A loud rumble from his stomach reminded Solomon of his hunger, prompting him to finally step inside the cafeteria. The rich, savory aroma of sautéed garlic and onions immediately hit his senses, making his mouth water.
Solomon turned to look at the holographic menu floating above the serving stations. Each dish had a staggering price attached to it, though thanks to his royal tag, those numbers were purely decorative for him.
Before grabbing a tray, he scanned the bustling hall for the twins. He spotted them sitting at a table just a few rows away, accompanied by Hael and Allen. They hadn't noticed him yet, giving him a moment to collect his food before heading over.
...
"Hey, do you guys mind if I sit here?" Solomon asked, greeting the group. Although Apollo's previous warnings still echoed in his mind, Solomon chose to trust his own judgment.
"Oh, hey Solomon," Michaela greeted him, her sleepy eyes blinking in recognition.
"Yeah, sure, grab a seat," Julius nodded casually.
As Solomon sat down, Allen leaned back lazily and gave him a warm, easy grin. Gone was the restless energy from yesterday—he just looked like a good friend kicking back to chat.
"Dude, word travels crazy fast," Allen chuckled, swirling his drink with zero tension. "Rumor has it you accidentally threw a Tier 2 spell on your very first try at magic today. That's wild."
"Uh... I don't think that's entirely true. I'm not even sure what I did actually qualifies as magic," Solomon replied with an awkward laugh, feeling instantly relieved by Allen's relaxed vibe.
"Hey, don't sweat it, man. A natural's a natural," Allen laughed lightly, clinking his glass against the table in a casual toast. "Honestly, I'm just stoked for you." He didn't press the subject any further, steering the conversation right back to casual small talk with a comforting, brotherly smile.
"Are you sure it's really fine for you to be hanging out with us, though?" Julius asked, smoothly steering the conversation.
Although Solomon knew Julius meant well, the question dragged Apollo's mocking words back to the forefront of his mind. Sensing the sudden drop in the atmosphere, Michaela decided to intervene.
"Anyway, is anyone checking out the weapon fair later this evening? I heard it's going to last for three days," she said, effortlessly shifting the awkwardness away.
"Weapon fair?" Solomon asked, his interest piqued.
"Yeah. It's an event where weapon manufacturers from all over the world present their innovations here at Ars," Michaela explained. "Since most of the students and professors are wealthy nobles, it's always a hotspot for powerful and experimental armory. I wanted to check it out today, but Julius and I are busy. We'll probably drop by on the last day, though."
"I see... Thanks for the tip. I might go check it out later," Solomon said.
Despite popular belief, Solomon truly believed he had absolutely no affinity or talent for mana or magic. If he wanted to survive in this academy, he would have to rely on what he actually knew.
As far out of reach as magic was, he could always throw a punch. He had lived in the slums his entire life; fist fights were second nature to him. Still, there was only so much bare knuckles could do in a place where people conjured flames and lifted entire carriages with a thought. But while magical feats were out of his grasp, he was still capable of mastering the one thing that made humanoids a dominant force in the world: weaponry.
...
Later that afternoon, after his final class wrapped up, Solomon made his way back to his dorm.
Remembering Michaela's words, he cleared his evening schedule to visit the weapon fair. But since the sun was still up, he decided to get some physical training in first.
Inside his room, Solomon changed into a loose black athletic shirt paired with simple, breathable slacks. They weren't his usual style, but they were the only casual clothes available to him—complimentary amenities he had found neatly folded in his closet when he first moved in.
I really need to buy some actual clothes... he thought, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He walked over to the bedside table, grabbed a hair tie, and pulled his messy hair back into a short ponytail.
Ready to work up a sweat, he made his way down to the training grounds to run some laps. As he jogged onto the track, he crossed paths with Hael.
The moment Hael spotted him, an incredibly awkward expression flashed across his face. He quickly looked away, clearly trying to hide his exertion.
"How did you get here?" Hael asked, caught off guard.
"Huh? I live here," Solomon replied bluntly.
Despite acting clueless, Solomon knew exactly why Hael felt awkward. The prince was actively trying to hide the fact that he trained his body. The secluded training grounds, surrounded by dense trees and towering weapon racks, made for a perfect smokescreen—unless, of course, a dormmate happened to wander outside. Realizing this, it suddenly made perfect sense why Hael had been so desperate to know which side of the dorms Solomon lived on.
Half an hour later, Solomon was panting heavily, resting his back against a weapon rack just outside the track. Hael, on the other hand, maintained his grueling pace, constantly running without taking a single break.
"Damn... is there a limit to you?" Overwhelmed by Hael's sheer persistence, Solomon accidentally let his thoughts slip out in a quiet whisper.
As quiet as it was, Hael's sharp ears caught it.
"Yes... it's quite low. That's exactly why I'm doing this," Hael snarked between breaths, continuing his run while throwing Solomon's rhetorical whisper right back at him.
"Uh... what?" Taken aback by the response, Solomon stared at Hael's retreating back in dumbfounded silence.
Despite the prickly reply, the simple fact that Hael had answered gave Solomon an opening to ask the question that had been eating at him all day.
"Hey. I've been meaning to ask," Solomon called out.
Hael didn't seem to be listening, keeping his eyes locked on the track ahead.
"Are you a knight, or are you a mage?" Solomon asked, trying to phrase it as delicately as possible.
Acting as if he hadn't heard a word, Hael just kept running.
Sensing the conversation was over, Solomon sighed, stood up, and decided to head back inside. It was nearly evening, and he needed to shower and change before visiting the weapon market. But before stepping through the doors, he stole one last peek at the prince.
Unexpectedly, Hael had stopped running. He was standing completely still in the middle of the track, his head tilted down as if the weight of a thousand thoughts was pressing heavily onto his shoulders.
...
A little while later, freshly showered and dressed in another clean set of identical amenities, Solomon made his way to the market center.
The atmosphere had completely transformed from the day before. Rows upon rows of temporary stalls now lined both sides of the main road. Vibrant banners of varying colors and crests fluttered in the evening breeze, boldly advertising unique and experimental armaments.
"Excuse me? Are you, perhaps, Solomon Weise?"
A middle-aged man in a sharply tailored formal suit approached him from the side.
"Yeah? Can I help you?" Solomon replied, caught off guard by the sudden interception.
"Because you possess a royal tag, you are entitled to select two different products—valued at under 100 gold each—absolutely free of charge," the man informed him politely.
"Wait, seriously?" Solomon asked, his eyes widening in bewilderment and excitement.
"Yes. However, you are only allowed to claim this privilege twice throughout the entire duration of the fair, so please choose carefully," the man explained with a courteous smile before bowing and stepping away.
Thrilled at the prospect of shopping for free, Solomon immediately began scanning the stalls, hunting for anything that caught his eye.
Weightless Blade... 350 gold... Auto-Repairing Mythril Chestplate... 500 gold...
As he read the price tags on the majority of the products, his excitement rapidly deflated. It seemed that 100 gold—a sum that was nothing short of a distant dream to a slum kid like him—was pocket change in comparison to the elite weaponry surrounding him. Watching wealthy students casually purchase these exorbitant items with a smile made a bitter sting blossom in his chest.
Solomon continued wandering, desperately surveying the stalls for any viable weapon that fell under his price limit. That proved to be much harder than expected. But instead of finding a helpful item, he stumbled upon a far more interesting situation.
The same hooded figure he had seen yesterday was walking just a few feet ahead of him. Once again, the figure was carrying a small bag of fish, his hood pulled up to conceal his face. Although Solomon couldn't see much of the guy, the posture and build practically confirmed his suspicions.
Not long after, the hooded boy veered off the bustling main road, slipping into a quiet, narrow alleyway. Unbeknownst to him, Solomon quietly trailed behind.
The alley opened up into a small, secluded dead-end surrounded by the high brick walls of the market's shops. A chorus of meows echoed from the tops of the walls as several stray cats spotted the hooded figure. Recognizing him immediately, they leaped down and began affectionately brushing themselves against his legs.
However, one cat didn't join the welcoming committee. A scruffy black cat sat a few feet away, staring intently into the boy's eyes. Unlike the others, it was missing an eye and bore a tapestry of faded scratches across its matted fur.
"Hey, Rough. Been in a fight again?" the boy murmured, crouching down in front of the injured feline. "You're one strong kitty, you know that?"
He gently stroked the cat's head with a melancholy gaze, finally pulling down his hood to reveal his striking blonde hair. Just as Solomon expected, it was Hael.
"Hmm... Who do we have here?"
A voice sneered from the mouth of the alleyway. A young man wearing a black uniform with aggressive red accents slowly approached. In his arms, he cradled a massive, heavily muscled feline with protruding saber teeth.
Judging by his uniform, he was a student from the School of Arms. Yet, contrary to the typical warrior stereotype, his physique was rather unimpressive.
"Oh~ If it isn't the useless prince," the noble snarked, flashing Hael a cruel grin.
"Is that your pet?" he continued, gesturing to the black cat. "He got a little roughed up fighting my saber cat earlier today, but he didn't die. I suppose he makes for good target practice."
Hael stood up slowly, watching the noble approach in dead silence.
"What, got something to say? You know the Crown Prince himself gave us permission to do whatever we want to you, right? So it's best you just move out of my way. You're just as disabled as that pathetic stray, after all." The noble sneered, resting his hand on the hilt of a saber strapped to his hip.
Hael didn't flinch. He stood firm, raising his fists, fully prepared to swing. "I don't give a shit what you want. I'm going to bury your face in the dirt," Hael declared with absolute conviction. He glanced down at Rough, who was bravely baring his tiny teeth at the massive saber cat.
"You really don't understand your place, do you?" Appalled by Hael's defiance, the noble's face twisted in annoyance.
In a flash, the noble drew his saber and swung it upward in a single, fluid motion, unleashing a crescent wave of crimson Ki. Although Hael crossed his arms to brace for impact, the heavy energy wave slashed right through his defenses, ripping his uniform open and sending him flying backward into a chaotic pile of metal pipes.
"Urghh..." Hael groaned, crumbling to the ground.
"Hah... you really want me to get in trouble for killing you, don't you?" the noble snickered, stepping over the debris toward the wounded prince. He carelessly dropped his saber cat to the ground, prompting the beast to immediately sprint toward the injured Rough.
"Wh—" Hael struggled to push himself up, whispering something under his breath.
"Huh? Did my cat get your tongue?" The noble laughed loudly, reveling in Hael's pitiful state.
"What..." Hael coughed, trying again. "What are you doing here?" Having finally caught his breath, he stared past the noble, his eyes wide.
"Huh?" Confused by Hael's words, the noble furrowed his brows and stopped laughing.
"I don't think he was talking to you, man."
The unexpected voice echoed from the shadows behind the noble. A split second later, a loud thwack and a sharp, pained feline shriek rang out through the alley. The massive saber-toothed cat was suddenly sent flying through the air, crashing hard against the brick wall right next to Hael.
"What the—" Shocked, the noble immediately spun around to face the intruder.
Standing in the mouth of the alley was a guy with messy, wolf-like hair tied back into a loose ponytail. In his hands, he tightly gripped a heavy, dented metal pipe he had scavenged from the scrap pile.
"I guess this is the weapon I'm most compatible with," Solomon said with a smug, dangerous smile.