Chapter 3: The First Step Is Never Loud
The Royal Academy resumed classes three days after the mana collapse.
To the outside world, it was a sign of stability.
To those inside, it was a warning.
Life did not pause for tragedy.
Aren Valerius Arcanveil stood in the magic division's outer training hall, one among hundreds of students arranged in orderly rows. Sunlight filtered through the enchanted glass ceiling, illuminating floating mana constructs that pulsed rhythmically above the arena.
Instructors watched from elevated platforms.
Every movement was observed.
Every fluctuation recorded.
So this is where growth begins, Aren thought calmly.
He had already reviewed the academy's structure dozens of times in his mind. Morning theory classes. Afternoon practicals. Evening free training—if one had the stamina.
And hidden within those routines were ranking shifts, rival encounters, and the seeds of future disasters.
"Begin mana circulation," the instructor commanded.
Aren complied.
Mana responded instantly, flowing through his core in smooth, stable cycles. He deliberately slowed it down, careful not to display the precision he was capable of.
Around him, students struggled. Some grimaced. Others sweated visibly as mana slipped out of control.
Too fast, Aren noted. They're forcing output instead of stabilizing flow.
He had seen this mistake countless times in the novel. Talents burned bright—and burned out faster.
The system remained silent.
That was good.
Silence meant he wasn't deviating too far.
In the adjacent training field, steel rang against steel.
The sword division.
Aren's gaze flickered in that direction for just a moment before returning forward. He could already sense it—sharp, explosive sword intent slicing through the air.
Kael Durnhart.
Even without seeing him, Aren felt the pressure.
The gap between them still existed.
And that was fine.
"Pair up!"
The instructor's voice snapped Aren out of his thoughts.
Students moved quickly, forming duos. Aren ended up across from a brown-haired commoner mage whose hands shook slightly as he raised his staff.
"N–No hard feelings," the boy said nervously.
"None," Aren replied honestly.
The duel began.
A basic mana bolt shot toward Aren's chest.
He sidestepped—cleanly, efficiently—and countered with a low-output wind spell aimed at the ground near his opponent's feet. Dust exploded upward, breaking the boy's balance.
The duel ended in seconds.
Not flashy.
Not humiliating.
Just decisive.
Aren bowed and stepped back.
The instructor nodded once.
"Acceptable."
That single word was worth more than praise.
The sword training came later that afternoon.
This time, Aren did not hold back as much.
Not because he wanted to stand out—but because sword training demanded honesty. False restraint led to flawed foundations.
His blade moved smoothly through the academy's basic forms, muscles responding instinctively. Each strike was controlled, each step balanced.
Still—
He could feel eyes on him.
Not instructors.
Students.
Whispers followed his movements.
"That noble… isn't he from Arcanveil?"
"I heard he survived the west wing collapse."
"He's not bad… for an extra."
Aren ignored them.
Let them talk.
Talk did not kill.
Attention did.
The system pulsed faintly.
[World Convergence System]
Minor Plot Engagement Detected
Cause: Consistent Performance
Effect: Monitoring Increased
That night, Aren returned to his dorm exhausted—but satisfied.
He sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes closed, focusing inward.
Mana circulation.
Sword intent alignment.
The two forces met—not clashing, not rejecting—but reinforcing one another.
Pain flared briefly through his muscles.
He endured it.
Growth was never painless.
Minutes passed.
Then—
[Training Session Concluded]
Evaluation: Positive]
A subtle warmth spread through his body.
Not dramatic.
Not explosive.
But real.
Aren opened his eyes as the familiar blue panel unfolded fully.
[World Convergence System]
Name: Aren Valerius Arcanveil
Title: Canon-Dead Extra | Ducal Noble
Affiliation: House Arcanveil
Path:
- Magic Cultivation
- Sword Cultivation
Realm:
- Magic: Apprentice Mage (Mid)
- Sword: Sword Trainee (Peak)
Attributes:
- Strength: 15 (+1)
- Speed: 13
- Stamina: 16 (+1)
- Vitality: 16
- Mana: 19 (+1)
- Mental Focus: 17
Combat Stats:
- Physical Power: C
- Mana Control: C+
- Sword Mastery: C
- Battle Instinct: B-
Skills:
- Dual Path Sovereignty (Authority · Passive)
- Basic Mana Control (Improved)
- Foundation Sword Forms (Refined)
Plot Metrics:
- Plot Engagement: 9% (+2%)
- Rival Nodes: 2 (Dormant)
- Fate Attention: Low
Condition:
- Physical Fatigue (Mild)
- Mana Stability: Improved
System Evaluation:
- Status: Stable
- Growth Rate: Above Average
Aren studied the screen carefully.
Small gains.
Exactly as planned.
He exhaled and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
No sudden jumps. No miracles.
That was how he would survive.
Outside, academy lights glowed softly against the night sky.
Somewhere within those walls, Kael sharpened his blade.
The protagonist advanced with fate's blessing.
And unseen enemies watched from the shadows.
Aren closed his eyes.
"I'll catch up," he whispered.
"Step by step."
The story was moving forward.
And for the first time, an extra was walking alongside it.