So that's his boss, huh?
Michael Aurelian hummed to himself as he trudged through the scorching desert, his mind still turning over the brief encounter with Prince Agni during the orientation.
Seeing the prince was rare, to say the least.
Agni hardly ever attended formal events. And when he did show up—which was almost never—he certainly didn't introduce himself. Either staying out completely or never arriving at the venue in the first place.
What would he even have to say if we met properly? Michael wondered, golden eyes squinting against the harsh sunlight.
The prince's actions were anything but a mirror to the current king. So opposite in nature. So... fragile.
And to think the prince was weaker than him—Michael, who was merely Level 3 after years with no growth whatsoever. The prince? Michael could gauge him to be barely Level 2.
Pathetic.
Now, for Agni to get married to Lady Lyralei of all people... it wasn't strange. It was practically expected but rare it was indeed the first time that the Royal family took a bride from one of the ducal houses... But that didn't make it good. Lyralei seemed to be anything but kind—chewing people out for little to no reason, expecting perfection from everyone around her.
He sighed, wiping sweat from his brow.
Where the hell is Darius?
If Darius Aquilon hadn't ditched him at the last minute, Michael wouldn't have gotten yelled at by Ignatia during the orientation. For someone raised in such a traditional household, Ignatia certainly didn't behave properly like a woman should.
House Vermillion was extremely traditional in every manner—patriarchal down to the last person. No one could say a thing against them because they executed everything flawlessly, without exception.
To think they had just a sole heir, and that heir was a woman? Unreal.
But maybe being cornered had forced them to change their ways?
Nah.
Each of those traditional qualities had been drilled into Ignatia as well. She'd remember her place as a woman... at least, he hoped so.
Michael hummed as he stood at the edge of a sand dune, surveying Zone 2.
The Burning Wastes were brutal. Random sandstorms kicked up without warning. Giant sand worms erupted from beneath the dunes. The heat was oppressive—like standing inside an oven.
He slid down the hill, boots sinking into the loose sand.
As if on cue, a Desert Basilisk burst from the ground behind him—a serpentine creature with scales like cracked stone and venomous fangs dripping green ichor.
Michael didn't even bother turning around.
His Argent Sovereign Armor—the silver mechanical suit covering his right arm—transformed. Metal plates shifted, rearranging themselves into a sleek cannon configuration.
BOOM.
The Mana Pulse Canon fired, and the concentrated blast blew the Basilisk's head clean off. The body collapsed, twitching, then dissolved into mana particles.
Michael sighed.
Well, it's not that Ignatia isn't feminine or unpleasant.
Her curvaceous hourglass figure was impossible not to notice. Those long legs that seemed to go on forever. Any dress she wore accentuated those curves perfectly. Yeah, Ignatia definitely wasn't lacking in physical assets as a woman. Her face was particularly striking too—beautiful in a severe, aristocratic way—apart from those unsettling heterochromatic eyes. And those lips...
"Definitely, if it wasn't for her personality being so full of herself," he muttered aloud, "I wouldn't mind being around her more often."
He shook his head sharply, banishing the thoughts. I'm getting a bit too carried away sometimes.
He should have worked on his system, shouldn't he? His father and mother had piled on constant work, leaving him no time to improve the armor from last year. The Argent Sovereign Armor could do so much more if he'd just had time to upgrade it properly.
Should I kick it up a gear and finish the 1,000 points now?
"System," he called.
A translucent display materialized in front of his vision, projected directly onto his retina by the armor's interface.
Current Points: 330
Need a big score. A-Grade monsters.
His golden eyes traveled to the right, and he stopped.
Three students—commoners, judging by their basic equipment—were fighting for their lives against a massive creature.
An Obsidian Scorpion King. A-Grade. Its black carapace gleamed like polished glass. Its tail—easily fifteen feet long and tipped with a stinger the size of a sword—whipped through the air with terrifying speed.
The scorpion's tail arced downward, aiming to behead a mage with chocolate-brown hair.
A swordsman with twin blades jumped in, blocking the strike. The impact sent him sliding backward, boots digging trenches in the sand.
An orange-haired student with dark blue eyes ran to assist him..
They were visibly desperate.
Michael watched for a few more seconds.
They haven't landed a single hit. They're just defending, barely staying alive.
A soft smile came to Michael's lips.
What a scene. To think they compare us to these people and call it equality.
"Alright, System. Switch to Gold Mode. Set the Mana Pulse Canon to maximum output."
His armor shifted, plates glowing with golden light as mana circuits activated at full capacity.
He aimed.
BOOM.
The concentrated mana blast tore through the Scorpion King's body—not the head, but the thorax—obliterating it completely.
30+ Points
"Peaceful," Michael hummed with satisfaction.
Then his eyes widened.
All three students had barely moved out of the way—or rather, they'd been knocked backward by the scorpion's exploding body, which had inadvertently saved them from the full brunt of his attack. They were sprawled in the sand, coughing and covered in monster gore, but alive.
The chocolate-haired woman—Lara—glared directly at him with furious brown eyes.
Michael smiled softly toward her, his golden armor gleaming.
The student with glasses struggled to his feet, twin swords trembling in his grip. "Hey! Watch it!"
Michael's smile faltered.
"Do you intend on killing us off as well?!" the student shouted.
Michael frowned, genuine confusion crossing his features. "Watch it? Where's the thank you? I saved your lives—"
He stopped suddenly, realization dawning. Honestly, what do I expect from commoners?
"You guys were picking fights with a monster you clearly couldn't beat," Michael said dismissively.
"You think we're idiots?!" The spectacled student—Steve—was shaking with rage. "You blew apart its body, not its head! We were directly in your line of fire! If it wasn't for our Survival Blessings triggering, we would have died from your attack!"
Lara seemed to recognize the golden eyes…
"Steve, calm down. It's done," she said urgently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We still have points to make, remember?"
"Lara!" Steve protested.
Michael hummed dismissively. "Yeah, listen to her and scram. Or do you lot intend on being buried in sand?"
His disdain became open contempt. "Honestly, seeing you makes me wonder why commoners are even allowed into Aethermoor. The amount of trash you all bring compared to actual talent just isn't worth the tradeoff."
"Steve... take that back, you scum!" Steve's voice cracked with fury. "You think that armor's strength is yours?!"
Michael's hands tightened into fists. "What are you saying?"
The veins in Steve's neck were bulging, his entire body trembling. "Yes, you trashy scum! Why don't you strip off that armor and face me properly?
Lara's eyes went wide with alarm. "Steve, you're taking this way too far!" She grabbed his shoulders, physically pulling him back. "Orange, say something!"
She turned desperately to their third companion.
Orange himself looked visibly angry, his arm bleeding from where scorpion shrapnel had cut him. His dark blue eyes watched the confrontation with an intensity that was almost calculating, but he remained completely silent.
"Steve, come on!" Lara stared at Orange's injured arm. "We need to do something about his arm! Stop this!"
Michael's expression shifted to something harder, more dangerous. "You know what? Fine."
His voice dropped to deadly seriousness. "You insects think that being admitted here makes you special? Want to see what's underneath the armor?"
The golden plates began glowing with deactivation sequences. "Alright, it's off. I, Michael Aurelian of House Aurelian, will duel you right here and now—"
Before the armor could fully disengage, before Michael could finish his sentence, a woman's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"What's going on here?"
Instantly, the heat became unbearable.
The temperature didn't just increase—it skyrocketed beyond anything natural, beyond even the desert's brutal climate. In an instant, the sand beneath their feet began to vitrify, transforming into molten glass with crackling sounds.
Michael's eyes went wide as his entire body felt like it was melting off his bones from the inside out. He couldn't breathe—the air itself was too hot to inhale without choking.
[SYSTEM WARNING: EXTERNAL MANA PRESSURE DETECTED]
[ARMOR INTEGRITY: 34% AND FALLING]
[INTERNAL TEMPERATURE: CRITICAL - OCCUPANT SURVIVAL THREATENED]
All three commoner students felt the same crushing, burning sensation.
Lara's hair began to singe and fall out in clumps, the ends turning to ash. Steve's twin swords glowed red-hot in his hands, the metal beginning to warp and melt clean off the hilts. Orange dropped to his knees, gasping, his face going pale as his body tried and failed to regulate its temperature.
They all turned toward the source of the oppressive aura.
A woman stood atop a nearby dune, silhouetted against the harsh sun. Her lush white hair was tied in an immaculate bun despite the heat distortion in the air. Her heterochromatic eyes—one sapphire blue, one ruby red—scanned the scene below with sharp, cold intelligence.
Ignatia Vermillion.
"Michael," she said again, her voice perfectly calm despite the apocalyptic heat radiating from her body. "What is happening here?"
The oppressive aura vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.
Michael and the others gasped, sucking in desperate breaths. Despite being in a scorching desert, they suddenly felt like they were cooling off rapidly—the contrast was so extreme it felt like standing in winter snow.
"We should leave," Orange muttered, his voice hoarse. He practically dragged both Lara and Steve away from the scene.
Lara nodded eagerly, tears streaming down her face from pain and fear as she sobbed openly. Steve's face had gone completely blank, shellshocked, still clutching his half-melted swords.
They retreated into the desert without another word.
Michael stared after them. "What—?"
His armor's emergency cooling systems kicked in, rapidly lowering his internal temperature. He shook his head, trying to forget the sensation of nearly being melted alive inside his family's prized heirloom.
"You heard how those cockroaches were speaking to me," Michael said, his voice still shaken. "You expect me to remain silent?"
Ignatia's expression remained neutral. "Well, what's done is done. The academy benefits us nobles as well, Michael. We fund talent here and help polish it."
Her mismatched eyes narrowed. "You were about to break one of the talents we've spent considerable effort to raise."
Michael looked genuinely confused—and slightly angry. "That sword-wielding one? Steve? You were going to kill me for defending myself against some uppity commoner?"
"No. I merely defused the situation and settled the score for their tone," Ignatia said coolly. "I wasn't protecting Steve."
She paused. "Orange."
Michael blinked. "The quiet one?"
"His blessing ability is excellent. Extremely rare and potentially SR-Rank in application," Ignatia explained. "If it wasn't for Serina Frostwind's prodigious research talent, Orange would be the next bright star of our empire."
Michael hummed thoughtfully. "Orange, huh? Well... I guess I can see it."
He paused, then added with a hint of bitterness, "Let's hope he doesn't have a change of heart after today."
"It's not his decision to make," Ignatia said simply, her tone brooking no argument. "Sponsored students don't choose their loyalties."
Her eyes refocused on Michael. "It seems you haven't broken through to Mana Circuit Level 4 yet."
Michael shrugged, some defensiveness creeping into his voice. "I haven't had any time to train properly. Father's had me stuck in management lectures and trade negotiations constantly."
He sighed. "Honestly, is it even worth trying that hard? One thousand points is relatively easy with the armor's firepower. And as for ranking..." He trailed off uncomfortably. "It's practically a given that Lady Lyralei Valen will take first place. Competing for the top against her isn't even worth imagining."
Ignatia hummed noncommittally. "Well, I'm checking on our Talent Advancement Program investments. Making sure our sponsored students survive the examination."
Michael nodded. Right, the joint sponsorship arrangements between noble houses—identifying promising commoners early and funding their education in exchange for future loyalty. Father handled all that administrative tedium. Michael couldn't even remember which specific commoners were under House Aurelian's direct patronage.
He grinned slightly, trying to recover his usual confidence. "Want to team up to reach 1,000 points? Then we can scout together afterward."
He gestured at his armor. "The academy didn't let me bring Mana Storage Crystals. I've been fueling this armor directly from my mana circuits. I'm a bit drained."
Ignatia paused, considering. "Sure. If you can even remember the priority list, that is."
As Michael turned away to scan for more monsters, Ignatia's eyes tracked the retreating forms of the three commoner students in the distance.
Her eyes sharpened with calculating focus.
Strange. Which of those three had that intense, murderous bloodlust? Or was it someone else observing from nearby?
She replayed the moment in her mind—that split second before she'd released her aura, when she'd felt something dangerous coiling in the air. Killing intent. Focused. Controlled. Waiting.
If I hadn't arrived when I did, they would have certainly beheaded Michael the moment his armor came off. That entire confrontation felt orchestrated.
Lara? She dismissed the thought immediately. No, that woman was worthless in a fight—pure support type.
Steve? Possible, but his rage had seemed genuine, uncontrolled. Not the calculated patience of an assassin.
Orange? But what would he benefit from killing a noble heir? It would destroy any future he had, Talent Advancement Program sponsorship or not.
Or something else lurking around here?
Her heterochromatic eyes scanned the desert landscape carefully, looking for any sign of hidden observers.
I should be more careful going forward.
Then another thought struck her, and she sighed internally.
And I'm not sharing a zone with Prince Agni.
Could this day go any worse?
The Monitoring Control Room was unusually quiet.
Professor Sylvia broke the silence, her voice filled with concern. "We must recall them back immediately!"
She gestured at the display showing Lara sobbing, Steve in shock, and Orange bleeding. "They're too injured to continue safely."
Professor Vincent adjusted his spectacles, his mechanical augmentations whirring softly. "No. It appears Student Orange has remarkable talent in his blessing abilities. We should let them figure it out themselves. If they can't manage, then we'll call them back."
Professor Whisper nodded, her doll-like face expressionless. "Too much care would ruin the yield," she murmured in her characteristic monotone.
Professor Gareth sighed heavily. "Well... I suppose so. We can't coddle them forever."
The scene shifted to Zone 1: The Verdant Meadows.
Lyralei blinked, remaining frozen in her combat stance, black lightning still crackling around her clenched fists. Her eyes were locked on the tall, white-masked figure before her.
"Aurora?" she asked cautiously. "Is that you?"
The white-masked woman blinked behind her featureless porcelain mask—and immediately moved.
She closed the distance in an instant, reaching out to flick Lyralei's forehead playfully.
Maybe it was because her mental composition was shaken from the sudden appearance, but Lyralei dodged the woman with practiced ease, jumping backward and creating space between them.
"Hey, quit it, Aurora!" Lyralei said, annoyance creeping into her voice. "What are you even doing here?"
"I'm not Aurora!" the white-masked woman protested, her soothing voice carrying genuine indignation.
"Come on, you're fooling no one," Lyralei muttered, clearly not believing her for a second.
The white-haired woman tilted her head. "What gave me away?"
Lyralei froze as if she'd been asked something incredibly obvious.
She looked the figure up and down slowly—taking in the full height, the flowing white mage's dress, the distinctive proportions.
"Size?" Lyralei finally muttered.
The masked woman went completely still. "...What?"
"You have a very memorable figure," Lyralei said matter-of-factly, gesturing vaguely at the woman's tall, statuesque build and curves.
There was a long, awkward silence.
"Huh?" the masked woman said quietly.
Then louder: "Huh?!"