With the code phrase settled like a note dropping into place, the path to the academy unfurled like a painted scroll.

Neither of them knew the way, so they flagged a roadside carriage like catching a drifting leaf; six silver coins clinked like cold moonlight in the driver’s palm.

That meant the academy lay far, the road stretching like a ribbon twice the law station’s length.

It also meant the last driver hadn’t been clear, and the fare rose with distance like a shadow lengthening at dusk.

The two girls sat in the carriage, silence pooling between them like still water in a basin.

Rexi watched the roadside roll by through the window like pages turning; Lucimia rested with her eyes closed, breath steady as a tide.

A man boarded midway, bound for a restaurant; he got off soon, his words kept like stones held tight behind his teeth.

This driver was likely a chatterbox, chasing a spark in dull work like a moth to a lamp. The quiet sat heavy like fog. He couldn’t bear it and spoke.

“You two heading to the academy, yeah? Students, right? I’ve got a daughter there learning magic; maybe your paths cross like lines on a palm. She’s Sarah—do you know her?”

Lucimia opened her eyes like a lid lifting, glanced forward, then shook her head. “Sorry, haven’t heard of her.”

“Heh, yeah, figures. With a sea of faces in there, not knowing’s normal.”

Seeing Lucimia had no wish to chat, the driver chuckled twice, then focused on the reins, which hummed like taut strings.

Time trotted by like a horse on packed earth. When the carriage slowed and stilled, Lucimia opened her eyes.

“Here you are, ladies.”

“Alright, thanks.”

Rexi thanked him and hopped down like a cat from a wall; Lucimia followed, her shadow sliding after her like ink.

Once down, Lucimia’s first move was to secretly lay a Teleportation Array, strokes hidden like frost under grass.

Only after that did she lift her gaze toward the academy like raising a banner.

An iron-barred gate stood like a ribcage; to the right, a small door; beside it a little room, a registrar likely nesting inside like a sparrow.

“We should head that way, right?” Rexi pointed at the small door, her finger thin as a twig.

“Mm. The main gate’s locked. Let’s register there,” Lucimia said, her voice steady like slow water, already walking that way.

At the window, Lucimia saw a middle-aged man in light armor, a sword hanging on the wall like a sleeping hawk—a Swordmaster moonlighting as security.

The guard saw the two girls, his eyes weighing their clothes like scales, and said, “You aren’t students here, right? What’s your business?”

“We’re heading to the library.”

“Okay, fine. Just register—names and what you’re doing inside,” he said, pen poised like a reed over paper.

“Okay.” Rexi stepped up, ready to register, her feet light like birds.

The guard stopped her, his hand coming up like a gate. “Hold on. You’re outsiders, right? Before registering, we need to conduct a Duel.”

“A Duel?” Rexi felt her brow tighten like folded wings. “Why?”

The guard explained, patience laid out like pebbles. “Fake names are masks, troublemakers are wolves. This helps us find people. We can’t leave the gate wide open like an unlatched barn.”

“Makes sense.” Lucimia nodded, her chin dipping like a reed in wind.

“The Duel’s simple. You challenge me and guess my name. You don’t need to guess—just concede. The loser must register true info and do only what they declared. If they break the law, they’ll be sanctioned—mobility gone in an instant like ice shackles snapping shut. The winner gets nothing. That’s it.”

Unease pricked her like a thorn. Lucimia hesitated, then spoke softly. “No problem, but hold on. I forgot something. We’ll be back in a bit.”

“Eh?” Rexi blinked, confusion fluttering like a startled sparrow.

Lucimia didn’t explain. She pulled Rexi, and they ran out of the academy bounds like wind tugging a kite.

“What’s up, what’s up?” Rexi asked, words tumbling like beads from a broken string, feet barely slowing.

Lucimia stopped, checked the empty street like a hunter scanning brush, then said, “This Duel feels off, twisted like a vine. The loser has to do exactly what their registration lists. And any violation of law strips your movement, falling like a net.”

“Hmm… I think it’s fine. Safety first. You can’t let non-students wander in, gates are thresholds like cliffs,” Rexi said. “The academy in Erwei City does the same.”

“You’re right,” Lucimia nodded, calm like a pebble sinking. “But that’s for ordinary folk. We’re not ordinary.”

“Remember what Anliena said? She wanted to work with me and told me to find her at the academy. No other contact, no token to ease entry, just bait like a hook—‘come find me’.”

Lucimia paused, thought threading like silk, then continued, “If I go in by this process, what if she initiates a Duel inside? Or uses some special trick to seize the rules like strings, and the duel’s content touches crime? With a duel nested on a duel like boxes within boxes, she’d win for sure.”

“That… makes sense,” Rexi said, a chill creeping up like night air. “That’s sly. Honestly, I never felt she was as friendly as she acts. Silk can hide a blade. When she asked me to admit defeat, I knew she wasn’t what she seemed. How could a soft, fragile-looking girl make a demand that hard? And she’s a professor.”

“…I think so too.” Lucimia agreed, her trust scattering like sand in wind; from the start, she hadn’t believed Anliena much.

“What do we do then? Sneak over the wall?” Rexi glanced at the fence, a sleeping dragon of iron.

“We could,” Lucimia said, wariness coiling like smoke. “But I think the academy uses Magic Arrays, webs like spiders. Make noise, and bells will ring. More trouble comes.”

“I’ve got a method,” Lucimia said, her idea forming like clay in hands. “I’ll disguise two Fuzzy Orbs to look like us. I’ll give them names, then set Teleportation Magic on them. Let the orbs register and enter first. Then we teleport in. I don’t know if triggering Teleportation Magic trips the law like a wire. I don’t know if academy magi will sense it, hawk-eyed. It could draw trouble—too many variables.”

Rexi nodded, thoughts pooling like ink. “Then I alter the registrar’s memory?”

“How would you alter it?” Lucimia asked, her voice a thin thread.

“Let me think… Make him feel we already registered?” Rexi frowned, the ledger in her mind a mirror. “Uh, no. He’ll see our names missing and suspicion will sprout like thorns.”

Rexi shook her head and thought again, her logic knotting like ropes. “Then… make him believe we’re academy students? Students may not need to register… Hmm, that may fail. We don’t have uniforms; they’re like a second skin. He’ll notice. Or say we just enrolled and don’t have uniforms yet? But fresh entrants probably still need to register first, and only later they don’t…”

Rexi’s wits were a sharper blade than Desty’s, though her ideas had chips like worn tiles; she still had her own moves.

“If that won’t work, what if we combine our abilities?” Rexi asked, hope rising like two streams joining. “Can we weave this net and pull it off?”