The morning sun cast a golden shimmer across the stone path as the carriage finally came to a halt. Before them stood the ancient structure known as The Gate—a magical transport station carved from obsidian-like stone, humming with faint arcane energy. Guarded by knights in silver armor and surrounded by stone pillars etched with runes, it served as the final checkpoint before reaching the most prestigious place of learning on the continent.
Just beyond the Gate lay the path to Velkaris, the capital of the human dominion. And though the city itself sat another twenty kilometers ahead, it was the nearby Imperial Academy that drew the attention of nobles and commoners alike. A place where destinies were forged.
Albert stepped down first and opened the carriage door. "This is where I leave you, my lady, young master."
Trafalgar jumped down and stretched his arms, his dark coat still stained faintly with the blood of days past. He looked at the imposing Gate with muted interest.
"Huh… fancy rock circle," he muttered.
Aubrelle stepped down beside him, her expression calm. "Are you finally realizing we've reached the place where your future begins?"
Trafalgar raised an eyebrow. "Now that I think about it… I didn't bring anything. No bags, no books, no weapons—nothing."
Aubrelle gave him a small smile. "Now you realize? Don't worry, the academy provides everything a student needs. Once you complete your registration, they'll assign you a class and dormitory. Your family, the Morgains, are known for their swordsmanship, so..."
"Don't worry about that," Trafalgar interrupted, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. "I know I'm the bastard of the house. We'll see what I get assigned."
Aubrelle looked at him, lips parting slightly, then closed her mouth and nodded.
The guards stepped aside as the runes lit up in sequence. The Gate began to pulse with radiant blue light.
"You ready?" she asked.
"Nope," Trafalgar replied.
The mana gate flashed once more—and in an instant, Trafalgar and Aubrelle found themselves standing at the North Terminal of Velkaris, the imperial capital. The air was crisp and charged with ambient mana, and the terminal was alive with the hum of arcane engines and the chatter of travelers arriving from all corners of the continent.
Dozens of stone pillars pulsed softly with blue runes, each acting as a stabilizer for long-range teleportation. Mana trains glided smoothly along rail lines that shimmered with enchantments, stretching into the distance toward the outer regions of the city.
A man in official gray-and-blue robes stood waiting on the platform, checking a list attached to a clipboard made of polished aetherwood. He had neatly combed black hair, brown eyes, and the calm bearing of a seasoned academy staff member.
When he spotted them, he stepped forward. "Aubrelle au Rosenthal," he said with a respectful nod. "Welcome to Velkaris. Right on schedule."
Aubrelle offered a soft smile. "Thank you, Julian."
Julian's gaze shifted to Trafalgar, appraising him quickly. "And this would be?"
"Trafalgar du Morgain," he said, stepping forward. "Apologies for the delay. I believe my father mentioned I'd be arriving late due to illness."
Julian checked the clipboard and nodded. "He did. A handwritten letter, no less. Quite the rarity from Lord Valttair."
"Sounds like him," Trafalgar muttered.
Julian glanced toward the nearby platform. "We'll take the academy rail. It's a short ride—twenty minutes to the campus outskirts. Once we arrive, I'll escort you to the entry evaluation chambers."
"Entry evaluation?" Trafalgar asked.
Julian nodded. "It determines your affinity and role: warrior, mage, summoner, or other categories. Your mana resonance will guide the assignment."
Trafalgar scratched the back of his neck. "Guess I'll find out what kind of bastard I really am, then."
Aubrelle sighed. "You could at least try to sound a little dignified."
Julian simply said. "This way, please."
Together, the three of them stepped onto the mana-powered train as it began to hum with energy. Blue veins of light coursed along the rails, and soft vibrations ran through the floor beneath their feet.
The doors slid shut with a hiss, and the train accelerated smoothly—gliding toward the outer edge of Velkaris and the legendary Imperial Academy that waited just beyond.
The mana-powered train slid to a stop at a grand station just outside the academy's perimeter. Unlike the city's architecture, which mixed marble and steel, the station here was forged from silverstone and veined with glowing runes that pulsed in sync with the train's mana core. A wide staircase led to an arched gate adorned with the emblem of the Imperial Academy: a crown overlaid on a sword and book, surrounded by twelve stars.
Trafalgar, Aubrelle, and Julian stepped off the train. The air here was crisper, infused with mana, and there was a strange sense of calm... like the land itself was watching.
Julian led them toward the gate, where several uniformed attendants awaited with tablets and enchanted quills. Students bustled in all directions—some in robes, others in military-style uniforms, many flanked by personal attendants or nobles.
"This is where we part for now," Julian said, turning to Trafalgar. "Aubrelle will proceed to her assigned wing. You, on the other hand, need to undergo your affinity and talent assessment."
Trafalgar glanced at Aubrelle. She stood poised, but he could see the flicker of concern in her eyes.
"Don't worry," he said "I'll only be gone for a few minutes."
Before she could reply, he leaned in and kissed her softly on the cheek.
Aubrelle blinked, then raised an eyebrow. "That's new. Are you planning to make a habit of this?"
"Maybe," Trafalgar replied without missing a beat. "You're my fiancée, right?"
Julian coughed softly, either out of politeness or discomfort—it was hard to tell. "Right. Let's move."
As Aubrelle was led away by another attendant, she looked over her shoulder. "Good luck, dear. Don't get lost."
"I won't," he called back.
Julian nodded toward the main hall. "This way. The testing chamber awaits."
Trafalgar's expression hardened slightly as he walked forward, away from Aubrelle, toward the unknown. Despite the weight of everything that had happened in the last week—his reawakening, the attack, the confrontation with Zaria—he felt strangely grounded.
"This is fine," he murmured to himself. "I need to learn how this world works... starting now."
The assessment hall was quieter than Trafalgar expected. The walls were curved and smooth, forged of obsidian-like stone that seemed to absorb sound. At the center of the chamber stood a pedestal with a large crystalline orb mounted upon it — the Crystal of Revelation.
Trafalgar followed Julian to the edge of the room, where a bored-looking instructor in grey robes waited. His hair was short, slightly tousled, and his eyes scanned Trafalgar like someone already unimpressed.
"You're the late arrival," the man said without introduction. "Trafalgar du Morgain, right?"
"That's me."
"Step forward. Place your right hand on the crystal. Channel mana into it. The orb will determine your class and your natural talent level."
Trafalgar scratched the back of his neck. "About that... I only awakened my mana core a few days ago. I don't actually know how to use mana yet."
The instructor blinked, then sighed deeply. "Seriously? A Morgain who can't channel mana?"
"Afraid so."
"Fine. Close your eyes. Picture your mana core—it should be in your chest, near your heart. Imagine pulling mana from it through your veins to your right arm. Once you feel a tingling, try to release it through your palm."
He raised his own hand, demonstrating. A faint glow extended from his fingers to the palm.
Trafalgar nodded, stepped forward, and did as told. His breathing slowed. He imagined the mana as a pulse, a current... He felt a warmth rise inside his chest, travel down his arm, and settle into his palm.
He placed his hand on the orb.
At first, it shimmered white. Then, suddenly, the light dimmed and shifted — black, then brilliant blue, then a deep, ominous midnight blue. The glow pulsed once, then held steady.
The instructor's eyes widened.
"That... that's—" He swallowed. "Give me a moment, please."
He rushed out of the chamber without another word.
Trafalgar stared at the glowing orb.
"So I'm... what exactly?"
A few minutes later, the instructor returned, accompanied by an old man with a beard that trailed to the floor, his white hair tied back with a silver clasp. His robe was decorated with arcane embroidery, and his eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"Hohoho... quite the color," the elder mused. "It's been a while since I saw the crystal react like that."
Trafalgar raised an eyebrow. "...Santa?"
The old man chuckled. "What? Who is that? I am Arthur von Strasburg, head of the Northern Tower of the Academy. And you, my boy, have been classified as a Spellblade — one of the rarer classes."
"Spellblade?" Trafalgar repeated.
"A fusion of swordsmanship and elemental magic," Arthur explained. "You will be trained in both paths. Now, regarding your talent score..."
Trafalgar stared at the glowing letter projected above the crystal — a faint F flickering in pale orange light. Around it, ethereal text shimmered for a moment before fading into silence.
"…F," he murmured.
Arthur von Strasburg took a slow breath, his expression unreadable.
"F-rank talent," the old mage finally said. "The lowest measurable level of potential."
The instructor beside him shifted awkwardly, clearly unsure of what to say. The contrast was strange — the rare class of a Spellblade, yet paired with the weakest known talent grade.
Arthur looked Trafalgar straight in the eyes. "Do you understand what this means?"
Trafalgar nodded slowly, hands at his sides. "I think so. I've received a rare class… but very little promise to grow with it."
Arthur studied him for a long moment, then nodded.
"Yes. Spellblades — or Astral Blades, as your path is labeled here — are exceptionally rare. A fusion of martial combat and elemental magic. Normally, they emerge in those with at least decent talent. But in your case…" He gestured to the crystal, which had dulled once more.
Trafalgar didn't flinch. He simply said, "That's fine."
Arthur raised a brow. "You're taking this rather well."
Trafalgar's voice was calm. "Well, if you had lived a life like mine it's nothing new."
The instructor seemed surprised by his composure. Arthur gave a small nod of approval.
"Well then… Let me give you the full picture." He straightened his robe. "As an Astral Blade, you possess dual affinity — elemental and physical. You'll be able to channel mana through your weapon and, with time, shape it according to your element. However, your F-rank talent means that growth will be slow. Painfully slow. Even basic improvements may take you longer than others."
Trafalgar remained still. His inner thoughts were steady:
'This is the best thing that could have happened to me, that the little crystal was wrong, with this I can discover the world little by little and continue to inform myself, I know I have SSS talent thanks to the system so it's perfect.'
Arthur glanced back at the instructor. "His official record will mark him as F-rank, as it should. No need to hide the truth."
The instructor nodded, still a bit surprised. "Understood."
Arthur then looked at Trafalgar once more. "Do not mistake my words for discouragement, boy. Some of the greatest names in history began with no talent. But they climbed, step by step, until the world had no choice but to acknowledge them. If you have the will… you may yet carve your own legend."
Trafalgar gave a short bow. "Thank you, Professor von Strasburg."
Arthur chuckled. "You're polite. That's rare too."
Trafalgar turned toward the door, then paused.
"One last thing…" Arthur added. "You have a brother here. Maeron du Morgain. He's in his second year. Strong and well-known."
"I remember," Trafalgar said simply. "It's been a long time since we spoke."
"Then perhaps you'll meet again soon," Arthur replied. "For now, a guide will show you to your room."
Trafalgar walked out of the examination chamber, his steps slow and thoughtful. The corridor outside was quiet, though the hum of mana from the train platform still lingered in the air. Waiting just ahead, leaning against the wall, was Aubrelle au Rosenthal.
She straightened the moment she saw him.
"Trafalgar!" Her eyes scanned his face with concern. "How did it go? What class did they assign you? What did the orb say?"
Trafalgar gave a faint smirk, tilting his head slightly.
"I'm a… Spellblade, apparently," he said, using the title Arthur had chosen. "A swordsman with access to elemental magic."
Aubrelle's face lit up. "That's a rare class! Very rare, in fact! That's amazing!"
He gave a small shrug.
"…My talent rank came out as F."
Her expression dropped.
"What?" she said, stepping closer. "That— that has to be a mistake. Those orbs can malfunction. Maybe it was damaged from before. We should ask for a retest. I'm sure if I speak with the administrator, they'll—"
"Aubrelle," he said, gently resting a hand on her shoulder. "It's fine."
"But—"
"I said it's fine," he repeated, this time softer. "If I'm at the bottom, I'll start from the bottom. That's not a problem for me."
Her lips parted, a protest forming—then closing again when she met his gaze. There was no shame in his eyes, no insecurity. Just calm, quiet determination.
He glanced out the window toward the academy grounds beyond the train platform.
"If anything, it might be better this way," he added.
Aubrelle looked at him, then let out a slow breath, a smile blooming through her worry.
"…You really have changed," she murmured.
Trafalgar gave a short nod.
"Maybe. But not everything has changed."
She tilted her head. "What hasn't?"
He looked at her—this time longer. "You're still at my side."