CHAPTER 65: CHAPTER 65

The dining hall of Etherlight Academy was usually filled with clattering spoons, steaming trays, and students pretending to eat vegetables. But today, it echoed with something else—existential dread.

"Shit!" groaned a student from Class D, dramatically dropping his half-eaten bread onto the plate. "I got a back in Non-Elemental Magic Theory! This is the end of me. Tell me—what’s the cost of a carry-over paper form?"

His friend sitting beside him, who looked just as dead inside, sighed. "How should I know? I’ve got two backs—one in History of the World and the other in Monster Knowledge. Even I’m hunting for answers. But you know what I heard? My senior told me the price of a COP form is, like, 500 Achievement points!"

The Class D student nearly choked on his misery. "FIVE HUNDRED AP?! Bro, I can’t even afford extra sauce with my noodles, how am I supposed to pay that?"

From the corner, a smug voice cut in. A student from Class A, looking annoyingly fresh and unbothered, smirked at them. "Pathetic. Who told you idiots to binge an entire thirty-episode web series one day before the exam?"

The Class D duo looked at each other, then at him. "...You finished it too, didn’t you?"

The Class A guy’s face twitched. "That’s not the point!"

Groans spread around the table. "Man, I regret not pulling an all-nighter," one mumbled. "Now I’ll have to wrestle with these carry-overs. It’s such a hassle clearing them!"

At that moment, a loud announcement echoed magically through the hall:

"Attention, students! The theory exams for the second semester have officially ended. Practical exams will be held one month from now. Remember—practicals contribute sixty percent of your overall grade. Minimum passing score in every subject is thirty-five percent. Good luck."

The message faded. The entire hall froze.

One student whispered, "...Sixty percent?"

Another slammed his head on the table. "BRO, I can’t even lift a spoon properly, how am I supposed to lift a mana-forged battle axe?"

Someone else wailed from across the room, "WHY DID I TAKE A MAJOR IN MONSTER KNOWLEDGE?!"

The dining hall turned into a symphony of despair, while the cafeteria lady continued serving stew as if she hadn’t seen this happen every single semester.

In one corner of the first-year dining hall, Daelen sat with a red-haired girl, Lyria. They were so lost in conversation that neither noticed the ambush coming.

"Daelen!"

A pair of arms suddenly wrapped around him from behind.

The boy nearly jumped out of his chair. "Lisa?! What are you doing?"

Lisa, her green hair brushing against his shoulder, grinned. "I’m hugging you, idiot."

Lyria’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "Hugging my boyfriend. Right in front of me. You’ve got some nerve."

Lisa blinked innocently. "Oh, sorry, Lyria. But Daelen’s been my best friend since childhood, so..."

Before Lisa could finish, Lyria shoved herself between them. "No more hugging! I’m a very possessive girlfriend. I can’t let any girl near him. And you, Daelen—"

Daelen quickly raised his hands in surrender, smiling awkwardly. "Alright, alright. I’m sorry. Lisa, don’t hug me in front of her."

Lisa tilted her head with a mischievous smile. "So... I can hug you when she’s not around?"

Daelen smirked. "If that’s what you want."

Lyria’s jaw dropped. "You—!"

Before she could explode, Daelen pinched her waist. "Relax, babe. I’m joking." He stood, wrapped his arms around her, and planted a quick kiss on her cheek.

(Author’s note: What a shameless bastard.)

Just then, another voice cut in, full of mockery. "Well, well, well... playing harem games in broad daylight, huh?"

Marcus strolled up with Evelyne beside him, a grin on his face.

Daelen glared. "Say that again and I’ll rip your tongue out."

Marcus raised his hands, laughing. "Whoa, my baby boy’s offended. But really, what’s wrong with having a harem? You’ll end up with plenty of girls anyway."

"Hey!" Evelyne jabbed her elbow into his stomach.

Marcus winced but kept laughing, especially when he saw Lyria glaring daggers at Daelen. "Relax, relax—it’s just a joke. I know Daelen. He’s a one-woman man." He paused, then added with a wicked grin, "But whether that woman is Lyria... or Lisa... that’s still up for debate!"

Lyria’s eyes blazed. Evelyne smacked Marcus on the back of the head. "Enough already!"

"Okay, okay, I’m sorry!" Marcus grabbed his ear in mock punishment. Lyria ignored him completely, still fuming.

Daelen sighed, shaking his head. "So, what are you two planning to do during the break? Staying on campus?"

Marcus shrugged. "Haven’t decided yet."

Daelen turned to the girls. "What about you?"

Evelyne spoke first. "We’re going to train with Professor Kael. He agreed to teach us for a month."

Lyria nodded. "Yeah, it’s strange. For the past two months, Professor Kael’s completely changed. He’s been teaching actively in class. I even heard he was tutoring Ezra personally. When I asked if we could join, he said yes—so long as we pay tuition fees."

At the mention of that name, Daelen’s expression hardened. "Ezra... what’s he been up to lately?"

Marcus looked away. "Don’t ask me. We barely talk anymore."

The truth weighed heavier than his words. Marcus and Ezra had once been close—almost like brothers. But ever since the second semester started, Ezra had distanced himself. Marcus had even challenged him to private duels, but Ezra simply ignored them. His pride couldn’t take it, so he stopped trying.

Evelyne broke the silence. "Well, I don’t know much either, but I heard he scored really high in the theory exams. Not just him—Dravis, Renji, Xavier, all of them did well."

The table grew quiet.

Daelen didn’t respond. Marcus didn’t either.

Ezra had become... complicated. To most students, he was just another Rank 3. But to them, he was something else entirely. They had seen enough to know that what Ezra showed in public was only the tip of the iceberg.

And Dravis—after fighting alongside him—had grown frighteningly strong as well. Beating him used to be possible. Now, it was almost impossible.

Whenever Ezra’s name came up, the laughter always died.

Lisa leaned forward with a cheerful smile. "So, Daelen, why don’t we go east? I heard there’s going to be a big auction there. A mysterious item is supposed to appear! They say it’s a joint auction between the Silverleaf Merchant Guild of the elves and Harrington & Co., the most influential human merchant house."

Daelen hummed, thoughtful. "Hmm—"

But before he could finish, a glowing screen suddenly appeared in front of him, invisible to the others.

[SYSTEM STATUS – ACTIVE]

Name: Daelen Voncrest

Age: 18

Body Host: Former Villain – Possessed

Soul Origin: Earth – Daniel Ansel, Age 22

Class: Magic Swordsman

Core Rank: S-Rank

Realm: Peak Rank 3

Disciple of: Sword Saintess

STATS:

• Stamina: 45

• Agility: 46

• Strength: 43

• Endurance: 44

• Intelligence: 41

• Mana: 49

• Swordsmanship: Advanced Master – Full

• Magic Mastery (Intermediate Spells): Full

Traits: Fire Affinity, Wind Affinity

MAIN MISSION: Prevent the destruction of this world.

• Reward: [Unknown]

• Failure Penalty: Eternal soul banishment into the Void.

SIDE MISSION: Attend the Eastern Auction and investigate the mysterious item—or prevent a plot against you.

• Reward: Rank Advancement Pill

• Failure: System shutdown for one year.

WARNING: An anomaly has appeared.

You have three choices:

Kill the anomaly.

• Reward: Rank 10 Artifact

Befriend the anomaly.

• Reward: Rank 9 Artifact

Observe and decide later.

• No immediate reward.

Daelen’s eyes flickered, but his expression stayed calm.

Lisa planning against me? No... she’s not the type. Someone else must be setting this up. A trap to lure me out, maybe even kill me.

He clenched his fist under the table. Well, it doesn’t matter. I have no choice—if I don’t complete the mission, the system will shut down for a year. I still haven’t chosen which option to take... best to wait until the final exam. If nothing happens, I’ll go with the third choice.

The screen faded.

Daelen looked up, smiling faintly. "Alright then. Let’s go. Marcus, want to come with me?"

Marcus grinned. "Sure, why not?"

________________

The rented training ground was silent except for the scraping of metal and the crunch of sand beneath hurried footsteps.

A wooden dummy stood at the far end—though calling it a dummy was misleading. This one was crafted with gears, pulleys, and rune-less mechanisms that allowed it to mimic the strikes of a real opponent. At the pull of a lever, its limbs whirred, a longsword flashing forward with frightening precision.

Across from it, Ezra stood blindfolded. Heavy suppression bracelets weighed down his wrists and ankles, dulling both his mana flow and his raw strength. His grip on the steel practice sword was relaxed, almost casual.

The dummy lunged.

Ezra tilted his head slightly, body unmoving until the very last second. The blade sliced toward his ribs—he pivoted, letting the air sing against his shirt, and tapped the dummy’s wrist with a precise parry. The strike carried no force, only the exact redirection needed to shift the weapon half an inch wide.

The dummy’s other arm shot forward in a stabbing thrust. Ezra stepped into it instead of away, his sword sliding down like water, smacking the edge of the strike aside with the flat of his blade. His left foot stamped forward, pressing close enough that the tip of the dummy’s weapon brushed his shoulder harmlessly.

The gears whirred. The dummy twisted its torso unnaturally and swung low for his legs.

Ezra’s knees bent. He let his sword hang, tip down, and with a flick of his wrist cut across in a shallow arc. Metal met wood with a sharp clack, redirecting the sweep into the ground. Sand scattered. Ezra spun off his back foot, a clean half-turn, and his blade stopped an inch from the dummy’s neck.

But the mechanism didn’t stop. The dummy’s elbow slammed backward toward his chest.

Ezra exhaled. He leaned slightly, sword vertical. The elbow scraped harmlessly down the flat of his blade. Using the recoil, he twisted the weapon, hooked it under the dummy’s arm, and in one motion threw the entire construct off balance.

The dummy crashed onto the sand, gears clattering.

Ezra didn’t strike the finishing blow. Instead, he stepped back, blindfold still on, and reset his stance.

A click sounded from the control panel. The dummy righted itself, its mechanism reloaded, and it came at him again.

This time its swings were faster, more erratic. A thrust to his throat. A sudden feint to his side. A slash from above.

Ezra’s movements never grew flashy. Every motion was small, efficient—turning the wrist an inch, sliding the foot half a step, tilting his blade by the narrowest margin. His sword rang against the dummy’s again and again, a rhythm of soft clacks, no wasted strength, no heavy swings.

Blindfolded, suppressed, and handicapped, Ezra fought as if he were teaching the dummy its own limits.

When the last strike came—a desperate overhead chop—he raised his sword with a single arm and stopped it dead. The air trembled with the sudden halt.

Ezra pushed the blade aside, calm as still water.

"Too predictable," he muttered, as though the machine had ears to hear him.