Namer Academy
Academia city,
Namer Island
15th September 385 Post Global Unification
Eighteen years after the Hailey Incident
"You look different," Ash said.
He was speaking to Eren, who was busy demolishing a plate of food. They sat together in the dining hall at one of their usual tables. The plates before them refilled themselves magically with whatever the students desired, and Eren had taken full advantage of it—foods he'd rarely tasted back at the orphanage. Bacon. Scrambled eggs. Waffles. He shoveled them in enthusiastically, savoring every bite. After finishing, he grabbed a glass of orange juice and chugged it down before finally turning to Ash.
Eren had barely seen him over the past week. He'd been holed up in his room, meditating and cultivating, carefully managing the formation of his spirit circuit as it expanded with the spells engraved within it. He'd scarcely left until he felt the steady, rapid improvement in his body and mind.
It had paid off. His cultivation had risen from Tier Three of the Initiate stage to Tier Five, and his Anima reserves had increased alongside it. He'd grown taller, his frame broader, muscle definition sharpening his build. Even his features had changed—cleaner, more refined.
"Cultivation does that," Eren said casually. Ash nodded. He was already finished eating, waiting patiently for Eren. Both of them wore the academy uniform: black-and-red blazers with the school crest on the left breast pocket, black trousers, and red ties.
"It does," Ash agreed. "You ready? We don't want to be late for the assembly."
Eren nodded, feeling satisfied for the first time in days. He hadn't eaten properly in nearly a week. They left the dining hall together, Eren walking with his hands in his pockets as they followed the flow of students toward the assembly hall. First-year Hunter and Scholar candidates alike streamed in the same direction. The assembly chamber was vast—rows upon rows of seats facing a raised stage occupied by faculty members in black robes. Most of the seats were already filled.
Ash paused just inside, performing a quick, practiced scan of the room. His gaze settled on a golden-haired girl with a single pointed ear. Her skin carried a faint golden hue, a mark of her mixed heritage—half Lightfolk, half human. She spotted them and waved enthusiastically.
"There," Ash said.
"You guys took your time getting here," Belle Satou said as they approached. She wore a white shirt with a short red tie and black pants instead of the skirts most of the girls favored. Her golden hair was braided neatly, framing her striking features.
"I saved seats for you."
"Oh—thanks," Eren said as he dropped into the seat to her left. Ash took the one to her right. Somewhere along the way, Belle had seamlessly woven herself into their circle.
"So what's this assembly about?" Eren asked with a yawn. The heavy meal had left him drowsy, and the idea of a nap sounded far more appealing than sitting through speeches.
"It's the start of the new course," Ash replied. "The Director has a few things to say."
"Urgh," Eren muttered, turning his attention toward the stage.
As his eyes swept over the faculty, they stopped. Gunmetal hair. Crimson eyes.
Eren's gaze lingered longer than he intended. Gunmetal hair caught the light as Rey shifted in her seat among the faculty. Crimson eyes—too sharp to belong to someone ordinary—scanned the hall with calm authority. When they found him, the world seemed to narrow.
Their eyes locked. Her fair skin accentuated her full lips and elegant, oval-shaped face. A strange tension settled in his chest. It wasn't hostility that rose in Eren's chest. It was pressure. Not the crushing kind, but something subtler—like being weighed, measured, and found interesting. His jaw tightened. He hadn't forgiven her. Not for the clinic. Not for the exam. Not for the way she had looked at him back then, as if she already knew how far he could go. Part of him had known she would be here—ever since the way she'd left things at the clinic. He couldn't shake the feeling that she was still hiding things from him.
Rey.
Rey felt it immediately. Sensing his gaze, Rey lifted her head and scanned the audience. Her eyes met Eren Walker's. That familiar pull. This was the second time she'd felt his attention on her, and she was surprised at how familiar his attention had become.
His presence had changed again. Not explosively—no reckless flare of power—but refined, compressed. Like a blade honed quietly in the dark. He still lacked the overwhelming gravity of an Irregular, yet something about him unsettled her more now than before. For someone who had begun cultivating only months ago, his growth was… impressive.
He's angry, she noted. She could see the anger in his eyes as he looked at her. Does he hate me?
Rey smiled inwardly. She couldn't blame him. After all, she had interfered with his exam.
His anger was not as wild as it had been before in the clinic. It was controlled and directed towards a purpose. Good. Anger like that sharpened people. Eren didn't look away at first. That surprised her. Most students did the moment they realized a faculty member had noticed them. Eren Walker simply stared back, eyes steady, shoulders relaxed, daring her to acknowledge him—or to look away. Rey's lips curved almost imperceptibly.
He's grown, she thought. And not just in power. There it was again—that tension beneath the surface. The unspoken question hanging between them.
Why did you interfere?
What are you hiding from me?
She wished she could tell him the truth, but until General Alexander gave her the orders, she couldn't do anything.
Eren broke eye contact at last, leaning back in his seat, fingers curling slightly at his sides. He hated that she could still unsettle him without saying a word. Hated that part of him wanted answers she might never give. And worse, he hated that another part of him wanted her attention.
Rey turned back to the stage, her expression once again composed, professional. But her awareness stayed on him.
Careful, Eren Walker, she thought. You're walking toward something you don't yet understand.
And for the first time since the entrance exam, Rey felt a flicker of something dangerously close to anticipation.
"Why is the Princess staring over here?" Belle whispered.
Eren frowned. "Why is she here?"
"She's the assistant to the new melee instructor—the professor in charge of the Hunter candidates," Belle explained.
"There's a new professor?" Ash asked.
"The last one retired," Belle said. "He left to focus on cultivation before his lifespan ran out."
So she's going to be involved with my training.
The realization hit Eren like a bad omen. Of all the people he wanted to avoid, Rey sat comfortably at the top of the list. He had no desire to deal with that woman again—especially not under the guise of instruction.
As the final students filed into their seats, the murmur in the hall faded. A man in a white suit trimmed with crimson stepped up to the podium at the front of the stage. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with gray hair, a scar-lined face, and a physique so dense it looked as though his muscles might tear straight through the fabric.
This was Director Elias Godsky. For eighteen years, he had stood at the helm of Namer Academy. His sharp gaze swept across the auditorium, lingering on the rows of first-year students—the future Hunters and Scholars of the world.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice carrying effortlessly through the hall, "I am Elias Godsky, Director of Namer Academy. I welcome you to this prestigious institution."
The room fell completely silent.
"You have been chosen because you represent the finest of your generation—those with the potential to lead the world toward a better future." His eyes hardened slightly. "The world now stands on the edge of a tumultuous era, one unlike anything we have faced in the last two thousand years."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"It is you—seated here today—whom future generations will speak of. Those who stood against the coming threats and endured."
Another pause.
"As you embark upon your academic and cultivation journeys," he said, "may the gods' favor watch over you."
And in the next instant, Elias Godsky vanished from the podium.
****
When Director Elias appeared in his office, he immediately sensed another presence—one that did not belong. It lingered just beyond the window. Frowning, Elias crossed the room and slid the glass open. Waiting on the balcony, seated calmly in a lotus position, was a man whose very existence drew attention like fire draws breath.
Aguero Agni Kazkhan.
The Blaze King.
Elias let out a slow sigh. Another King-realm Mana Artist—on his island, no less. The academy already carried enough weight without figures like this inviting scrutiny. The Blaze King opened his eyes. Black as obsidian, they fixed on Elias with quiet amusement. He rose smoothly to his feet, flames dormant but unmistakably present beneath the surface.
Before him stood Director Elias Godsky—head of Namer Academy, former King-rank Hunter, and a man who had once stood on the threshold of true ascension. He had turned away from the King Realm after leaving the Association, choosing administration over dominion. The last of the Godsky line. A minor house among the great Magicborn families—unlike the Kazkhan name, whose legacy burned across continents.
"Director Godsky," Aguero said, smiling.
The smile went unanswered.
"General Kazkhan," Elias replied evenly. "To what do I owe this visit?"
The title carried weight. As commander of one of the twelve divisions of the Hunter Association, Aguero bore the rank of General—an honor meant for wartime. In an age without war, it had become little more than a formal courtesy.
"You don't look pleased to see me," Aguero observed.
"I'm not pleased to have two King-realm Hunters on my island," Elias said flatly.
Aguero chuckled. "I'm not here to disrupt your peace, Director. Not like the Sword King."
Elias's expression didn't change.
"I'm investigating the dungeon incident from a few weeks ago," Aguero continued. "That's why I'm on Namer Island."
Elias was well aware of the incident. The mana beasts inside the dungeon had behaved abnormally—far beyond documented variance. But dungeons were deceptive by nature. Anomalies were their language. He turned away, taking his seat behind his desk. With a gesture, his monitor flickered to life, documents scrolling into view.
"Shouldn't you be inside the dungeon, investigating your incident?" Elias asked.
"I was," Aguero said. "But I thought I'd stop by and check on my disciple. It's his first day at Namer."
Elias glanced up. "Your first day here was centuries ago."
"Still feels like yesterday," Aguero replied.
Silence stretched.
"What do you want, Aguero Agni Kazkhan?" Elias asked at last. "I have a schedule."
Aguero's smile faded slightly.
"Have you heard about the incident on Lumerian Island?"
Elias didn't hesitate. "Yes."
Lumerian Island—the headquarters of the Global Union's Hunter Association. A fortress filled with elite Hunters, designed to be impenetrable. The fact that an outsider had breached it was a truth powerful enough to shake the world. Especially now. Especially with war looming.
Such information was meant to be buried. The fact that Elias knew spoke volumes. Aguero studied him, a trace of respect entering his gaze. The Godsky network still reaches farther than most realize. No wonder the man had secured this position. Elias Godsky still had influence. And Aguero needed it.
"And I assume you're also aware of the source behind the dungeon incident," Aguero said. Director Elias slowly clasped his hands together. Now he understood what the Blaze King was circling.
"They haven't made a move in a century," Elias replied evenly. "I find it difficult to believe they would act now."
"Normally, I would agree, but there are rumors that they might have been involved in the Hailey Incident," Aguero said. "The world has grown… comfortable. Especially after the Third World War. Centuries of peace dull even the sharpest blade."
Elias's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Our mages have grown powerful," he said.
"Yes," Aguero agreed. "Powerful—but untested."
He stepped closer to the window, gazing out over the academy grounds where students moved between buildings.
"For generations, mages have trained without ever facing a true crucible. No world-shaking threats. No wars that demand innovation. No events that force growth through desperation." Aguero turned back to Elias. "Complacency has set in. Skill without pressure decays. Of course, there was the Hailey incident, but that incident was quickly resolved through the efforts of the Azural king. Soon there will be war, and there might be a chance that the Global Union is not enough to prevent it."
"I'm quite aware of the situation going on in the Middle East and how much of a powder keg it is," Elias said.
"Do you think they have what it takes to survive a war?" Agureo asked.
"You're speaking about the freshmen," Elias said.
"I am," Aguero replied. "This year's Hunter candidates in particular."
"What are you getting at, Blaze King?" Elias asked.
"There are… anomalies among them. Potential that won't survive if it's coddled."
Elias was silent.
"And next year," Aguero continued carefully, "the Tri-Magic Tournament is scheduled to return."
That earned him Elias's full attention.
"An international stage," Aguero said. "High risk. Real consequences. Exactly the kind of pressure this generation needs to be forged properly."
Elias exhaled slowly.
"You think they want to target the new seedlings. Rip them out before they can come into their full potential." Elias said. "Interesting. But you still haven't told me what you want."
"I need access to Namer Island's information network," Aguero answered. "Not for politics. Not for the Union. For surveillance, trend analysis, and early identification of destabilizing variables—especially among the Hunter candidates."
Elias stopped scrolling through the documents. Slowly, he turned his head, one sharp eye settling on Aguero. For someone of the Blaze King's stature to concern himself with a dungeon anomaly was… unusual. The Global Hunter Association had entire divisions dedicated to such matters. Even the city administrative body was already looking into it through the Dungeon Association. A Magic King need not concern themselves with such investigations. Which meant this was personal—or strategic. Or both. Refusing him, Elias knew, would only complicate matters. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, studying the Hunter in silence. For a man of Aguero's standing to concern himself with the students was telling. Dangerous, even. He leaned back in his chair.
"You want my network," Elias said, "to measure the next generation before the world does it for them."
"Precisely."
Silence stretched between them.
At last, Elias spoke.
"I will grant you conditional access," he said. "But understand this—I do not bend for Kings."
Aguero's expression remained calm.
"First," Elias continued, "I want you to be involved with the development of the students. Especially the new freshmen."
Crafty bastard. After hearing my concern about the future of the Hunter association, he's trying to drag me into being a teacher. Aguero didn't object. He didn't mind teaching, after all, he was a Master to one of the Hero candidates.
"Second," Elias said, "any intelligence gathered here remains here. Nothing leaves Namer Island without my approval. Not to the Hunter Association. Nog to the Dungeon Association. Not to the Global Union. Not to the Security Council."
"Understood," Aguero said.
"Third," Elias finished, his voice hardening, "if your investigation endangers this academy or turns my students into pawns for some future conflict, I will revoke your access—King or not, and you will continue to be under my employment."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Do you agree to these conditions?" Elias asked.
There was no written contract, no formal seal—but when two mages of their stature spoke terms aloud, it was binding enough. Power itself served as witness.
A slow smile spread across Aguero's face.
"Fair terms," the Blaze King said. "I wouldn't expect anything less from the last Godsky."
They regarded one another in silence—two veterans who had walked different paths, both sensing the same storm gathering on the horizon. Then they clasped hands, the pact sealed.
From that moment on, Aguero Agni Kazkhan became a teacher of Namer Academy—just like the Sword King.
Two Magic Kings now stood within the institution, shaping the next generation of Hunters.
"Wait," Aguero said, as if recalling something. "I heard Alexander is teaching the Hunter Combat Conditioning course. I'm far better suited for that role than she is."
"Unfortunately," Elias replied evenly, "my pact with the Sword King requires that she handle that course. However, I can offer you another—one better aligned with your talents."
Aguero considered it for only a moment. "Very well."
"It was worth doing business with you, Blaze King," Elias said.
****
Eren's first class differed from both Ash's and Belle's.
Namer Academy was enormous. The first-year cohort alone numbered nearly five thousand students, yet only a few hundred belonged to the Hunter Candidacy. Unless they were enrolled in Hunter-specific courses, overlap was rare.
Eren didn't mind. He moved through the academy's vast corridors, turning a corner while checking the amulet in his hand. A faint projection flared to life, mapping the route to his first course:
Runes, Glyphs, and Symbolic Compression.
As he rounded another corner, his stomach twisted. Three students had cornered a scrawny boy with brown hair and thick glasses. The kid was trying to enter a classroom, but the trio blocked his path, laughing and shoving him back each time he tried to move forward. Eren's eyes narrowed. None of them were Awakened. That meant they weren't Hunter candidates. And yet, they were still bullies.
Eren sighed.
With his hands still in his pockets, he continued straight toward the classroom door. He passed the bullied kid without stopping—and then deliberately clipped the shoulder of one of the bullies as he walked by.
Eren hadn't put any force into it. That didn't matter. The boy was knocked clean off his feet, landing hard on his backside with a startled grunt. He looked up at Eren, shock quickly curdling into indignation. From the way he carried himself—expensive clothes, practiced arrogance—it was obvious he came from money.
"What?" Eren said flatly. He looked down at the fallen bully, then at the other two. All three carried the unmistakable air of the upper echelon—posture trained, confidence unearned, entitlement worn like a badge.
"Didn't you see you bumped into my friend?" the one in the middle snapped. "You must not know who we—"
Eren flicked his fingers. The motion was casual, almost lazy. The impact was not. The bully was launched backward, crashing through the classroom doorway and skidding across the floor inside. The last bully froze, eyes wide as he stared at his friend sprawled across the room. Eren turned his attention to him.
"Got a problem?" Eren asked.
"H–huh? N–no… no," the boy stammered, already backing away. He turned to flee into the classroom.
Eren hooked a foot behind his ankle. The bully went down hard, the air knocked from his lungs as he hit the floor. Eren finally looked at the kid they'd been harassing.
"Go ahead," he said calmly. "You can use him as a stepping mat."
The boy blinked, stunned. He adjusted his glasses, uncertain—until he saw Eren's expression. Eren wasn't joking. Swallowing, the kid squeaked and did exactly as told, stepping carefully over the fallen bully and into the classroom. Eren followed behind him, hands still in his pockets, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Eren felt the weight of every stare in the room.
His classmates whispered among themselves, eyes flicking between him and the three students he'd just dismantled—some in shock, others in thinly veiled awe. Eren ignored them all. He climbed the steps toward the upper rows, unwilling to sit anywhere near the front. He dropped into a seat and propped his legs up on the desk in front of him.
Let them look.
He didn't mind carrying his delinquent reputation over from public school into Namer Academy. He understood how this world worked. Power spoke. Social power. Monetary power. Magical power. They were all threads of the same weave. And Eren intended to establish himself as someone who possessed it—someone no one would ever underestimate again.
"Hi."
Eren opened his eyes. The scrawny kid from earlier stood beside him, adjusting his glasses nervously.
"I'm Anthony Mangeo," he said quickly. "You can call me Tony. Can I… uh… sit here?"
He gestured to the empty seat beside Eren.
Eren shrugged. "Sure."
Tony sat, relief flooding his expression. Eren leaned back again, closing his eyes—until Tony spoke once more.
"Thank you," Tony said softly. "But… you shouldn't have done that."
Eren opened one eye. "Done what? Stopped them from bullying you?"
"You don't know who they are," Tony said. "The one you flicked—that was Kieran. He's from the Almoes family of the Britta Empire. They're… really wealthy."
"So?" Eren replied. "His family isn't here."
Tony hesitated. "He might send people after you. To make you pay for embarrassing him."
A faint smile tugged at Eren's lips.
"I'd love to see him try."
At that moment, the classroom door opened.
Professor Wingram stepped inside. The Lightfolk mage who had overseen the Hunter evaluations entered with calm authority, his luminous presence immediately silencing the room. His gaze swept the classroom—and paused briefly on the students still sprawled awkwardly near the doorway.
One look was enough.
They scrambled to their seats without a word. Professor Wingram's attention shifted back to Eren. He'd already read the boy's file. He knew about his past. About the reputation Eren had carried with him from public school. And now, he was seeing it firsthand.
Professor Wingram exhaled softly as he stepped fully into the classroom, the door closing behind him with a muted click. The ambient hum of mana-lamps dimmed slightly as he took his place at the front, a subtle assertion of control that immediately settled the room.
"Welcome, students," he said, his voice calm yet carrying easily across the hall. "To your first day of instruction."
His luminous eyes swept over the tiered seating before resting briefly—almost deliberately—on Eren.
"My name is Professor Edun Wingram," he continued. "And this course is Runes, Glyphs, and Symbolic Compression."
A few students straightened at the title alone.
"Before any of you open your textbooks," Wingram said, folding his hands behind his back, "I want a simple answer to a fundamental question."
He raised one finger.
"What is Symbolic Power—and how does it relate to magic?"
Silence followed.
Students glanced at one another, some avoiding eye contact, others furiously flipping through memories of last night's reading. Even those who knew hesitated, wary of speaking too soon.
From the corner of the room, a thin arm rose halfway.
Anthony Mangeo.
Professor Wingram's gaze shifted, and he inclined his head. "Yes. You may answer."
Tony swallowed, adjusted his glasses, and spoke carefully—but clearly.
"Symbolic Power is authority through representation," he said. "A symbol doesn't generate energy on its own. Instead, it defines the rules energy must obey."
A few heads turned.
"In other words," Tony continued, gaining confidence, "symbols shape reality by restricting how magic behaves when it's cast. Magic supplies the force—symbols provide the law."
The room was quiet when he finished.
Professor Wingram studied him for a moment, then nodded.
"Well said," he remarked. "It appears someone actually read the assigned material."
A faint ripple of restrained laughter moved through the class.
"Ten points to Student Mangeo."
Tony blinked. "T–ten points, sir?"
"Yes," Wingram said simply. "Merit is rewarded here."
Eren raised an eyebrow.
Points? he thought. So this place actually keeps score. He leaned back in his seat, arms folded. Eren had ranked sixth overall in the Hunter evaluation—a strong showing, but not enough to break into the top tier. That ranking, however, applied only to Hunter candidates. In the Scholar candidacy, he had placed twenty-third.
Respectable.
But far from elite. Not top five in either path. His gaze drifted briefly to Tony, who was still sitting stiffly, clearly unaccustomed to praise.
Interesting, Eren thought. Power here isn't just fists and anima. And if Namer Academy truly rewarded every form of strength—Then this place might be more dangerous than he'd expected.
"Well then," Professor Wingram said, turning back to the board, "let us begin with the proto-alphabets—and the symbolic roots from which all modern runic systems descend."
With a precise gesture, glowing sigils bloomed into existence above the lectern. They were crude, angular shapes—uneven, incomplete, yet heavy with ancient intent. The air itself seemed to respond, mana bending faintly around the symbols as though acknowledging an older authority.
"For most of recorded history," Wingram continued, "magic was not cast—it was invoked. Early practitioners lacked refined spell matrices or structured casting methods. Instead, they relied on symbols drawn from observation, instinct, and fear."
The lecture unfolded methodically.
Wingram guided them through the evolution of runes: from primal markings carved into stone and bone, to ritual glyphs refined through centuries of trial and catastrophe, and finally to the standardized universal runes accepted by modern magical academia. He explained how symbols were stripped of cultural excess and distilled into functional forms—efficient, replicable, and safe.
For many students, it was dull.
A slow, grinding procession of history, theory, and abstraction.
But Eren listened.
He didn't slump. He didn't daydream. He leaned forward slightly, eyes tracking each symbol as it appeared and vanished, committing their shapes and logic to memory.
Power wasn't just about brute force.
Eren understood that instinctively.
Knowledge was leveraged. Structure. The difference between wielding power and being consumed by it.
Tony noticed.
As he scribbled notes furiously, he kept sneaking glances at Eren. He'd already assumed Eren was a Hunter candidate who tolerated scholar classes out of obligation. Most were.
But Eren wasn't bored.
He was focused.
That realization stirred something in Tony—a quiet spark of motivation. If someone like Eren took this seriously, then maybe this class wasn't just filler. Maybe it mattered more than people realized.
When the bell finally rang, its chime cutting cleanly through the lecture, several students sighed in relief.
Professor Wingram raised a hand, stopping them before they could rise.
"For your next class," he said, "you will study syntax—specifically, how the arrangement and sequencing of symbols alters magical outcome."
His gaze swept the room.
"Remember this: a single symbol defines authority. Syntax defines intent. Misplace one element, and magic does not simply fail—it reinterprets your will."
A few students stiffened.
"You are dismissed."
As the class began to file out, Eren rose slowly, already replaying the lecture in his mind.
Runes weren't just tools.
They were laws. And laws, Eren knew, could be bent—if you understood them well enough.