The airship buzzed like a kicked hornet's nest, the Black Bear Gang's beatdown spreading through the corridors like wildfire. Apprentices whispered in huddled groups, their voices a mix of awe and glee. Ramsay, the terror of the ship, had been taken down by a scrawny peasant kid, Edwyn, the red-haired nobody who'd turned a Knight's squire into a groaning heap. The girls Ramsay had harassed outright cheered, their laughter echoing down the organic-metal halls, their patched clothes swaying as they danced in relief. Even the nobles, usually above peasant drama, traded hushed rumors, their fine tunics rustling as they leaned in to gossip.
But Edwyn? He didn't give a damn about the hype. He lounged in Room 225, sprawled in a rickety chair with his boots propped on the desk, his sharp blue eyes glinting as he recovered his mana. The room was a cramped cocoon of ink-stained parchment, glowing runes, and the faint hum of the airship's engines, its air thick with the scent of old wood and Elia's nervous energy. Across from him stood a gaggle of nobles, their polished boots and silk tunics screaming privilege, their faces a mix of curiosity and barely veiled disdain. Elia hovered by his side, her pale gold hair catching the crystal lamp's glow, her blue eyes wide as she recognized the group, heirs to the Goldengrove Kingdom's most powerful houses, names her merchant father would've groveled to meet.
Edwyn tilted his head, his grin sharp and unbothered, like a gunslinger sizing up a saloon full of amateurs. "Well, don't just stand there gawking," he drawled. "You gonna introduce yourselves, or are we playing 'Guess the Rich Kid'?"
The nobles shifted, their discomfort palpable in the cramped space. Elia's jaw tightened, her hands twisting in her tunic as she whispered, "Edwyn, these are-"
"Hold up, Goldilocks," Edwyn cut her off, winking. "Let's hear it from the big shots themselves. Who's got the guts to step up first?"
A tall, handsome brown-haired man stepped forward, his green eyes calm but calculating, his tailored tunic embossed with subtle silver threads. He took the chair across from Edwyn, sitting with the grace of someone used to commanding rooms. "I'm Kevan Medici," he said, his voice smooth as velvet. "I'm here to invite you to join our alliance."
Elia gasped, her voice escaping before she could stop it. "The House of Medici?!" Her freckled face flushed, her eyes wide with awe. The Medicis were legends in the Goldengrove Kingdom, a family that had clawed their way from humble merchants to lords controlling a quarter of the kingdom's lands, their fiefs and vassals a sprawling business empire. Their rise was a bedtime story for traders like her father, a tale of cunning and ambition.
Edwyn rested his chin on his hand, his grin lazy and unimpressed, like Kevan had just offered him a half-eaten sandwich.
"Sounds like a big deal," he said, his tone dry as dust.
Fancy titles, huh? Out here, it's strength or nothing. Pass the exam, live. Fail, die. No crown's saving you from that.
Kevan's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. Elia's reaction was expected, most peasants would've groveled at the Medici name, but Edwyn's indifference was… unnerving. Frustrating, yet oddly admirable. This kid had shaken off a lifetime of bowing to nobles like it was nothing. Kevan leaned forward, his smile softening, a rare hint of humility in his voice. "In the Goldengrove Kingdom, House Medici is a titan. But compared to Mages?" He chuckled, spreading his hands. "We're just a bunch of well-dressed mortals, scrambling to keep up."
Edwyn's grin widened, a spark of respect in his blue eyes. "Now that's a line I can get behind, Kevan. You get it." He leaned back, folding his arms, his tone shifting to business, all banter gone. "So, what's your alliance packing? What's my role if I sign up? And what's in it for me? Spill the goods."
Kevan blinked, caught off guard by the directness. Nobles danced around deals with flattery and veiled promises, not this blunt, no-nonsense cut. He opened his mouth to respond, but a sneering voice cut him off from the back of the group.
"You peasant, er, Edwyn," a fat, red-haired noble said, his greasy face twisting into a forced smile that didn't hide his disdain. "You should think long-term, boy. Joining us is a golden ticket. Our alliance is all nobles, pure bluebloods. Stick with us, and you'll be as good as one of us."
Kevan winced, his jaw tightening. Here comes the disaster. He knew Edwyn didn't give a rat's ass about nobility, the Medici name had barely made him blink. Offering him a noble's status was like offering a wolf a leash.
Sure enough, Edwyn threw his head back and laughed, a loud, mocking bark that echoed in the tiny room. "Ha! Kevan, you hear this guy?" he said, wiping a fake tear from his eye. "What a generous offer your grunt's dishing out!" His grin turned scathing as he swept his gaze over the nobles, their thinly veiled contempt seeping through like rot. "You lot act all civil, but I can smell the snobbery from here. Kevan's the only one even trying to play nice."
The red-haired noble, Balian of House Bracken, judging by his puffed-up chest, flushed, his jowls quivering with indignation. "I must correct you," he said, his voice dripping with self-importance. "I am from House Bracken, and not even House Medici can call me a mere follower." He straightened, clearly expecting his name to carry weight, oblivious to how ridiculous he sounded.
Edwyn's grin sharpened, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh, Bracken, huh? Real high roller. Tell me, Balian, do you practice that speech in front of a mirror, or does it just come naturally?" He leaned forward, his tone mocking. "Newsflash, pal: your fancy title's worth squat out here. You're not offering me a deal, you're insulting me."
Kevan clenched his teeth, his diplomatic smile straining. You can fight a worthy enemy, but an idiot teammate's a death sentence. Balian's blunder had just torched the negotiation, and the other nobles' smug nods weren't helping. He shot Balian a glare that could've frozen a dragon. "I swear on my House, Balian, if you open your mouth again, I'll throw you off this airship myself."
Balian's face turned beet red, his lips parting to argue, but Kevan's icy stare shut him up. The other nobles shifted, their discomfort growing as the room's air thickened with tension. Kevan turned back to Edwyn, his smile returning, though it carried a hint of strain. "Don't mind him," he said, his voice smooth again. "Balian's a newly minted noble, barely a generation out of the pigsty. He's drunk on his own status. But not everyone in our group's like that."
He leaned in, his tone conspiratorial, like he was sharing a secret over a tavern table. "Our alliance is stacked: one full Knight, two Apprentices from Mage Bloodlines, and five Knight Squires. I don't know how other airships are faring, but we're confident we'll crush the exam." He paused, his eyes gleaming with a trump card. "We even have a descendant of a Legendary Knight."
Edwyn's eyebrow shot up, his grin turning curious. He'd heard the tales, seven Legendary Knights, descended from the realm of gods, founding the Seven Kingdoms in an age of monsters. Each wielded mythic powers: bones harder than steel, breath like dragonfire, forms that shifted to beasts, skin that laughed at blades. "Let me guess," he said, his tone playful but probing. "Those Legendary Knights were Mage spawn, right? Some arcane bloodline trick?"
Kevan chuckled, winking like a card shark. "Not quite, but you're almost there. It's… classified. Join us, and you'll get the full scoop."
Edwyn tilted his head, his eyes scanning Kevan, then the nobles behind him, Balian's scowl, the others' barely hidden sneers, then back to Kevan. His grin faded, replaced by a calculating smirk. "Alright, Kevan, one question. Answer it right, and I'll consider your deal."
Kevan leaned forward, his green eyes locked on Edwyn's. "Name it."
"That Knight and those two Apprentices, why are they in your alliance?" Edwyn's voice was steady, his gaze piercing. "No offense, but your group's a mess. The Knight and Apprentices sound like the muscle, but the rest of you? Dead weight. What's the glue holding this together? What's your real edge?"
The room went still, the nobles' faces tightening at the bluntness. Kevan's smile flickered, a spark of respect in his eyes. Edwyn had cut through the posturing, zeroing in on the alliance's core. "That's easy," Kevan began, his tone confident. "Most of us own-"
"Kevan!" A sharp voice cut him off, dripping with authority. A noblewoman in a flowing purple gown stepped forward, her raven hair pinned with silver, her eyes cold as a winter storm. In the Goldengrove Kingdom, purple was reserved for the highest ranks, her family had at least one Duke, maybe more. "Mind your tongue," she hissed, her gaze flicking to Edwyn like he was a bug.
Edwyn sighed, shaking his head with a wry grin. "And there it is," he said, standing and brushing off his tunic like he was done with a bad meal. "Should've known better than to expect straight talk from nobles. You lot can hit the road now. Door's that way."
The finality in his tone was like a slammed gate. Kevan's shoulders slumped slightly, recognizing the lost chance, but he didn't push. He offered a polite handshake, his grip firm but respectful. "Fair enough," he said, his voice low. "Good luck, Edwyn." As their hands met, a slip of paper passed between them, hidden from the others. Kevan led the nobles out, Balian muttering under his breath as the door clicked shut.
Elia turned to Edwyn, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Edwyn, you just… blew off the Medici? And a Duke's daughter? Are you insane?"
Edwyn plopped back into his chair, his grin sharp and reckless. "Nah, Goldilocks, I'm just allergic to bullshit. Kevan's alright, but the rest? They'd stab me in the back the second I turned around." He opened his palm, revealing the note written in Magus Language. "This guy, though? He's got brains."
Elia leaned closer, her voice a whisper. "What's it say?"
Edwyn smirked, tucking the note into his pocket. "Let's just say Kevan's playing chess while the others are stuck on checkers. I'll fill you in later, don't want you getting too jealous of my new pen pal."
Thirty minutes later, the airship's hum shifted, its engines roaring back to life as maintenance wrapped up. The glowing runes on the walls flared, casting eerie shadows as Apprentices shuffled back to their cabins, the corridors alive with whispers of Edwyn's fight. Room 225 felt smaller than ever, its air heavy with the weight of what lay ahead.
Edwyn sat cross-legged on his bunk, his mind replaying the battle with Ramsay. Eight Magic Missiles had drained half his mana, meaning he could fire about fifteen total before tapping out. The book called the spell weak, a mana-wasting trick no proper Mage would rely on, but to Edwyn, it hit like a .45 slug, hard, fast, and brutal. Fifteen bullets, huh? he thought, his grin sharpening. As long as I don't get jumped or swarmed, I'm walking out of that exam a winner.
He pulled out Kevan's note, its Magus Language script glowing faintly in the dim light. The deal was simple: one Mana Stone if Edwyn spared Kevan during the exam, payment due after enrollment. No action required, just don't kill him. "Merchants, man," Edwyn muttered, his grin wry. "Always got an angle. Kevan's buying insurance, and I get a free pass to cash in later. Win-win."
Elia watched him, her expression a mix of awe and worry. "You're really not fazed by any of this, are you? The nobles, the exam, Ramsay…"
Edwyn leaned back, his hands behind his head. "Goldilocks, I've been dodging fists since I got here. This world's a jungle. Stick with me, and we'll carve our way through."
Ten days later, the airship's hum deepened, its massive frame shuddering as it began its descent. Edwyn stood by the room's tiny porthole, peering out at a jagged horizon dominated by a towering black spires that pierced the clouds like a blade. The Black Tower Magus Academy loomed, its obsidian surface glinting with arcane runes that pulsed like a heartbeat, its base shrouded in mist that swirled with unnatural shapes. The airship's engines roared, the organic-metal hull groaning as it angled toward a vast landing platform carved into the tower's foothills.
At the ship's helm, Arch-Mage Elenei stood like a colossus, her muscular frame dwarfing the control runes glowing beneath her feet. Her door-sized greatsword rested against the wall, its runes flickering with dormant power. Her gray eyes locked on the tower, her voice a thunderous command that echoed through the ship. "Prepare for landing!"