The training grounds of Grand Arcanum Academy were filled with the rhythmic sounds of battle. Clashes of steel, bursts of mana, and grunts of exertion filled the air as students worked tirelessly to master their chosen arts.
Groups of students gathered in different sections of the arena, divided by their weapon or combat style. The energy in the training grounds was intense, a mixture of excitement, frustration, and determination as they refined their techniques under the watchful eye of their instructors.
Alistair, however, stood apart from them.
While the others trained in well-established arts, under the guidance of the combat instructors, he was alone—isolated in the Abyssal Arts section of the training field, separated from the rest.
This wasn't by choice.
Abyssal arts were rare, feared, and often misunderstood. There were no detailed guides, no widely recognized masters, and certainly no instructors willing to help refine such techniques in a traditional setting.
Alistair exhaled slowly, focusing on the art he had chosen—Bloodshadow Manifestation.
This art demanded absolute precision over both blood and shadow manipulation, a fusion of two powerful but notoriously difficult magic types.
And he trying the first form of this art CRIMSON PHANTASM.Unlike standard techniques, it required the user to shape their own blood into solid constructs and then bind them with shadows to create independent entities.
Even with his natural affinity for the abyss, it was far from easy.
Alistair lifted his hand, channeling mana into his bloodstream. A deep crimson liquid seeped from a shallow cut on his palm, moving unnaturally, as if alive.
"Focus."
He directed the blood downward, letting it touch the shadow beneath him.
For a moment, the two elements merged—blood and darkness intertwining like twin serpents.
But then—
Shrrk—
The construct collapsed, dissolving into a dark mist before reforming into a puddle of blood.
Alistair frowned. This wasn't as simple as he had expected.
He had memorized the theory of the first form—Crimson Phantasm. The key was to create an extension of himself using blood and shadow, forming a solid construct that could move and act independently.
But knowing the technique and executing it were two entirely different things.
"Again."
He repeated the process, this time trying to form a humanoid silhouette.
The shape flickered, a crude figure with distorted limbs appearing for only a second before falling apart.
Tch. Not enough stability.
His control over blood was decent, but shaping it into a functional construct required more mastery. The balance between shadow and blood was delicate—too much of either, and the structure would either be too weak or too unstable.
After several more attempts, he managed to form a rough humanoid figure. It was imperfect—its limbs slightly warped, its movements unnatural—but it was progress.
Yet, it was still nowhere near what he wanted.
And apparently, he had an audience.
A deep, rumbling chuckle echoed behind him.
"Hah. I was wondering what the hell you were trying to do."
Alistair turned to see Instructor Ignatius Pyros watching him with his arms crossed, his massive frame casting a long shadow. The dragonkin warlord had been observing for a while now, his golden reptilian eyes filled with curiosity.
Ignatius wasn't known for his patience, but he wasn't mocking Alistair either—just genuinely intrigued.
"You're struggling because you're using an art no one here knows a damn thing about."
Alistair remained silent, wiping the blood from his fingertips.
Ignatius continued, his tone turning more serious.
"I can't teach you how to use that art.
Blood and shadow manipulation aren't in my field."
That wasn't surprising. Ignatius was an expert in brute force combat—fire, raw physical strength, and overwhelming dominance on the battlefield. Abyssal manipulation was the complete opposite.
"But," Ignatius added, "there's someone in the academy who can."
Alistair raised an eyebrow.
Ignatius smirked.
"Head to the Abyssal Wing.
Talk to Professor Selvaris."
The name wasn't familiar, but Alistair nodded. Without another word, he left the training grounds.
****
The Abyssal Wing –
Alistair walked through the academy's vast corridors, making his way toward the Abyssal Wing.
Unlike the main training areas or grand lecture halls, this section of the academy was eerily quiet.
Few students ever came here.
The walls were darker, lined with strange carvings and sigils. The atmosphere itself felt heavier, as if the very air resisted those who didn't belong.
When Alistair finally reached the entrance, he noticed something immediately—
There were only a handful of students.
Unlike the crowded combat fields, only three or four students were present, each absorbed in their own training.
Some practiced shadow-based movement techniques, while others meditated in eerie silence, surrounded by dark mist.
No one paid attention to him.
This place was different. There was no arrogance, no noble prestige—just people who had chosen a path outside the norm.
After walking for some time at the far end of the corridor, Alistair found the Professor's office.
The door was ancient-looking, reinforced with dark steel and inscribed with unfamiliar glyphs.
Without hesitation, he nocked on door.
"Come in" a voice came beyond the door.
Without hesitation i pushed it open and stepped inside.
The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by flickering purple-blue wispes of flames. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes on forbidden knowledge, abyssal arts, and eldritch theories.
And at the center of the room, seated at a massive desk, was Professor Selvaris.
The man looked up, his golden eyes gleaming in the darkness. His hair was a deep shade of silver, cascading past his shoulders, and his robes were woven with intricate abyssal runes.
Despite his composed demeanor, his presence was suffocating.
Not in the way Ignatius' was—his wasn't the overwhelming dominance of a warrior.
It was something more… unnatural.
A void-like stillness, as if reality itself bent slightly around him.
"…Alistair Vaelthorne."
Selvaris' voice was smooth, yet carried a strange weight.
"I've been expecting you."
Alistair narrowed his eyes.
"You knew I would come?"
Selvaris smiled faintly.
"No, thought I might get a visit from strongest abysall magic user in first year."
He gestured toward a chair opposite his desk.
"Sit. Let's discuss why you're here."
(To Be Continued…)