Kael awoke to the distant sound of voices downstairs and the rhythmic clinking of glasses against wood. The orange light of late afternoon streamed through the small window in his room, casting slanted shadows on the walls. For a moment, he simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts spinning slowly like leaves in the wind.

It didn't take long for the weight of the previous day to press down on his shoulders again.

"Experience," said Raven. "Survival," thought Kael. Deep down, he knew his mother wouldn't leave him there for nothing. Everything had a reason, an intention. And the only way to find out was... to move forward.

With a sigh, he got up, picked up the sword still wrapped in cloth, and went downstairs.

The bar was less crowded, but the atmosphere maintained its constant energy—a mixture of magic floating in the air, smoke from mysterious herbs, and the atmosphere charged with people who had seen more blood than poetry. Raven was behind the counter, as always, fiddling with glass bottles containing shiny liquids. When she saw him come down, she raised an eyebrow.

"Had enough sleep, fallen prince?"

Kael muttered something unintelligible and pulled up a stool at the bar. "I woke up. That's a start."

"That's debatable." She slid him a glass of water, then a piece of bread with cheese. "Eat something. You'll need the energy."

Kael didn't argue. He was hungry, and although he didn't trust the bar's ingredients one hundred percent, his stomach wasn't in a position to be picky.

Raven disappeared behind the counter for a moment and returned with a map. She unfolded it on the counter, and the paper revealed a richly detailed image—the layout of the city of Arvalen. Circular streets, floating towers, movable bridges, and clearly defined sectors.

She pointed to a spot further south, where a colossal structure stood out with a more elaborate design.

"Here," said Raven. "The 'League of Freedom.' That's where you're going tomorrow."

Kael looked closely at the location on the map. The building was circular, looking almost like a coliseum mixed with a castle. Large walls, towers with flags of various colors and symbols, and the coat of arms in the center: an eagle with outstretched wings holding a crossed sword and staff.

"Freedom League? Sounds... dramatic."

"It is," she confirmed with a smile. "An association of adventurer guilds. They exist on every continent, but the headquarters here is one of the largest in the world. They provide support, missions, temporary accommodation, trainers, and connections. If you want to start a career, this is the place to be."

"And what do I need to do?"

"Arrive early. Go to the reception desk and say you want to register. They'll ask you for some information about yourself—nothing too complicated—and then they'll give you a test. Something simple. A practical assessment, usually against a summoned monster or training against an instructor. Just to make sure you won't die on your first mission."

Kael frowned. "What if I want to register as a swordsman?"

Raven stared at him for a moment. Then she shook her head slowly.

"You're not going to register as a swordsman. You're going to register as a mage."

Kael's eyes widened, frowning suspiciously.

"Mage? Why? I barely cast spells. Most of my magic is instinctive and... connected to my system."

"Exactly," she said, resting her arms on the counter. "You're a magical swordsman. Your power doesn't come from brute force. It comes from control, from manipulating the energy around you, from absorption. And technically, all of that is magic. You just don't know how to use it with the formality of a mage. Yet."

Kael crossed his arms. "That still doesn't seem like a good reason to lie about who I am."

"It's not a lie. It's... strategy," she replied with a crooked smile. "Mages have access to the Magic Tower of the Central Continent. One of the most restricted centers of knowledge in the world. Only registered mages can even enter the outer gate. And for you, starting from scratch, having that access could be crucial."

"And what are the chances of me actually getting to the Tower?"

Raven shrugged. "Slim. But not nonexistent. And with your blood..."

"Here it comes."

"...being the grandson of the Witch Queen, one of the most influential entities in modern magic, you're already halfway there."

Kael snorted.

"I never knew my grandmother. And as far as I know, she tried to sacrifice my mother when she was a child."

"An irrelevant detail in the political game," Raven replied casually. "Her name still carries weight. And, by extension, yours. Wizards like hierarchy, tradition, and... pedigree. If you want to climb the highest rungs of the world, being a wizard will be much more advantageous than being a swordsman among thousands."

Kael remained silent, staring at the map.

"Won't that limit me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Labeling me as a mage... Won't that get in my way? What if I want to follow another path in the future?"

Raven tilted his head, his red eyes weighing each of his words.

"Look, Kael... the world doesn't care what you are. It cares what you appear to be. Mage, swordsman, soul hunter, dark assassin... the titles change. But the gates don't open for just anyone. If you want access to certain doors, you need the right key. And right now, the key is being a mage."

Kael rubbed his face with his hands, thoughtful.

"You're not telling me everything, are you?"

Raven smiled, stepping back.

"I never tell everything. But I tell enough. And believe me, if it were the other way around, if you tried to go on as an ordinary warrior... you would have a much harder time. Swordsmen are disposable. Mages are not. They are valuable. Influential. And dangerous. The bureaucracy of the world favors those who manipulate arcane energy, not those who wield swords."

Kael was silent, absorbing the words. The idea of following a magical path was not completely foreign to him—his system already made him something beyond the physical. But the concept of entering the political and strategic game of magic? That was another level.

"All right..." he said, finally. "I'll register as a mage. But only because I want to see how far this charade will take me."

"Good boy," Raven smiled. "Arrive early. Before eight. The line is shorter, and the instructors are still in a good mood. Bring your sword, but don't use it during the test unless you have to. Try to demonstrate mana control. Anything basic will do."

Kael nodded, his thoughts already running through possibilities, scenarios, and failures.

"What if it all goes wrong?"

"Then you come back here. I'll get you a job as a waiter until you relearn how to conjugate verbs."

"Great. My fate: washing magic cups until the gods tire of me."

"Look on the bright side. The cups here wash themselves," she winked. "But they scream when they don't like someone."

Kael snorted with laughter for the first time in days.

The sky was still painted in cool shades of blue and gray when he left the bar. The morning mist crept through the streets of Arvalen like a veil of dreams that didn't want to end, enveloping the buildings in soft silhouettes. The air was fresh, with a slight smell of wet earth and night flowers.

Kael wore a simple dark tunic, his hood down. The sword was still strapped to his back, well hidden by a worn cloak. His grimoire—now a fundamental artifact—was tied to his belt, secured by leather straps. It felt strange to be out alone. Until then, someone had always guided him. Now, there were no more tracks. Only the path ahead.

Following the map Raven had shown him, he crossed enchanted stone bridges, passed crystal-clear waterways where magical gondolas moved on their own, and crossed small squares where merchants were beginning to set up their floating stalls.

To the south, the Freedom League building rose like a wall against the sky.

It was even more imposing in person. A colossus of white stone and enchanted steel, with columns adorned with arcane symbols, guild crests, and stained glass windows depicting ancient heroes. The flags fluttered high, reflecting the first rays of sunlight, and the central crest—the eagle holding the staff and sword—seemed to stare directly at Kael.

He took a deep breath and walked through the main gates.

The interior was controlled chaos.

Hundreds of adventurers roamed the wide corridors—some laughing loudly, others discussing contracts, others just watching with the eyes of experienced predators. There were equipment stands, enchanted mission boards floating on the walls, and training rooms with half-open doors from which muffled magical explosions could be heard.

Kael followed the signs that read "Newcomer Reception."

The hall was spacious, with black marble floors and crystal pillars. The line wasn't long, but everyone there seemed tense—young aspirants holding grimoires, swords, bows, or relics, waiting for their turn. A large magic board projected the instructions above the reception desk:

"Welcome to the Freedom League. Beginners must register and undergo a practical assessment. Choose your Primary Class."

When his turn came, he was attended to by a woman with silver hair tied back in a bun and enchanted hexagonal glasses. Her gaze seemed to pierce through any disguise.

"Name?"

"Kael."

"Last name?"

Kael hesitated for a moment.

"... Just Kael."

She didn't question it. She just wrote something on a floating clipboard.

"Age?"

"twenty one."

"Race?"

"Human."

"Class?"

Kael took a deep breath.

"Mage."