Chapter 2: No Sword, No Skill
The day after awakening, Aureum Royal Academy taught its students the difference between having a class and having worth.
Classes were sacred.
Ranks were respected.
Combat ability was currency.
And Ilyan Vale had none of it.
The first combat assessment was held in the western training arena, a massive open field surrounded by white stone walls and observation balconies. Weapon racks lined one side. Spell targets floated on the other. In the center stood rows of enchanted dummies, each carved from dark ironwood and covered in glowing measurement runes.
Above the arena gate, a bronze plaque displayed the academy motto.
Strength reveals destiny.
Ilyan stared at the words for a moment too long.
“Cheerful, isn’t it?” Mira said beside him.
She had both hands tucked into her uniform pockets, shoulders loose, expression flat. Unlike the noble students, she had not arrived with polished armor or a family weapon. A plain practice shield was strapped across her back.
“It’s efficient,” Ilyan said.
Mira looked at him. “That is not the word I would use.”
“It tells you exactly what kind of place this is.”
She snorted. “You say depressing things calmly.”
“I find it saves time.”
Before Mira could answer, a whistle cut through the arena.
“First-years! Form lines by class category!”
A tall instructor in red-trimmed armor strode across the field. His hair was shaved close to his scalp, and a long scar ran from his left eyebrow to his jaw. The students immediately straightened.
Professor Orven Quill had observed the awakening ceremony from the back of the hall yesterday.
This man was different.
He looked like someone who considered sympathy a training injury.
“I am Instructor Garran Holt,” he announced. “For those who awakened combat classes, today is your first measurement. For those who awakened support or utility classes, today is also your first measurement.”
His eyes swept across the students.
“Do not mistake my meaning. The battlefield does not care whether your class description sounds impressive. If a monster reaches you, you will either survive, contribute, or die.”
The arena went quiet.
Ilyan felt several noble students glance toward him.
Instructor Holt continued, “The assessment has four parts. Weapon resonance, mana output, physical response, and applied skill demonstration. Your results will determine your preliminary training group.”
A silver-haired girl at the front raised her hand. “Instructor, will bloodline compatibility be considered?”
Holt smiled without warmth. “Your bloodline may explain your talent. It will not swing your sword for you.”
A few commoner students looked secretly pleased.
The silver-haired girl lowered her hand.
“Now,” Holt said, “when your name is called, step forward.”
A floating crystal orb drifted from the instructor’s hand and projected a list of names into the air.
The first student was a noble boy with a spear class.
He stepped into the ring confidently, selected a long practice spear, and placed his hand around the shaft. Runes lit along the weapon from base to tip.
[Weapon Resonance: 74%]
The watching students murmured.
The boy smiled.
For the applied skill demonstration, he activated Piercing Thrust. Blue light wrapped around the spearhead before he drove it into an ironwood dummy.
The dummy slid back three full steps.
[Damage Grade: Bronze III]
Applause followed.
The next student awakened as an axe fighter and split a dummy’s shoulder plate. Another fired three wind arrows through floating targets. Another summoned a stone gauntlet around his fist and cracked the arena floor.
Each display was met with cheers, envy, and rapid judgment.
Ilyan watched every movement carefully.
The Administrator Interface had not spoken since last night.
No black windows.
No red warnings.
No helpful explanations.
Just silence.
That almost made yesterday worse.
A useless public class was embarrassing.
A hidden impossible class that refused to explain itself was terrifying.
“Lucien Vael.”
The arena shifted.
Even students who had been whispering fell silent.
Lucien walked forward with the same calm arrogance he had shown during the awakening ceremony. He did not browse the weapon rack. He went directly to a slender practice sword with a silver grip.
The moment his fingers touched it, the weapon sang.
Not metaphorically.
A clear metallic note rang through the arena.
Runes blazed from the hilt to the tip.
[Weapon Resonance: 96%]
Even Instructor Holt’s expression changed slightly.
“Begin.”
Lucien raised the sword.
For one second, he did not move.
Then he disappeared.
No.
Ilyan’s eyes widened.
He had not disappeared. He had stepped forward so cleanly that Ilyan’s eyes struggled to follow the movement.
A line of silver light flashed across the dummy’s chest.
The first strike cut the outer armor.
The second strike struck the exact same line.
The third strike shattered the dummy’s core rune.
The entire ironwood figure collapsed backward.
[Skill Demonstration: Noble Sword Art — Crescent Sever]
[Damage Grade: Silver I]
[Control Grade: Excellent]
The arena erupted.
“Silver grade already?”
“First day?”
“That’s House Vael for you.”
Lucien lowered the sword. His breathing had not changed.
He turned away from the dummy and returned to his place. As he passed the lower-ranked students, his gaze briefly met Ilyan’s.
It was not a challenge.
It was a reminder.
Some people were born at the front.
Others were allowed to watch.
“Mira Solgard.”
Mira rolled her shoulders. “That’s me.”
“Good luck,” Ilyan said.
She gave him a sideways glance. “You too.”
“I think I’ll need more than luck.”
“Then steal some from the nobles. They seem to have extra.”
Ilyan almost smiled.
Mira stepped into the ring and chose a shield.
The weapon rack offered many options: swords, axes, bows, spears, knives, staffs, gauntlets. Mira ignored all of them. She picked up the largest practice shield available, a heavy rectangular slab of reinforced wood and iron.
Several students laughed quietly.
“A shield?”
“She awakened a vanguard class, right?”
“Defense type. Boring.”
“Good for standing in front of real fighters.”
Mira’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing.
She placed her hand on the shield.
Runes glowed.
[Weapon Resonance: 88%]
The laughter weakened.
Instructor Holt raised an eyebrow. “Good. Applied skill.”
Mira stepped before the dummy.
A shield skill was not like a sword skill. There was no flash, no cutting arc, no dramatic burst of flame. Mira planted her feet and lifted the shield in front of her.
“Fortress Guard.”
Mana gathered around the shield, forming a faint wall of amber light.
The dummy’s runes activated. Its wooden arm rose, transforming into a blunt hammer of compressed mana.
It struck.
The sound cracked through the arena.
Mira slid back half a step.
Only half.
The dummy’s hammer shattered into sparks.
[Defense Grade: Silver III]
[Stability Grade: Excellent]
[Counterattack Grade: None]
The last line appeared in bright blue text.
The nobles immediately found their laughter again.
“No counterattack.”
“So she can stand there and get hit.”
“How inspiring.”
Mira lowered the shield.
Her face remained calm, but Ilyan saw her fingers tighten around the grip.
Instructor Holt studied the result. “High defense. No offensive response. You will be assigned to front-line support training.”
Mira bowed stiffly and returned to the waiting area.
“That was impressive,” Ilyan said quietly.
She stared ahead. “The result said none.”
“It said your counterattack was none. It also said your defense was Silver III.”
“People only clap when something breaks.”
Ilyan looked at the shattered mana fragments still fading near the dummy.
“Something did break.”
Mira glanced at him.
This time, she did smile.
A little.
More students were called.
Seren Auvray, the formula mage from the low-value table, walked forward with a stack of notes already in her hand. When Instructor Holt told her notes were not allowed during testing, she looked personally betrayed.
“I require them for calibration,” Seren said.
“You require instinct under pressure.”
“Instinct is merely calculation performed without documentation.”
The instructor stared at her.
Several students laughed.
Seren sighed like the world had disappointed her and selected a staff.
[Catalyst Resonance: 91%]
The laughter stopped again.
For her applied skill, she drew a circle in the air with her finger. Lines of blue light formed a complex spell formula.
Too complex.
Even Ilyan, who knew almost nothing about magic theory, could feel the mana struggling to move through it.
Instructor Holt frowned. “Simplify the spell.”
“That would reduce efficiency.”
“It would reduce the chance of you blowing off your hand.”
Seren hesitated.
Then she muttered, “Acceptable concern.”
She erased half the formula and cast.
A thin beam of blue fire shot forward and pierced the center of the target.
The damage was small.
The accuracy was perfect.
[Damage Grade: Bronze II]
[Formula Control: Exceptional]
[Casting Speed: Poor]
Seren adjusted her glasses, though she was not wearing any.
“Casting speed can be improved,” she said before anyone commented.
Instructor Holt nodded. “It had better.”
Pavo Korr went next.
He awakened as an Appraiser, which sounded only slightly more respectable than Administrator. He failed weapon resonance with every weapon except a small dagger, which gave him a depressing 22%.
But during item identification, he correctly named the material, age, market value, repair cost, previous owner status, and probable smuggling route of a cracked practice gauntlet.
Instructor Holt stared at him for three seconds.
Pavo grinned. “Do I pass?”
“You pass economics,” Holt said. “Not combat.”
“I’ll take what I can get.”
Nera Voss, the quiet healer, showed low attack output but excellent recovery precision. Her skill Restoration Note formed a pale page of light that attached itself to a scratched training dummy and slowly repaired the surface damage.
The noble students barely reacted.
Healing was useful.
But in the academy, useful was not the same as glorious.
Name after name passed.
Score after score appeared.
Then the floating list shifted.
Ilyan Vale.
The arena became alert in the worst possible way.
Not excited.
Interested.
Like spectators at a street performance that might become humiliating.
Mira’s voice was low. “Ignore them.”
Ilyan stepped forward.
“I usually do.”
That was a lie.
He felt every stare.
He felt the noble students watching from the front rows. He felt Lucien Vael’s quiet attention. He felt the instructors waiting with professional disappointment already prepared.
Instructor Holt looked at his slate.
“Ilyan Vale. Class: Administrator.”
A pause.
“Initial skill: View Record.”
Another pause.
“Combat skills: none.”
The words were not cruel.
That made them worse.
“Select a weapon,” Holt said.
Ilyan turned to the weapon rack.
Sword?
Too obvious.
Spear?
Too awkward.
Bow?
His shoulders were not strong enough.
Dagger?
Maybe.
He reached for the practice sword first.
The moment his fingers touched the grip, a small public panel appeared.
[Weapon Resonance: 3%]
Someone laughed.
Ilyan placed the sword back.
He tried a spear.
[Weapon Resonance: 2%]
An axe.
[Weapon Resonance: 1%]
A bow.
[Weapon Resonance: 4%]
The laughter spread.
“Maybe try the broom.”
“No, no, a pen would resonate better.”
“Careful. The Administrator might file a complaint.”
Ilyan kept his expression still.
He moved to the dagger.
The weapon was light, simple, practical.
For a moment, he hoped.
[Weapon Resonance: 5%]
The panel hovered above him like a public insult.
Instructor Holt crossed his arms. “Any weapon preference?”
“No,” Ilyan said.
“Any prior training?”
“No formal training.”
“Any martial instinct?”
“I have successfully avoided fights before.”
A few students laughed again.
Instructor Holt did not.
“That is not useless,” he said. “But it is not enough.”
Ilyan looked at him, surprised.
“Move to mana output.”
A crystal pillar rose from the ground. Students were supposed to place their hand on it and channel mana. The pillar measured raw output, control, density, and attribute compatibility.
Ilyan placed his palm against the crystal.
It was warm.
He focused.
Nothing happened.
He tried again.
A faint gray flicker appeared inside the crystal, then vanished.
[Mana Output: 11]
[Attribute Manifestation: None]
[Combat Conversion: Failure]
The arena grew quieter than laughter.
Pity was beginning to replace amusement.
Ilyan hated that more.
Instructor Holt watched the crystal. “Again.”
Ilyan breathed in.
He imagined mana flowing through his arm. He had seen other students do it. Flame students burned. Wind students stirred the air. Sword students sharpened their aura. He tried to push something, anything, into the crystal.
A black window flickered at the edge of his vision.
For half a second, silver text appeared.
[Manual mana conversion unavailable.]
[User lacks offensive channel.]
Then it disappeared.
Ilyan’s fingers tightened.
So it was not just that he was bad at it.
His class had no channel for attack.
No sword.
No spell.
No force.
The crystal dimmed.
[Result Confirmed: Non-Combat Output]
Instructor Holt exhaled through his nose. “Physical response.”
The next test was simple.
Three enchanted wooden spheres launched from different directions. Students had to dodge, block, or strike them away. The spheres were padded, but the enchantment recorded reaction time and movement quality.
Ilyan stood in the marked circle.
“Begin,” Holt said.
The first sphere shot toward his shoulder.
Ilyan saw it.
His body reacted too slowly.
It hit him hard enough to spin him half around.
Pain flashed across his arm.
The second sphere struck his thigh.
The third hit his back.
He staggered, caught himself, and stayed standing.
The arena went silent.
Then a boy near the front whispered loudly, “That was painful to watch.”
[Reaction Grade: Poor]
[Evasion Grade: Poor]
[Impact Recovery: Below Average]
Ilyan swallowed.
His shoulder throbbed.
Instructor Holt’s face was unreadable. “Applied skill demonstration. Use View Record.”
Ilyan looked toward the ironwood dummy.
This was the one thing he had.
One skill.
One chance to show that his class was not empty.
He raised his hand.
“View Record.”
A public blue panel appeared above the dummy.
[Training Dummy]
[Material: Ironwood]
[Condition: Stable]
[Threat Level: None]
That was all.
Four lines.
No hidden weakness.
No secret command.
No impressive analysis.
Nothing that would make anyone clap.
The arena waited.
The panel faded.
Instructor Holt looked at him. “Is that the full display?”
Ilyan hesitated.
Yesterday, he had seen more. Black windows. Hidden records. Warnings. Unauthorized edits.
But now?
Nothing.
“Yes,” Ilyan said, because claiming otherwise would sound like desperation.
Instructor Holt marked his slate.
[Applied Skill Value: Minimal]
A noble girl covered her mouth as she laughed.
Ilyan lowered his hand.
Something inside him folded quietly.
He had told himself last night that the hidden interface meant something. That the shame had only been surface-level. That the world had mocked him because it could not see what he saw.
But what if that was exactly the problem?
What use was a hidden power that appeared only when it wanted?
What use was noticing corruption if he could not prove it?
What use was being an Administrator if the system itself refused to give him permission?
“Return to your group,” Instructor Holt said.
Ilyan walked back.
This time, the path felt shorter.
Not because it hurt less.
Because there was less hope to carry.
Mira shifted as he approached. “You stayed standing.”
Ilyan looked at her.
She seemed completely serious.
“I was hit by three padded balls.”
“Most people fall after the second when everyone is watching.”
He did not know what to say to that.
Pavo leaned in from the other side. “For what it’s worth, your class has excellent mystery value.”
“That is worth nothing.”
“Not true. Mystery sells very well if packaged correctly.”
Seren, who had been staring at Ilyan with uncomfortable intensity, spoke next.
“Your public display is inconsistent.”
Ilyan frowned. “What?”
“Yesterday’s awakening caused abnormal ledger behavior. Today’s skill output appeared deliberately limited. Either your class is unstable, concealed, or being suppressed by the testing environment.”
Pavo blinked. “That sounds expensive.”
“It sounds dangerous,” Nera said softly.
Ilyan looked at Seren. “You noticed the ledger?”
“Everyone noticed the ledger dimming. Most people chose to interpret it as failure because that was socially convenient.”
Mira folded her arms. “I like her.”
Seren ignored that. “Question. Did you see anything unusual during awakening?”
Ilyan’s first instinct was to say no.
The black interface.
The hidden status.
The warning about academy records.
If he told them, what would happen?
Would they believe him?
Would they report him?
Would the Church hear?
Would the academy take him somewhere quiet and ask questions he could not answer?
Before he could respond, Instructor Holt’s whistle cut through the field.
“Preliminary rankings will now be displayed.”
A large stone board rose from the arena floor.
Runes crawled across it, forming names and scores.
Students surged forward, trying to see their positions.
At the top:
1. Lucien Vael — Combat Value: 941
2. Selwyn Morcant — Combat Value: 812
3. Alira Edris — Combat Value: 790
4. Carden Solenne — Combat Value: 766
The noble students barely hid their satisfaction.
Lower down, the rankings became more brutal.
41. Seren Auvray — Combat Value: 212
48. Mira Solgard — Combat Value: 174
55. Nera Voss — Combat Value: 91
58. Pavo Korr — Combat Value: 63
Then, at the very bottom:
60. Ilyan Vale — Combat Value: 7
The number looked almost comical.
Seven.
Not seventy.
Not seventeen.
Seven.
Pavo stared at it. “I have seen spoons with higher combat value.”
Mira elbowed him.
“Respectfully,” Pavo wheezed.
Ilyan kept staring at the board.
Seven.
That was his official worth.
A score low enough to follow him everywhere. Training group. Dormitory status. Sponsorship chances. Mission selection. Scholarship review.
A number could become a cage if enough people believed in it.
Lucien Vael approached with two noble students behind him.
“Ilyan Vale,” he said.
Ilyan turned.
Up close, Lucien looked even more composed. Not relaxed. Composed. Like a blade kept in its sheath only because drawing it would be unnecessary.
“I watched your assessment,” Lucien said.
“I noticed.”
“You have courage.”
The surrounding students reacted with surprise.
Then Lucien continued.
“Unfortunately, courage without ability is merely a delay before defeat.”
Mira stepped forward. “Say that again.”
Lucien’s gaze moved to her shield. “You performed well defensively.”
“I did not ask for your review.”
“No. But you needed one.”
The air tightened.
Instructor Holt watched from a distance but did not interfere.
Ilyan understood why.
This was also part of the academy.
Not official.
Not written.
But allowed.
Students tested each other’s hierarchy before the instructors ever assigned one.
Lucien looked back at Ilyan.
“You should request transfer to civil administration training. The academy maintains offices for logistics, archives, and inventory support. There is no shame in serving according to your capacity.”
The words were polite.
That was what made them sharp.
Pavo whispered, “I think that was noble for ‘quit before you embarrass yourself.’”
Ilyan heard him.
So did Lucien.
The noble’s eyes flicked toward Pavo. “An Appraiser should understand value.”
Pavo smiled nervously. “I understand resale value. People are more complicated.”
For the first time, Lucien’s expression shifted.
Only slightly.
Ilyan stepped forward before Pavo could become the next target.
“You’re right,” he said.
Mira looked at him sharply.
Lucien tilted his head. “Am I?”
“I have no sword skill. No spell. No attack output. No movement training. If we fought today, I would lose.”
Several students laughed.
Lucien did not.
He seemed to hear the word hidden inside the sentence.
Today.
Ilyan continued, “But your third strike during the demonstration was slower than the first two.”
The laughter faded.
Lucien’s eyes narrowed.
Ilyan kept his voice calm. “Not by much. Maybe because your foot angle changed after the second step. Your right shoulder also rose before the final cut.”
One of Lucien’s companions scoffed. “You think you can lecture a Royal Duelist?”
“No,” Ilyan said. “I think I can observe one.”
Lucien stared at him.
For a moment, Ilyan wondered whether he had made a mistake.
Then Lucien smiled.
Not kindly.
Not mockingly either.
Interested.
“You saw that?”
“Yes.”
“Can you stop it?”
“No.”
“Then observation is not power.”
Ilyan met his gaze.
“No. But it is where power begins.”
The silence after that was different.
Not respect.
Not yet.
But something had shifted.
Lucien stepped closer and lowered his voice.
“Be careful, Administrator. The academy enjoys underdogs only when they lose properly.”
He turned and walked away.
Mira watched him leave. “I really hope he trips.”
Pavo raised a finger. “Seconded.”
Nera looked worried. “He was warning you.”
Seren nodded. “Yes. While also threatening him. Efficient communication.”
Ilyan looked back at the ranking board.
His name still sat at the bottom.
60. Ilyan Vale — Combat Value: 7
The number should have hurt.
It did.
But beneath the humiliation, something else stirred.
Lucien’s shoulder.
The altered ranking board.
The training results.
The public panels.
Everything in this academy became official once it entered a record.
And records could be wrong.
His eyes drifted toward the board’s lower half.
Mira’s score bothered him.
48. Mira Solgard — Combat Value: 174
She had blocked a Silver III impact. Her defense alone should have placed her higher than several attack students who had barely damaged their dummies.
Seren’s score was strange too. Formula Control: Exceptional, but her ranking punished slow casting so heavily that her precision barely mattered.
Nera’s healing result had been treated almost like nothing.
Pavo’s appraising talent was ignored entirely because it did not break a target.
The academy was not measuring worth.
It was measuring one type of violence and calling it destiny.
Ilyan’s vision flickered.
A black window opened.
Small.
Silent.
Visible only to him.
[Basic Audit available.]
His heartbeat changed.
He did not move.
The students around him were still talking. Instructor Holt was speaking with another teacher. Lucien had returned to the noble group.
No one noticed the black panel hovering before Ilyan’s eyes.
[Target: Preliminary Combat Ranking Board]
[Audit Depth: Surface]
[Estimated Focus Cost: Low]
[Proceed?]
Ilyan’s mouth went dry.
This was the task from last night.
The corrupted student rankings.
The thing he had accepted without understanding what acceptance meant.
He should wait.
He should think.
He should find a private place, ask Seren what she knew, maybe tell Professor Quill. He should not use an unknown hidden skill in the middle of the academy arena surrounded by nobles, instructors, and political observers.
But Mira’s score glowed in front of him.
Seren’s.
Nera’s.
Pavo’s.
His own.
A number could become a cage.
Ilyan selected:
[Proceed.]
Pain struck behind his eyes.
Not unbearable.
Sharp enough to make him clench his jaw.
The world dimmed around the edges.
The ranking board changed.
The clean blue numbers remained, but behind them appeared thinner lines of silver text. Hidden formulas. Weighted categories. Evaluation rules.
Ilyan read fast.
[Combat Value Formula]
Weapon Resonance: 25%
Mana Output: 25%
Damage Grade: 30%
Mobility Response: 15%
Support Utility: 3%
Strategic Value: 1%
Defensive Stability: 1%
His hands curled.
One percent.
Mira’s strongest result counted for one percent.
Nera’s healing counted for three.
Pavo’s appraising barely registered.
Seren’s formula control had been reduced because casting speed was considered more important than accuracy.
It was not accidental.
It was designed.
The audit continued.
[Hidden Modifier Detected]
Ilyan froze.
A red line pulsed behind the names.
[Bloodline Prestige Adjustment: Active]
[Sponsor Priority Adjustment: Active]
[Commoner Volatility Penalty: Active]
[Scholarship Resource Burden Penalty: Active]
For a moment, Ilyan forgot the pain.
His score had not simply been low.
Mira had not simply been undervalued.
The rankings were being modified.
A student’s family could raise their score.
A sponsor could protect investment.
A commoner could be penalized for being “volatile.”
A scholarship student could be punished for costing the academy money.
More red text appeared.
[Recent Manual Edit Detected]
Ilyan stared.
The board highlighted a name.
Not his.
Mira Solgard.
Her original projected rank flickered behind the public one.
[Original Calculated Position: 31]
[Displayed Position: 48]
[Reason: Noble Guard Rejection Flag]
Ilyan’s breath caught.
Mira had been pushed down because someone had already rejected her.
Another name glowed.
Seren Auvray.
[Original Calculated Position: 18]
[Displayed Position: 41]
[Reason: Unstable Theory Risk Flag]
Then Nera.
[Original Calculated Position: 37]
[Displayed Position: 55]
[Reason: Church Claim Pending]
Then Pavo.
[Original Calculated Position: 44]
[Displayed Position: 58]
[Reason: Merchant Class Non-Priority]
Finally, his own name flashed.
Ilyan Vale.
The red text hesitated.
Then unfolded.
[Original Calculated Position: Error]
[Displayed Position: 60]
[Reason: Class Not Found in Current Evaluation Model]
[Temporary Classification: Administrative Burden]
Ilyan almost laughed.
Administrative Burden.
That was official now.
The system scrolled further.
[Unauthorized edit source hidden.]
[Access level required: Clerk.]
[Current Authority Level: Guest.]
[Full trace denied.]
The pain behind his eyes worsened.
He blinked, and the hidden text vanished.
The ranking board returned to normal.
Clean.
Blue.
Official.
Mira was saying something beside him.
“Ilyan?”
He realized his knees had almost buckled.
Nera stepped closer. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said.
His voice sounded too thin.
Seren leaned in, eyes sharp. “No, you are not. Your pupils just contracted unevenly. Did your class activate?”
Ilyan looked at her.
Then at Mira.
Then at Pavo and Nera.
Five students from the lowest table.
Five students the academy had already decided were inconvenient.
He could keep quiet.
That would be safer.
But the red lines from the audit remained burned into his memory.
Bloodline Prestige Adjustment.
Sponsor Priority Adjustment.
Commoner Volatility Penalty.
Scholarship Resource Burden Penalty.
The academy did not simply display power.
It manufactured it.
And if Ilyan did nothing, the board’s lie would become their future.
“I saw the ranking formula,” he said quietly.
Pavo’s smile faded. “You saw the what?”
“The scores are modified.”
Mira went still.
Seren’s expression sharpened into something almost frightening. “Modified how?”
“Bloodline. Sponsors. Commoner penalties. Scholarship penalties. Your real ranks are higher.”
For one second, no one spoke.
Then Pavo whispered, “That is the kind of truth that gets people expelled.”
Nera looked toward the instructors. “Or worse.”
Mira’s voice was low. “How much higher?”
Ilyan hesitated.
“You were thirty-first.”
Mira stared at the board.
Forty-eighth.
Her displayed rank sat there calmly, as if it had never lied.
Seren’s fingers twitched. “And me?”
“Eighteenth.”
Her face went blank.
Pavo pointed at himself. “Please tell me I was secretly first.”
“Forty-fourth.”
“Devastating, but still an improvement.”
Nera looked down. “What about Ilyan?”
Ilyan looked at his own name.
“I was an error.”
Mira turned back to him. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
That was the most honest answer he had given all day.
A second whistle blew.
Instructor Holt raised his voice. “Preliminary training groups will be assigned tomorrow. Until then, you are dismissed.”
Students began leaving the arena in clusters.
The nobles moved first, already discussing private tutors, family weapons, and sponsorship invitations. Commoner students lingered longer, staring at the rankings as if enough staring could change them.
Ilyan remained where he was.
At the very bottom of the board.
Seven points.
Administrative Burden.
No sword.
No spell.
No attack skill.
But now he knew something the academy did not want known.
Mira stepped beside him.
“What are you going to do?”
Ilyan did not answer immediately.
Across the arena, Instructor Holt was still watching him.
Not with pity this time.
With suspicion.
No.
With interest.
Behind the instructor, high above the arena, one of the observation balcony curtains shifted.
A man in a dark noble coat stood half-hidden in shadow.
Ilyan had seen him once before.
At the awakening ceremony.
Lord Cassian Thorn.
The man’s polite smile was fixed directly on him.
A black window opened in front of Ilyan’s eyes.
[Warning.]
[External observer has detected abnormal audit activity.]
[Unknown authority trace attempted.]
[User is advised to conceal administrative functions.]
Ilyan’s blood went cold.
Lord Thorn raised one gloved finger to his lips.
A silent command.
Do not speak.
Then another system message appeared.
This one was red.
[New Threat Registered]
Entity: Cassian Thorn
Class: Contract Lord
Threat Level: Severe
Hidden Status: Access Denied
Visible Intent: Friendly
Detected Intent: Acquisition
Ilyan stared at the word.
Acquisition.
Lord Thorn smiled wider.
And for the second time in two days, Ilyan understood something that no one else in the academy seemed to see.
He had not awakened a useless class.
He had awakened something valuable.
So valuable that someone had already decided to own it.
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