Evening had settled quietly over Velthia Academy, washing the marble halls in a soft orange hue as the last rays of sunlight filtered through the arched windows.

Somehow, lecturing Corwin during the morning break rewarded him +50 Plot Points.

‘Well, it's not like I’m complaining, the more Plot Points, the better. It could also mean I did the right thing. Who knows, Corwin might grow into someone better later.’

The chatter and bustle from the day’s orientation had finally faded, replaced by a calm that only came when the schedules were done, and most students had scattered back to their dormitories or study halls.

For Ruvian, this was the first real breath of the day.

He stepped through the archway leading into the third-year public training wing, the paper slip still folded neatly in his pocket.

The note wasn’t ordinary parchment; it was laced with mana-sensitive runes, allowing the sender and holder to communicate with a mere touch of mana essence.

[The sender: Leon Feyric]

[Third-year, Class E]

As he made his way into the training facility, the air became cooler, drier, laced with the scent of dust and faint smoke.

The Year 3 training public hall was wide and tall, with ceilings high enough to allow for vertical movement spells and flight practice. Lightstone sconces lined the walls, shone softly to life as the natural daylight faded.

There were still a few upper-year students scattered around, most in small groups or alone, each focused on their own training.

A pair of robed mages practiced sustained enchantments near the corner section. Further down, a student channeled flame through a reinforced control ring, carefully adjusting intensity.

‘Like how it was described, the facility wasn’t just a flat field. It was structured and segmented, designed to accommodate a wide variety of magical disciplines…’

One corner was reserved for casting stabilization drills, where new or unstable spells could be safely tested behind magic-sealed glass barriers. Thɪs chapter is updated by noveⅼfire.net

Another section hosted a kinetic dummy field. Row after row of reinforced training constructs that could simulate movement, impact, and even return fire.

There was also a meditative core chamber, built for deep channeling and mental attunement.

But Ruvian wasn’t here for any of that. He was looking for the combat grounds. Specifically, the shared magic dueling space near the rear of the facility.

His boots echoed against the polished stone floor as he passed through the central arch dividing the training zones.

The further he went, the quieter it got.

The combat area was less crowded than the others, and for good reason, third-years who could afford private rooms usually didn’t linger here. These were communal grounds, open space, split by gleaming partitions that marked individual lanes.

The dueling field itself was spacious.

An open floor marked by interlocking plates of dulled silverstone.

This was where most of the academy’s scholars trained, the ones without noble backing, who didn’t own a private booth in the upper tower wings.

Ruvian stepped into the third lane, where the paper had glowed stronger.

He glanced down at it, pressing two fingers against the rune-inked sentence. The paper gleamed faintly, and new words were written on the paper.

{You’re on time.}

Ruvian looked up. Across the lane, standing at ease with a form-fitting training suit clinging to his frame was Leon Feyric.

Their eyes met.

‘Oh, so this is what he looked like. I should have lowered my expectations.’

Ruvian nodded once, stepping fully into the lane.

…

Leon Feyric didn’t walk so much as he strolled.

“You actually came. I’m glad… Most first-years tend to back out once they realize I’m from Class E.”

He grinned, not boastful, but amused.

Ruvian offered a small nod in return, the same one he’d given the dorm warden and the dining hall staff earlier that day. Controlled, polite, and just enough to keep things from becoming social.

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“Of course, I figured I’d rather learn a few things than keep pretending I already know it.”

Leon blinked at that, then gave a short laugh.

“Oh, you’re honest. That’s rare. You’re going to survive here just fine.”

‘Did this guy just raise my death flag?’

Leon stepped forward into the lane, circling once before stopping across from him.

“So, what’s your name again? Ruvian, right?”

“Yes, Ruvian Castelor.”

“Leon Feyric,” the upperclassman replied, offering a hand with a casual gesture. Ruvian stared at it for a second too long, then took it.

The handshake was firm, not overly so.

‘I never realised he was this friendly and open. No subtle pressure too. He seems good with hiding his intentions… or he genuinely means this. Whatever.’

Leon, still smiling, released the handshake and gave a short exhale.

“Glad you reached out. Really. I don’t get many requests outside my department and definitely not from new admits.”

Leon’s expression shifted into something more focused as he stepped back toward the center of the lane. The easy air was still there, but undercut now with a purpose.

“I’ll be blunt,” he said.

“We’ve only got limited time. My slots are tight. So I’m going to keep things simple. I’ll train you based on how you move, how you think, and how you handle pressure. We’ll work on foundation first… mana control, movement casting, spell shaping, the real basics that this place expects you to already know.”

He held up a hand, ticking off fingers. “No fancy theory, no mana history, no meditation circles. Just straight-up practical casting.”

Ruvian didn’t interrupt. He absorbed the information, mentally sorting each category.

“Second, I’ll be tailoring spells based on your casting rhythm and mana flow. Every awakened has a natural style, even if you don’t see it yet. We find that style, build around it, and make sure you can cast something under pressure that won’t light your robes on fire.”

He paused.

“Do you wear robes?”

“N-no.” Ruvian replied.

“Smart. You’ll live longer.” Leon tilted his head.

“Any questions so far?”

‘Did he try to crack a joke just now?’

Ruvian opened his mouth to respond, then stopped. Because something suddenly came up in his view.

[System Alert]

[Due to the protagonist being out of your range, and you haven’t selected the replacement, your narrative relevance has dropped.]

[A new quest will be issued: Maintain narrative relevance.]

[Failure to do so will accelerate the onset of the Calamity.]

He exhaled slowly through his nose.

‘Somehow, I had seen this coming.’

The moment the message faded, another bloomed in its place, this time more elaborate.

—{NEW MAIN QUEST GENERATED}—

Quest: [Thread of Relevance]

Objective: Maintain narrative relevance.

Requirement: Unknown. Your actions must contribute meaningfully to the progression of the story’s central thread.

Reward: [+300 Plot Points]

Failure Penalty: Calamity Acceleration

Note: Current relevance level: Low

——————————————

Ruvian’s jaw remained steady, but the corners of his mind frayed.

‘Maintain narrative relevance?’

That was the entire instruction. The system didn't provide any guidance, no direction, not even a vague hint about what thread it meant.

‘What does that even mean? The narrative is no longer relevant due to the absence of the protagonist?’

He willed the system to elaborate, mentally focusing on the message but the result was the same, nothing.

‘So doing nothing gets me killed. Doing the wrong thing accelerates a calamity. And doing the right thing, whatever that is, rewards me with arbitrary points. Great!’

“—You alright?”

Leon’s voice snapped him out. Leon had tilted his head slightly, expression mild, not yet concerned but definitely watching.

“You spaced out for a second there.”

Ruvian’s face didn’t shift, but he gave a low exhale, grounding himself.

“I was thinking about… tuition hikes,” he said flatly.

Leon stared. “That’s what distracted you?”

‘Ah damn it, why did I come up with that excuse?’

“Well, they mentioned reallocating funding toward the arts course during orientation. It seemed like a misstep. Magic theory’s underfunded as it is.”

There was a long quiet.

Then Leon burst into laughter.

“You’re seriously something else, you know that?” he said, shaking his head.

“Everyone else is freaking out over combat rankings or trying to buy good artifacts, and you’re here worrying about administrative budgeting.”

‘Damn it, I mean… it's surely better than explaining I’ve been issued a vague death sentence by a sentient book interface.’

Leon stretched his arms slightly and then clapped his hands once, lightly.

“Alright. Let’s get to business. First question: What’s your affinity?”

“Wind,” Ruvian answered without hesitation.

Leon gave a nod.

“Nice. Not common, but versatile. Good movement potential, tricky for precision, but great with speed-based casting. Mine’s lightning, so we’re not totally aligned, but the basics of mana shaping apply either way.”

He stepped closer to the center of the lane and gestured for Ruvian to follow.

“Alright. Let me walk you through how spells actually work around here. The practical side, not the overcomplicated nonsense you get from first-year syllabus.”

Ruvian moved to stand opposite him, mind still tracking half a dozen spiraling thoughts in the background but outwardly composed.

Leon raised one finger.

“Spells are divided into tiers. Most people think tiers are about power. They’re not. They’re more than just that. Clarity. Control—how refined your casting is, how well your core responds to what you’re trying to do, and how cleanly your intent becomes reality.”

“But first, you need to know that there are 7 Tiers of Spellcore…”

Plot Points = 2450