Grand Arcanum Academy – War & Strategy Lecture
The lecture hall was massive, with towering bookshelves lining the walls, filled with tomes of warfare, strategy, and political history. Large, floating mana-screens hovered in the air, ready to display battle formations and historical conflicts.
Students settled into their seats, murmuring amongst themselves.
Alistair remained silent, resting his chin on his hand as he observed the room.
Some were excited, eager to prove their strategic prowess.
Others were bored, already assuming that brute strength mattered more than tactics.
They were all wrong.
And soon, they would realize why.
Heavy footsteps echoed through the hall.
A towering man entered, clad in black military attire, his gray hair tied back in a warrior's knot. His scarred face bore the marks of countless battles, and his piercing steel-blue eyes carried the weight of history itself.
General Aldric Voss.
A former A-Rank war commander, once responsible for leading imperial armies into battle.
Now?
He was their instructor.
General Voss stopped before the class, his sharp gaze sweeping across them.
Then—
Boom.
His palm slammed onto the podium, shaking the entire hall.
"Let's make something clear," he growled, his voice like grinding steel.
"War is not about strength alone. If it were, beasts and monsters would rule the world."
Silence.
Leon frowned slightly, arms crossed.
Dain Drakonis, ever battle-hungry, leaned forward with interest.
Sylara Ilthariel, the High Elf Princess, simply nodded in agreement.
Voss continued.
"You can be the strongest warrior alive, but if you lack strategy, you're nothing more than a weapon waiting to be broken."
His gaze locked onto the front row.
"You—what wins a battle?"
A noble student straightened. "Power, sir."
Voss's lips curled into a sneer.
"Wrong."
He turned to another. "You."
"Numbers?"
"Wrong again."
He exhaled, pacing before the class.
"Power? Numbers? They help—but alone, they mean nothing."
Then he turned toward the mana-screens, snapping his fingers.
Immediately, a massive battlefield projection appeared, displaying two armies—one three times larger than the other.
Voss smirked.
"Let me show you why."
The screen came to life, displaying a real historical battle.
"The Battle of Blackridge."
Voss gestured at the two forces.
"Here, the Valerian Empire was outnumbered three to one against the Rebel Coalition."
Leon raised an eyebrow. "Then they should've lost."
Voss's smirk widened.
"But they didn't."
The battle played out in real-time, the smaller imperial force moving strategically—using terrain, weather, and calculated sacrifices to turn the battle.
Despite overwhelming odds—
They won.
Voss turned back to the class.
"Tell me, why?"
Alistair, who had been silent until now, finally spoke.
"Deception."
The room fell silent as heads turned toward him.
Voss's expression didn't change. "Explain."
Alistair leaned back slightly, eyes flickering toward the battlefield projection.
"The smaller army didn't fight head-on. They baited the rebels into unfavorable terrain, forcing them to fight on ground where their numbers meant nothing."
Voss nodded approvingly.
"Exactly."
He turned back to the class.
"This—this is what separates warlords from mindless brutes."
His gaze swept over them once more.
"I don't care how strong you are. If you cannot outthink your enemy, you will die."
Voss's expression darkened.
"Remember this—war is not just fought on the battlefield."
The screen shifted, displaying diplomatic negotiations, espionage, assassinations.
"Politics. Information. Betrayal."
His voice dropped lower, sharper.
"These are the weapons that decide wars before the first sword is drawn."
A few students shifted uncomfortably.
Cassandra Everwyn smirked, already understanding the true game of power.
Kieran Azurios, the Mermaid Prince, chuckled, enjoying the layers beneath the surface.
Leon's fists clenched—he hated schemers.
Lecture continued.
***
As class ended, a voice called out—
"Vaelthorne."
Alistair turned.
Leon stood, eyes burning with something dangerous.
"You and me. Let's Duel."
A challenge.
A battle long overdue.
And neither of them would walk away unchanged.
The moment Leon issued his challenge, the atmosphere in the lecture hall shifted.
Students turned, eyes flicking between him and Alistair.
A duel between the fallen heir and the empire's golden warrior?
The tension was suffocating.
Alistair simply stared, his black eyes devoid of emotion.
He hadn't even moved.
Leon, however, was tense, his fists clenched as if waiting for Alistair to refuse—or worse, mock him.
And then—
Clack.
The sound of slow, deliberate footsteps echoed through the hall.
A voice—smooth as silk, yet laced with something cold and unsettling—broke the silence.
"How tiresome."
The air grew colder as a figure emerged from the shadows near the doorway.
A man draped in black robes, lined with silver threads woven in the shape of ancient runes. His skin was pale as bone, his sharp features framed by long strands of ashen-gray hair.
But it was his eyes that sent a chill through the room—
Deep violet, swirling with something unnatural.
Something beyond life and death.
Professor Victor Graves.
Master Necromancer.
Rumors whispered that he had walked the boundary between life and the abyss itself.
Now, he stood between Leon and Alistair, his expression unreadable.
Victor sighed, his fingers idly adjusting the high collar of his robe.
"Lord Valerius," he drawled, his tone carrying amusement and boredom in equal measure.
"You seem eager to throw yourself into a meaningless brawl before class has even ended. How... predictable."
Leon's jaw clenched.
"This isn't meaningless."
Victor's gaze flickered to Alistair, then back to Leon.
"I beg to differ."
His voice darkened slightly.
"There is more to power than swinging a sword. But then again—" He tilted his head. "I doubt you'd understand that."
A ripple of low laughter spread through the room.
Even Evelyn pressed her lips together, suppressing a smirk.
Leon's aura flared, lightning crackling faintly around him.
But before he could snap back—
"Enough."
Victor's voice was no longer casual.
It was absolute.
A low, eerie whisper followed his words, as if something unseen echoed his command from the void.
Leon's body tensed—his mana faltered.
Alistair remained completely still.
Victor's violet eyes gleamed.
"We have a lecture to attend," he said smoothly. "And unlike whatever primitive display of dominance you had planned—my lesson actually matters."
His smirk widened, revealing an unsettling sharpness to his features.
"Unless, of course, you'd rather be the subject of today's demonstration."
Leon froze.
A necromancer's demonstration?
The last time that happened…
The student had to be carried out.
Leon gritted his teeth but said nothing.
Victor's smirk remained.
"That's what I thought."
With that, he turned on his heel, his black robe swirling behind him.
"Follow me."
And without waiting—
He walked away.
A moment passed—
Then the students quickly stood up, following in silence.
None dared disobey.
Not when Professor Victor Graves was in charge.
***
The students moved through the academy halls, the lingering tension slowly fading.
Some whispered amongst themselves.
Cassandra Everwyn, always one to enjoy conflict, especially of leon. Smirked at Leon.
"Not used to being put in your place, are you?" she murmured.
Leon shot her a glare, but she only chuckled.
Evelyn and Elaine exchanged glances, neither saying anything.
Meanwhile, Alistair walked silently, his expression unreadable.
Victor Graves led them deeper into the academy, toward a place few had been before.
A place few wanted to go.
The Necromancy Wing.
The air grew colder.
The lights dimmed.
And ahead of them—
The doors to the Abyssal Lecture Hall creaked open.
(To Be Continued...)