Helistar Academy’s sheer size genuinely stunned Oren. Under Ellen’s guidance, he’d already crossed several blocks—all marked “Academy District” on nearby signs. Dawn’s first light bled across the horizon, clouds bunched like faint crimson stains.
*The night’s折腾 had dragged until sunrise.*
Resigned to losing sleep, Oren sighed softly. He turned to Ellen ahead.
“Are we almost there?”
“Almost.”
Her flat reply made his question feel pointless. Just as he pondered checking the time, Ellen slowed to a stop. She pointed toward a dimly lit tavern in the distance.
“The Headmaster awaits you there.”
“Huh? Not in his office?”
“Who stays in their office after hours?”
Oren could only wave off her flawless logic. Straightening his clothes, he approached the tavern. The door jingled as he pushed it open. Inside the empty space, an old man in white robes poured deep-red wine into a glass.
“Ah! You must be Oren!” the man boomed at the bell’s chime. Silver hair and a snow-white beard framed his vibrant face. He grinned like a youth, waving a strong arm. “I’m Nivia’s Oren. Pleasure to meet you, Headmaster.”
“Call me William. William Huerista. My students say ‘Master William’.”
He slid a wine glass toward Oren, still smiling.
“Rough journey from the New Capital? This one’s on me.”
“Well… I won’t refuse.”
Oren took a sip, glancing around. Only he and William occupied the tavern. Setting his glass down, he asked, “Where’s Dysaia? I heard she was here.”
“The Princess Silver Dragon stepped out earlier.” William refilled his own glass. “She asked me to apologize and brief you.” He pulled a paper from his pocket, handing it over. The Helistar Academy crest topped the page. Before Oren could react, William continued, “Straight to the point: You’ll enroll as a freshman here.”
“Huh?”
Oren froze. The paper was an enrollment form—his name written neatly atop it.
“Wait! Hold on! This is moving too fast!”
He shot up from his chair, staring at the paper. He recognized that handwriting—archaic yet fiercely personal. Only Dysaia wrote like this. But the real shock was…
“Why would Dysaia agree to this madness? It’s absurd! Where is she? I’m taking her home!”
“Calm down, Lord Oren.”
Unfazed, William placed another paper before him. Oren instinctively grabbed it. An identical form bore Dysaia’s name—and a small portrait beside it.
“…What has she been doing all these years?” Oren finally choked out.
William chuckled softly, setting his glass down. “She enrolled ahead of you. You’ll take the next exam alone. But since Her Highness requested it, I’ll explain.”
Oren inhaled sharply, drained his wine in one gulp, and exhaled. “I’m listening.”
William nodded. “You know Emperor Isaerel of the New Capital wages war on the northern barbarians?”
Oren nodded. He’d heard the news before leaving. Though the continent was split between the Alliance of Free Cities, Duchy of Sidius, and Duchy of Tadallas, savage tribes still threatened the Alliance’s northern borders. Isaerel Elvis—a notoriously warlike emperor—had expanded his military immediately after coronation. War surprised Oren little. But William pressed on.
“My sources in the Duchy report Isaerel’s advance is swift. He may crush the barbarians by summer’s end.” William paused, voice tightening. “As you know, our Duchy of Sidius once belonged to the Alliance… Our scouts spotted Western Alliance troops massing at our borders. Once the barbarians fall, our two southern duchies will be next.”
William met Oren’s gaze. Oren merely blinked.
“I… don’t see your point.”
Frankly, Oren cared nothing for wars between nations. All he wanted was to find Dysaia and return to their hidden mountain castle.
*Let the outside world burn. It means nothing to me.*
William gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Of course. Discussing this with you is pointless.” He clapped his hands sharply. “Simplified: To stop Isaerel’s ambition, I requested the Princess Silver Dragon’s aid on behalf of our Duke. Her price? Freedom for you both to move through our Duchy unharassed.”
William unbuttoned his robe. Beneath it, a familiar rune was carved over his heart—the exact same mark branded on Oren’s father long ago.
“But…” Oren frowned. “Why enroll? What is she searching for here?”
“That’s not my concern. Part of our deal was not to ask.” William shrugged. “Though she did inquire about Crimson Dragons and Elvenfolk.”
“Crimson Dragons?”
Dysaia had told him they were younger than Silver Dragons but fiercely territorial and greedy. In the Ancient Epoch, they’d clashed with Silver Dragons over land. After humans united under the Alliance of Free Cities, Crimson Dragons—like all dragonkind—were hunted to extinction. As for Elvenfolk… legends said some survived the purge, but Oren couldn’t fathom their connection to Dysaia’s goal.
“Enough!” William clapped again. Ellen entered swiftly. “The Princess insisted you enroll together. Ask her your questions after admission.”
Ellen bowed toward Oren, gesturing toward the door. After a long pause, Oren sighed in resignation. As he stood, William added teasingly, “Ellen will take you to the exam hall. And if it pleases you—the Princess specifically requested you share a desk. Same class.”
“Is that so…” A faint smile touched Oren’s lips. “Well… experiencing academy life won’t hurt.”
“Heh. May you have a fine semester. I’ll see you at the opening ceremony.”
Oren bowed slightly and followed Ellen out. Minutes later, she led him to a nearby square already packed with people—most drawing lots.
“It’s barely dawn…”
Oren checked the sky. Just past six. Yet the square was a tide of bodies. Ellen handed him a slip of paper.
“Though mage numbers dwindle yearly, gathering all freshmen in one place still causes this.”
Oren took the paper.
“I drew your lot already. This number is your exam room. The bottom one is your partner’s meeting point.”
“Partner?”
“You’ll take the exam with a partner. We value cooperation among mages.”
Ellen bowed. “Good luck, Lord Oren. I return to Master William now.”
“Thanks.”
After parting ways, Oren pushed through the crowd. Finally spotting his room number—a small booth—he exhaled softly.
*Academy life, huh?*
*Not a bad way to spend some time.*
With that thought, Oren placed his hand on the doorknob with a big smile. As he pushed the door open, he said cheerfully,
"Hello, I'm Oren from Nivea. May I ask if you are..."
But before he could finish, he saw the scene ahead.
A black-haired girl faced him, lifting her clothes high up. On the table beside her, clothes were haphazardly piled.
Huh?
Just as Oren felt he'd seen this opening somewhere before, he suddenly noticed the girl's chest.
Breasts smaller than a six-year-old's.
...
"Ah, damn it..."
But as soon as Oren muttered that curse, the girl's familiar voice reached his ears.
"Why you again! Damn pervert!"
The next second, a fireball slammed hard into Oren's face.
