Morning arrived at the academy without ceremony.
There was no gentle sunrise filtered through curtains, no warmth easing Cain awake. The bell rang once — deep, measured, final — and the sound carried through stone corridors like a command rather than a reminder.
Cain opened his eyes.
For a moment, he remained still, staring at the plain stone ceiling above his bed. The room was quiet except for the distant echo of doors opening and footsteps beginning to move along the hallways. The academy did not rush its students, but it did not wait for them either.
He rose, folded his blanket once, and set it neatly at the foot of the bed.
The shadow familiar remained where it had been the night before — pooled quietly near the corner of the room, its shape barely defined in the early light. It did not move when Cain stood. It did not follow when he crossed to the basin and washed his face.
Cain dressed without thought.
Academy robe. Belt secured. Boots tightened.
This morning felt different from the previous ones. Not heavier. Not lighter. Just… more deliberate. Today was not a test, nor a ceremony. There would be no orb, no stone, no written paper to judge him.
Today would leave marks that did not show.
The second bell rang.
Cain stepped into the corridor along with the other students on his floor. Conversations overlapped in short bursts — speculation, nervous excitement, bravado. Some students carried that energy easily, wearing anticipation like armor. Others stayed quiet, shoulders tight, eyes alert.
Rei fell into step beside him halfway down the hall.
"Morning," Rei said, stretching his arms overhead. "Didn't think I'd ever be this awake before sunrise."
Cain gave a short nod.
"First sword class," Rei continued. "I heard they don't go easy. Like… at all."
Cain said nothing.
They followed the flow of students down the wide staircases and out through the academy's eastern exit. The air outside was cooler, sharper, carrying the scent of earth and metal rather than ink and stone.
The training grounds stretched before them.
There was nothing impressive about it.
No banners. No statues. No raised platforms for observation. Just wide, packed earth scarred by countless footprints, shallow grooves carved by repeated drills, and the occasional deeper mark where someone had fallen hard enough to leave an impression.
Weapon racks lined the perimeter — wooden swords of identical make, worn smooth by use. Beyond them stood plain stone pillars, each bearing shallow cuts and dents. Not decorative. Functional.
Cain noted everything.
This place was not built to inspire.
It was built to endure.
The students gathered loosely until a sharp voice cut through the air.
"Line up."
Instructor Halden stood near the center of the grounds, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He wore no ornamentation, no visible insignia beyond the academy crest at his collar. His posture was relaxed, but there was no softness in it.
The line formed quickly.
Halden did not introduce himself.
"Before anyone embarrasses themselves," he said flatly, "understand this."
He paced slowly along the line.
"This is not a competition."
A few students shifted.
"Winning is irrelevant," Halden continued. "You will not be praised for striking harder. You will not be rewarded for speed. You will not be remembered for enthusiasm."
He stopped in front of a tall boy near the front.
"You will be corrected for mistakes," Halden said. "And if you refuse correction, you will be injured."
The boy swallowed.
Halden turned back to the group.
"Sword training exists because magic fails ," he said. "Mana falters. Spells break. Focus collapses. Steel does not care."
He gestured toward the weapon racks.
"Take one woodensword from the rack."
The students moved.
Cain selected a sword without hesitation. The weight was familiar — balanced, neutral, unremarkable. It was not meant to impress. It was meant to teach.
Rei picked his up with a grimace.
"…This feels heavier than it looks," he muttered.
Cain said nothing.
"Stance," Halden called.
He demonstrated once.
Not dramatically. Not slowly. Just enough.
Feet shoulder-width apart. Weight centered. Knees loose. Grip firm, not rigid.
"No lunging," Halden said. "No aggression. If I see either, you start over."
They copied him.
Some too stiff. Some too loose. A few leaned forward unconsciously, as if bracing for an attack that would not come.
Cain adjusted once — a subtle shift of weight, a minor correction in grip.
Halden passed behind him.
"Acceptable," the instructor said, already moving on.
No praise. No attention.
The drills began.
Step. Reset. Pivot. Stop.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Dust rose beneath boots. Muscles warmed. Breath deepened.
Rei stumbled once, caught himself, laughed under his breath. Cain corrected a minor angle in his own footing and continued without pause.
"Pairs," Halden ordered eventually.
Cain and Rei found themselves facing each other.
"Easy," Rei said quietly. "I don't want to be the first one thrown out."
Cain lifted his sword into a neutral guard.
Rei attacked first — tentative, cautious. Cain deflected without countering, redirecting the blade just enough to disrupt balance.
"Don't commit," Cain said softly.
Rei blinked, then nodded. "Right. Right."
They continued.
Rei overextended once more. Cain stepped aside and tapped Rei's wrist lightly with the flat of the blade.
Rei winced. "Yeah. That'd hurt."
Halden's voice cut across the field.
"Stop."
Everyone froze.
"Those of you treating this like sparring will leave on stretchers later," Halden said. "You are learning to stay alive ."
He looked across the students once more.
"Dismissed."
There was no applause. No relief.
Just quiet fatigue.
As they returned the wooden swords, Rei exhaled loudly.
"I think I understand now," he said. "Why they make us do this before anything flashy."
Cain nodded.
The academy bell rang again, signaling the next class.
As Cain walked back toward the building, his muscles tired but his mind clear, one thought settled firmly in place.
This academy did not teach power.
It stripped weakness.
And steel came before fire.
------------------------------------------
Hello everyone, this is the author speaking.
How are you all? Don't worry—this isn't a hiatus note.
Since it's New Year's, I just wanted to check in and say thank you. My team (even though it's currently just me and my editor) wishes you all a very Happy New Year.
Thank you for all the support you've given so far. I truly appreciate every reader who has stayed with the story, and I hope you'll continue this journey with me in the coming chapters.
Thank you,
Nikhiil (Author)
Leo (Editor)