The next day marked the official return of classes after the weekend. For most students, it was just another Monday.
For Alex? It was the first real day of settling into the Advanced Class.
Technically, this wasn't his first time attending. He had already spent a week here after mid-terms—but back then, everyone had been in vacation mode, more interested in relaxing than focusing on lessons.
But now? The break was over. Classes were back in full swing.
Not that it really mattered. In the Advanced Class, attendance wasn't exactly strict. Many students skipped entirely, only showing up when necessary—especially those who preferred training on their own.
However, today was different. Today, combat training was mandatory.
His new class teacher, Ronald, had already informed him the day before, emphasizing that he needed to be at the training grounds on time.
And so—here he was.
The Advanced Class training grounds were vast, a sprawling open space divided into multiple sections.
As Alex arrived, he was met with the sight of students already gathered—some stretching, others sparring, and a few just chatting idly.
There were far more people than he had expected. Not just knights—but also magic faculty students.
"Are both divisions training together?" he wondered, scanning the crowd.
On one side, mages practiced spell casting in structured groups. On the other, knights engaged in physical combat drills.
He mused aloud, "Are the magic students training here as well?"
A voice answered from behind.
"Yes." Alex turned to see a familiar face—Trey.
The blond spearman grinned, crossing his arms. "The knights train on one side, the mages on the other. If you're looking to spar, just walk up and challenge someone."
Alex nodded, absorbing the information.
It made sense. Unlike lower classes, where knights and mages trained separately, the Advanced Class followed a different structure.
Combat training sessions were joint affairs, designed to prepare students for real battles—where knights and mages didn't just fight alongside each other but also against one another.
Alex and Trey were chatting casually while watching the students pair up for their sparring matches.
Ever since their duel during the combat assessment, the two had built a friendly acquaintance. Though they were in the same Advanced Class, their paths rarely crossed since they belonged to different sections. Still, they had a good impression of each other.
"Oh, and of course, people were wondering where the hell you disappeared to," Trey added, narrowing his eyes in curiosity. "You were gone for an entire month even after the vacation."
Alex had expected this question. Before he could come up with an excuse, something—or rather, someone—caught his attention.
A small entourage of magic students was making its way toward them.
At the front of the group walked a young man with gleaming blonde hair and dark green eyes, his every step exuding an air of arrogance and authority.
The moment Trey noticed them approaching, his expression darkened. "Great… just what we needed."
Alex glanced at him. "Who?"
Trey let out a tired sigh, arms crossing. "Claude Aursterin. Another arrogant noble who thinks the world revolves around him."
Alex blinked. Now that name sounded familiar. Then it clicked.
'Right… He's the guy who sent me that invitation months ago.'
Back then, shortly after entering the Advanced Class, Alex had received a formal invitation from Claude.
He had completely forgotten about it. And—by extension—completely skipped the meeting. Not that Alex cared.
Claude's expression was unreadable as he approached, but his dark green eyes held an unmistakable glint of irritation.
Trey scoffed, keeping his voice low. "I don't get why he's coming over here."
Trey and Claude didn't get along—at all.
The reason was simple: while Trey's family wasn't of noble lineage, their generations of military achievements had earned them status and respect. However, to someone like Claude, who was born into nobility, Trey's family was nothing more than "higher-class commoners."
As Claude finally reached them, his entourage stopped a step behind him, watching with polite detachment. Alex met his gaze.
The noble studied him for a moment before speaking. "So, you finally decided to return."
His tone was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge of conceit in his voice.
Alex tilted his head. "Didn't realize I needed your permission to attend class."
Claude's expression twitched slightly, but he quickly regained his composure.
"I sent you an invitation, Alex." he said smoothly, ignoring the remark. "A rare opportunity. And yet, you never showed up."
Alex shrugged. "I forgot."
Claude's eye twitched again. The magic students behind him exchanged uneasy glances. No one ignored Claude Aursterin—especially not a lowly mana less commoner.
Claude's irritation was obvious. However, instead of lashing out, he took a deep breath and smiled.
"I suppose it doesn't matter," he said. "Now that you're here, I'll make this simple."
He raised his chin slightly, looking down at Alex.
"Join me."
Trey scoffed. "Here we go…"
Claude barely spared him a glance before continuing. "You have talent—more than most. But talent alone isn't enough. Without the right backing, you'll only hit a ceiling. Serve under me, and I'll ensure you rise higher than you ever could alone."
Alex stared at him. Then, without hesitation, he replied—
"No."
Claude's smile froze. "…Excuse me?"
Alex crossed his arms. "Not interested."
Trey let out a low chuckle.
Claude's entire expression darkened. He had expected Alex to accept. He had assumed that a commoner—especially one without powerful backing—would jump at the opportunity to serve under a noble of his status.
Yet, Alex rejected him outright.
"You should think carefully before answering." Claude said, his voice lowering. "You may have some strength, but without connections and influence, your growth will be limited. Associating with the right people will elevate you beyond your station."
Alex shrugged. "I'm fine as I am."
Claude exhaled through his nose, his patience wearing thin. He took a step forward. "Don't be foolishly arrogant. You may believe yourself capable, but allow me to remind you—status matters."
Claude's patience was wearing thin. Alex's nonchalant attitude—the way he casually dismissed him as if he weren't even worth considering—was beyond insulting.
Before he could speak, however, Trey stepped forward, placing himself slightly in front of Alex.
"Alright, I think we're done here." Trey said, his voice firm. "He's not interested. Move along, Claude."
Claude's eyes flickered with disdain.
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Of course… I should have expected this. How fitting. A commoner standing up for another commoner."
Trey's expression darkened. "Say that again—"
Before he could, Alex chuckled. His voice was amused, but the subtle edge in it wasn't lost on anyone.
"You sound pretty upset, Claude." Alex said lazily. "Did I hurt your feelings?"
Claude's smirk froze. He hated being talked down to. And the way Alex said it—calm, relaxed, almost mocking—only stoked his temper further.
"…You think this is funny, bastard?" Claude's voice dropped, his mana stirring ever so slightly.
Alex shrugged. "A little."
Claude snapped. "If you think you're that strong, then do you dare accept my challenge?" This time, there was no mistaking the hostility behind his words.
The surrounding students immediately took notice. Some paused their sparring matches, others turned their attention toward the brewing conflict.
A duel between Claude Aursterin and Alex? This was not something they wanted to miss.
Alex sighed internally. He really wasn't in the mood for this. But at the same time…
He glanced at Claude's confident smirk.
…It was a perfect chance to shut him up.
"If you insist. Just don't disappoint me." Alex stepped forward, his smirk faint but cutting. "Let's get this over with."
◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆
In a dimly lit chamber, concealed deep beneath the surface, a massive conference table stretched across the room. The air was thick with secrecy, the only illumination coming from the faint glow of holographic projections flickering over the empty seats.
Some chairs were physically occupied, their figures draped in identical black cloaks, shrouding their identities in shadow. Others appeared only as distorted holograms, spectral representations of those attending from distant locations. A few seats remained completely vacant, their occupants either absent—or permanently lost.
At the head of the table, a towering holographic silhouette loomed over the rest. Unlike the others, this figure lacked any discernible features—no face, no voice, just an imposing, inescapable presence.
The meeting began.
One of the cloaked figures, seated toward the middle, leaned forward. Their voice was low and deliberate, each word carrying the weight of unresolved matters.
"A few months ago, we lost all contact with Dr. Fausten."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the room. The name carried weight—Dr. Fausten had been a key asset, a man of brilliance and madness in equal measure. His research, though unorthodox, had aligned perfectly with their purpose.
The speaker continued, measured yet laced with intrigue.
"For months, there was nothing. No trace. No leads. We assumed he was dead. But recently… a whisper surfaced. A signal—faint, flickering."
Silence thickened.
"It was faint," they added, "but unmistakable."
That held their attention. Another figure, their voice deeper, edged with skepticism, finally spoke.
"Are you certain it was his?"
The speaker gave a slow nod.
"Yes. The frequency was unique to his communication ring." A pause. Then, with finality: "It was a distress call—then nothing."
A chilling stillness followed.
Then, a new voice, sharp and precise. "And the investigation?"
The original speaker inclined their head. "I dispatched Crow to look into it. He was nearby, finishing another assignment."
The mention of Crow drew subtle shifts in posture. A name that carried its own reputation. A seasoned operative. Ruthless. Efficient.
At the head of the table, the faceless silhouette stirred. Though it made no discernible movement, the weight of its unseen gaze pressed upon the room.
Then, a single word—cold, unreadable.
"Proceed."
And with that, the meeting continued.