Five months after Charles left Ipoli, summer had already faded across the Western Continent.

The Great Darksend Region, where Ipoli lay, should have slipped into a crisp autumn. But the City of Glory, perched on the continent’s southern coast, still clung to the last embers of summer heat.

The Divine Academy under the Eternal Church had officially opened its doors. Top students from every nation flocked here, seeking the Church’s grace to bathe in holy light and sharpen their minds.

And the legendary Sword Saint, Lord Aether Monroe, had finally reappeared.

Clad in that same imposing plate armor. Wearing that same stern, unsmiling face.

He lightly tapped on the mansion’s door—like a nervous guest, not a warrior of his stature.

By the time the flustered maid rushed to announce him, Charles had just finished writing a letter inside. He stepped out to greet his visitor.

“How are you both adjusting?” Monroe asked. “Any discomfort?”

“None at all. We’re deeply grateful for your generosity, Lord Monroe. But I have some questions—”

“I’ll explain later. For now, fetch Miss Hilna. We’re heading to the Academy for enrollment.” He turned smoothly, gesturing toward the street.

Behind him stood an elegant black carriage—custom-built for his massive frame, wider and roomier than standard models. Two snow-white stallions pawed the ground before it, harnessed to a vehicle guarded by a stoic driver in impeccable livery.

“Please, step inside.” Monroe opened the door.

The warded carriage maintained perfect temperature and humidity. Sinking into the plush armchairs felt like royal treatment.

Hilna sat stiffly. This was her first time in such a luxurious, smooth-riding carriage—and facing the Church’s Sword Saint, a living legend, only deepened her unease. She worried her new black dress drew too much attention.

Charles, however, studied Monroe himself.

The man hadn’t removed his armor even for travel. Hunched in the cabin, his armored bulk seemed to fill the entire space. When he lowered his gaze to Charles, the sheer pressure felt like an elephant staring down an ant.

The suffocating silence forced Charles to speak.

“Lord Monroe, uh, I—”

Monroe cut him off. “Charles. I’ll skip formal titles—not just for Hilna, but for you too. You should enroll at the Academy.”

“Your talent and age won’t make you a priority student. But if you aim to become a Holy Knight, Papal Guard, or serve some noble lord… an Academy education is essential. So are recommendation letters from high-ranking figures. You know how it is—without connections, even geniuses gather dust.” He paused. “I can secure those for you. I’ll ensure you’re recognized. You’ll become someone remarkable.”

His gauntleted hand rose slowly, landing with deliberate gentleness on Charles’s shoulder.

But the gesture was stiff. His face remained an emotionless mask. His tone flat, like a child reciting lines he didn’t believe.

Like an honest man forced to flatter.

It made everyone uncomfortable.

Charles mumbled assurances—promises to study hard, gratitude for Monroe’s guidance.

Even the Sword Saint seemed to sense his own awkwardness. Both men turned to stare out the window.

Along the smooth road, patrolling knights and robed clerics paused to bow as Monroe’s carriage sped past. Everywhere Charles looked, heads dipped in reverence.

Before he could puzzle over it, they’d arrived at the gates of the most sacred, majestic, venerable… well, no praise felt sufficient for this ancient Divine Academy.

In truth, the City of Glory’s academy was modest.

Cramped by historic landmarks and lavish estates, it enrolled only five or six hundred students yearly. Its buildings were few: a library, classrooms, equipment sheds, sparse dormitories, a tiny cafeteria, a council hall, and a humble chapel for prayers.

Some dorms even had crumbling mud-brick walls and creaking wooden beds—deliberately preserved to “temper students’ spirits.”

But this was the HolySee’s academy. Its professors were bishops at minimum. The Pope and Holy Abbess lectured here regularly. Eighty percent of Cardinal Bishops and ninety percent of past Popes had walked these halls. Devout believers paid fortunes just to sit in its plain classrooms, soaking in wisdom.

As Aether Monroe approached the gates with Charles and Hilna, a waiting priest instantly recognized him and hurried forward.

Students queued for enrollment checks stretched far down the street. Charles sighed inwardly—*even in another world, bureaucracy moves at a snail’s pace*.

The crowd’s whispers sharpened. They knew the towering warrior was the Sword Saint himself. And the blue-haired girl trailing him? That must be Hilna—the prodigy who’d shaken the entire HolySee.

Envious, resentful, curious stares pierced Hilna like blades. She shrank behind Charles, clutching his arm for shelter.

Instinctively, Charles shielded her, scanning the onlookers. Most flinched from his glare, mistaking him for a fierce guardian. Only a few held his gaze.

Monroe saw it all. He waved a hand.

“Open the side gate. No registration needed.”

A ripple of envy spread through the waiting students.

“Hilna’s talent exempts her from formalities,” Monroe stated. “Follow me.”

With a figure of his influence, red tape vanished. They bypassed every tedious step, stepping straight into Academy life.

Aether Monroe… Charles couldn’t explain why, but he sensed familiarity in the man. A hidden gentleness. *He’s like me*, Charles realized. Whatever his motives, malice didn’t feel like part of them.