William did not let dejection take root. In his past life, he had survived the collapse of empires; a rusted sword and a lack of coin were merely logistical hurdles. He gripped the hilt of the iron blade, settled the weight of the backpack over his shoulders, and prepared to vanish into the thicket.
However, just as he pivoted to leave the main path, his way was barred. Five figures emerged from the shadows of the opposite treeline, moving with the practised, arrogant swagger of those who had never known hunger or true fear.
William came to a halt, his eyes narrowing. The group fanned out, flanking him with the predatory rhythm of a wolf pack.
They were all significantly taller than his current eleven-year-old frame, their shadows stretching long across the dirt under the pale moonlight.
They stared down at him, their faces twisted into expressions of cruel amusement, as if they had just stumbled upon a particularly entertaining breed of vermin.
"Wow! Look what we have here," the leader said, his voice dripping with condescension.
He was a head taller than William, with a physique that was far too developed for his age. His broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his academy uniform, and his exposed abdominal muscles bulged with the density of carved stone.
Long, chestnut-brown hair cascaded down to the middle of his back—a signature trait of his lineage. Combined with his bronzed, metallic-tinted skin and eyes that shimmered like polished copper, there was no mistaking his origin.
He was a scion of the Bronzed Lizard Family.
William searched the archives of his memory. The Bronzed Lizards were a household synonymous with arrogance and backroom schemings.
They possessed a bottomless hunger for political influence and were notorious for their tyranny within the Novistic Kingdom. They weren't just powerful; they were bullies who viewed the Academy as their personal fiefdom.
William recalled his "first" life—the countless times he had been harassed, tripped, and extorted by the children of this family.
To them, he had been a toy; to him, they had been a source of constant, simmering dread. Now, those memories felt like a distant, faded dream, yet the sight of that bronzed skin still made his blood boil with a cold, focused heat.
"Young master, he is just a porter," another boy sneered, stepping up beside the leader. He shared the same reptilian features. "One of those useless street rats the Academy takes in out of some misplaced sense of empathy."
At the mention of the title "Young Master," William confirmed the identity of the bully. This was Ganin, a youth hailed as a prodigy since the age of six. In the current timeline of the Academy, Ganin was a rising star, a "genius" whose path was supposedly destined for greatness.
He was also the Academy's most prolific tyrant. Ganin held a deep, pathological prejudice against anyone from a lower-tier clan or a poor background.
In his worldview, the Holy Triad of cultivation was a luxury intended only for the high-born. He believed people like William were born to be slaves, not to sit in the same lecture halls or breathe the same air.
"Scram," Ganin said, his bronzed eyes flashing with irritation. "People like you should be asleep. You need to be fresh and ready to carry my gear when the sun comes up. Don't waste the Academy's air out here."
William's hand tightened on the hilt of his rusted sword, but his heart remained eerily calm. In his previous life, Ganin was a figure of terror.
In this life, William saw him for what he truly was: a spoiled, spoon-fed loser who had never truly bled for his power. Ganin had been handed every spirit crystal and every manual he possessed. He was a hollow shell of a master.
However, William was a realist. He looked at his own thin arms and then at the five armoured teenagers. The disparity in raw physical strength and Spiritual Points was, at this moment, immense. A direct confrontation would be tactical suicide.
"I have business in the forest," William said, his voice level and devoid of the stuttering fear Ganin clearly expected. "I've been tasked to assist someone inside. Step aside."
The group fell silent for a heartbeat, stunned by the porter's lack of subservience.
"Are you tired of living, brat?" Another boy stepped forward, drawing a long, curved sabre that shimmered with a faint elemental hum. He levelled the tip of the blade at William's throat.
"If you don't turn around and crawl back to your cabinet this second, don't blame me for teaching you some manners. We can leave your body in the woods, and the Academy won't even bother to count the bones."
William stared at the tip of the sabre. He could see the flaws in the boy's stance—the weight shifted too far forward, the grip too tight.
"Humph."
The sound was soft, but it carried a weight of dismissal that infuriated the boys surrounding William. Despite the staggering disparity in physical power and spiritual points, William didn't flinch.
Retreat was an option he had discarded the moment he woke up in this timeline. While he lacked the raw muscle to crush them, his mind was a fortress of tactical manoeuvres and pressure-point knowledge.
He knew exactly how to make a larger opponent's strength work against them, but more importantly, he knew how to navigate the social architecture of the Academy.
"If you don't clear my path, I'll scream and call the patrol guards," William said, his voice cold and calculated. "This is Academy territory, not your family's backyard. Even a scion of the Bronzed Lizards will have a hard time explaining why they were harassing a porter in the middle of the night during an official task."
It was a simple, almost childish trick, but it was the most effective way to play by the rules of this era. In his previous life, he would have stuttered and begged; in this one, he used the Academy's regulations as a shield.
"You—!" The boy holding the sabre at William's throat froze, his face flushing a deep, angry crimson.
The audacity of a street rat threatening them with the law was almost more insulting than a physical blow. He began to lean into the blade, the edge beginning to bite into William's skin, when a sharp, melodic voice cut through the tension.
"He is here to help me. Do any of you have a problem with that?"
William turned his head slightly. Walking toward them with a steady, graceful stride was a young girl who seemed to radiate a faint, natural heat. She wore a long, flowing white gown that brushed against the tall grass, stopping just above her ankles.
She was a vision of fiery elegance. She had a delicate, upturned nose, wide, rounded eyes that shimmered like rubies, and long, vibrant red hair that fell in a wild, beautiful mess over her shoulders.
The cut of her dress exposed the slim, sharp angles of her shoulders, giving her an appearance that was both fragile and fiercely authoritative.
Ganin's eyes widened, his arrogant sneer faltering for the first time. "Berry? What are you doing out here this late at night?"
"None of your business," Berry replied, stepping directly into the circle of boys until she stood firmly at William's side. She didn't look at William yet, keeping her piercing red gaze fixed on Ganin.
"And blocking the path of my porter isn't just rude, it's a violation of Academy logistics. Don't you have anything better to do than play at being a highwayman?"
"Humph," Ganin spat, though he took a half-step back. "Says the girl who's been stuck at ninety-nine spirit power for two years. If it wasn't for your father's name, I wouldn't even bother showing you any face, you 'stagnant' genius."
"Then go back to your mother, Ganin," Berry countered, her lips curling into a mocking smile. "I heard she gets quite frantic when her little lizard isn't tucked into his bed on time."
The boys behind Ganin bristled, but the name "Berry" carried a weight that even the Bronzed Lizards had to respect.
As William stood beside her, he felt a strange sense of awkwardness. She was slightly taller than him, despite them being roughly the same age, and her presence was overwhelming.
He knew her from his past life. She was the "Pure Angel" of the Long Clan—a titan of a clan that dwarfed the Bronzed Lizards in both heritage and raw power. Berry was the granddaughter of the legendary "Fiery Dragon," a man whose name was feared across the continent.
However, in the current gossip of the Academy, she was a tragedy. She had entered as a prodigy with an initial spirit power of eighty-eight, a number that had marked her for legendary status.
But for two years, she had hit an unbreakable bottleneck at ninety-nine points. In a world where the breakthrough to one hundred points marked the transition from a "child" to a true "Spirit Master," her stagnation was viewed as a divine joke.