his lips stretched into a sly, almost oily smile. He squinted, tilted his head, and said:

  “Been wondering when you’d turn up, damn kid…”

  Before this man he did not play the role of a polite student and did not hide his true manner—direct, cunning, and a little mocking.

  He stopped in front of him, smiled lightly, and nodded toward a new wooden crate standing beside the merchant’s chair.

  “Looks like I won our bet,” Kael said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Told you you wouldn’t dare try to rob me”

  The man clicked his tongue in annoyance and leaned back against the chair’s backrest.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled with an exaggerated sigh, “I even threw in another mana elixir. You’ll bankrupt me soon, boy.”

  Kael chuckled softly, shaking his head.

  “Don’t sell yourself short,” he said with a hint of mockery. “I gave you a hefty order, and I’m sure you made a nice profit off it.”

  The man laughed in return—loud and raspy, like someone caught in a small but satisfying bit of trickery.

  “All right, I surrender,” he said, lifting the crate and setting it on the stall before Kael. “I’ll admit, when you first shoved nine hundred bronze coins at me, I thought you’d lost your mind. The urge to rob you was… well, let’s just say it was strong.”

  Kael laughed. “I know. That’s why I made the bet. I can’t pass up a chance to squeeze a bit more value out of you.”

  The man smirked, glancing at Kael from beneath his thick brows, then lowered his voice, his tone shifting with genuine interest.

  “But you know what surprised me even more? The news that’s been spreading through Lasthold these past few days.”

  He scratched his chin, eyeing the young man carefully.

  “When the people above me started digging into your background… well, we were all a bit shocked. So young, and already you’ve caught the attention of the Council of Elders. And then you went and turned down the patronage of the Three Families…”

  Kael said nothing—only curved his lips in a faint smile and reached for the wooden crate.

  Inside, the glass vials gave a soft, steady clink—an even, calming sound, like confirmation that the order had been filled perfectly. He drew the crate closer, checking the lid’s fastenings and the weight of its contents.

  The man, watching him, suddenly changed his tone.

  Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he spoke more quietly—almost in a conspiratorial whisper:

  “Boy…” he began, “how’d you like to meet some people… let’s say, from the darker side of Lasthold?”

  Kael paused for a moment, the crate still in his hands. His amber eyes narrowed slightly—not in fear, but in curiosity.

  “Not yet,” he said calmly, giving a small shake of his head. “But I wouldn’t mind having a few connections in different circles.”

  He hoisted the crate from the table with a firm grip.

  “In a few weeks, I’ll need to buy a large batch of alchemy ingredients,” Kael added in a businesslike tone, almost offhand. “Can I count on wholesale prices?”

  The man smirked, glancing up from under his brow, about to reply—but Kael cut him off, his voice carrying a trace of sly amusement:

  “Most of your goods are stolen, anyway… so you won’t be losing much.”

  To his surprise, the merchant didn’t snap back. He only snorted, scratched his chin, and said lazily,

  “Show me the money first—then we’ll talk.”

  After a moment, though, he added more quietly, a hint more serious:

  “I’ll talk to the higher-ups. We’ll figure something out for you.”

  Kael gave a slight nod, as if that was exactly the answer he’d been expecting.

  “Until next time, then,” he said, turning to leave. “And thanks for the quick work.”

  “Yeah… you too,” the merchant muttered, pulling out a fan and turning the other way.

  As Kael made his way home, carrying the crate, he gave it a light shake, and a gentle clink of glass vials rippled through the air.

  He smiled, feeling a faint, eager thrill stirring inside him.

  “Alright then,” he thought, leaving the square behind, weaving through the calls of vendors and the chatter of buyers. “It’s finally time to begin real training. With Draxion’s pills and these mana elixirs…”

  His amber eyes gleamed faintly, catching the sunlight.

  “Soon I’ll know what it truly feels like—to be a Core Mage.”