Sure, he might have refused to stay in the dormitory, preferring the freedom of his own ho and the company of Claire and Nora, but the academy had long considered him one of their most promising elite students.
A student like him could never be allowed to appear reckless or indifferent to the standards imposed upon their rank.
This was also why so of the other elite students were quietly enraged when they discovered he had chosen to live in the village instead of the dormitory.
In their eyes, an elite residing among commoners was a stain on the prestigious badge of the academy—a symbol of carelessness and improper behavior.
It would have been less offensive if he lived in the city, blending with other high-ranking elites or aristocrats, but here in the village, amidst ordinary folk, his presence challenged their rigid definitions of status.
Damien, however, didn’t care for their petty opinions. With steady steps, he approached the chariot.
The driver sitting at the front noticed him and imdiately bowed lightly, a gesture of both respect and professional courtesy.
"Good morning, sir," the driver said, his voice formal but not lacking warmth.
Damien’s eyes scanned him carefully.
This was a different person from the driver who had picked him up last ti.
Unlike the previous one, this man carried himself with a clear sense of professionalism and restraint.
There was no hidden disdain in his eyes, no subtle tightening of his jaw, no air of forced courtesy masking contempt. Instead, his posture was straight, his movents precise, and his deanor calm.
It was obvious why.
The elite uniform Damien wore spoke volus.
Damien gave the driver a simple nod, neither warm nor cold, just acknowledging his presence.
He stepped fully into the chariot and sat down comfortably, resting his back against the cushioned seat as the driver straightened and gently snapped the reins.
The chariot moved smoothly, wheels gliding effortlessly along the path as the village faded into the distance.
*
Minutes later, the chariot had already arrived at the academy.
Damien stepped down calmly, the towering structures of Evergreen Spire Academy stretching above him.
He walked through the grand hallways with steady steps.
Students passing by slowed instinctively.
The mont they noticed the elite uniform, their expressions shifted.
So widened their eyes slightly in recognition, others straightened their backs imdiately.
Without hesitation, they bowed lightly as they passed him, their respect automatic and ingrained.
They didn’t know who he was personally.
They didn’t need to.
The uniform alone was enough.
Damien paid them little attention, his expression calm, his gaze forward. This kind of reaction had already beco familiar to him—expected, even. Status ruled everything here, and elite students stood above the rest.
Soon, he arrived in front of the elite dormitory.
The building itself was massive, its architecture refined and imposing. Smooth marble floors reflected the light from enchanted crystals embedded into the walls, and the air carried a faint, clean scent that spoke of constant maintenance and luxury.
As he entered, he passed a few other elite students in the hallway.
So stared openly.
Others glanced at him from the corner of their eyes.
A few frowned.
But Damien ignored them all.
He reached his door, pressed his hand lightly against the engraved panel, and stepped inside as it slid open silently.
The room was large—far larger than what most students could ever hope for.
High ceilings, finely crafted furniture, and a wide window that overlooked the academy grounds greeted him.
Everything was arranged perfectly, from the polished desk to the soft bed and the subtle enchantnts embedded into the walls for comfort and privacy.
Even the house he had just obtained from the village chief couldn’t compare.
Not in space.
Not in refinent.
Not in luxury.
This was what it ant to be an elite.
After a few minutes inside, Damien stepped back out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
That was when he noticed soone standing across from him.
Tart.
The other elite student stared at Damien openly, his expression twisted into a deep frown of undisguised disgust. His eyes dragged over Damien from head to toe, as though rely sharing the sa space offended him.
"Filthy commoner," Tart muttered under his breath.
He didn’t wait for a response.
He turned sharply and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Damien blinked once.
His eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger, but in confusion.
Then, a smirk slowly ford on his lips.
He lowered his gaze and glanced at the watch strapped to his wrist.
It was a sharp black watch, sleek in design, with thin gold linings tracing its edges. The surface glead faintly under the hallway lights, its craftsmanship refined and unmistakably expensive.
Damien’s smirk deepened just a little.
It wasn’t an ordinary watch for sure.
In fact, calling it a watch was an understatent of what it truly was.
This was a special communication artifact issued exclusively to elite students of the academy.
Its primary function wasn’t to tell ti, but to relay information directly to its wearer.
Through it, elite students would be notified of their class schedules, sudden announcents, summons from instructors, or any academy-wide notices that specifically concerned them.
A faint enchantnt pulsed beneath its glass surface, invisible to ordinary eyes.
It was how elite students stayed connected to the academy’s inner workings.
Damien let out a soft breath.
He rembered clearly now—this was the sa watch he had forgotten at the academy the last ti he left. That was why he hadn’t brought it back to the village with him.
Back then, he hadn’t seen much use for it, especially since he wasn’t planning on attending classes imdiately.
But now, with things progressing as they were, it was finally relevant again.
He exhaled slowly, his gaze sharpening.
’The first class for today will soon be starting... I should go.’
With that thought, he turned and left the elite dormitory without hesitation.
*
It didn’t take long before Damien found himself standing in front of a large double door deep within the academy’s training wing.
The doors were tall and imposing, reinforced with tal edges and faintly glowing runes carved into the surface. They weren’t decorative—these were doors ant to contain power.
Damien stood there for a few seconds, his eyes scanning the doors calmly.
He could already sense the presence beyond them.
Without wasting any more ti, he reached forward and pushed them open.
The mont he stepped inside, his eyes were t with a striking scene.
The other elite students were already present.
They stood spread out across the wide training hall, each one holding a weapon in their hands.
Swords, spears, staffs, bows—every elite carried sothing that suited their class, their posture sharp and alert.
The air inside the room felt different.
Heavier.
Charged.
At the front of the hall stood a beautiful woman.
She had long black hair that flowed down her back like silk, and pitch black eyes that seed deep and unreadable.
The first thing he noticed about her were the two fleshy mountains on her chest, jiggling slightly even as she moved.
Her waist was slim, tapering into a fairly wide set of hips, which greatly complented her beautiful figure.
The mont Damien entered, she turned toward him.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
Not in hostility—but in assessnt.
Damien felt several other gazes settle on him at once.
Around the hall, other instructors were present as well, standing along the edges of the room.
Each of them carried a distinct aura, their expressions ranging from mild curiosity to sharp interest as their eyes flickered toward Damien.
It was clear they all knew who he was.
Or at least, they knew what he represented.
Damien’s lips twitched faintly as a thought crossed his mind.
’She’s pretty...’ he quickly added her to the list of won he already planned on conquering during his stay in the academy.
He licked his lips at the thought, his mind already running wild with images of his face buried in between her massive bossom.
His gaze lingered on the woman at the front for a while before shifting away, sweeping calmly across the room.
As he did, he noticed sothing else.
Not everyone was here yet.
A few spots among the elites were still empty.
’Yeah...’ he thought, understanding dawning easily. ’Today’s the day we were ant to be assigned our personal instructors.’
One of the many privileges reserved solely for elite students of the academy.
Unlike regular students who trained in large groups under general guidance, elites were given instructors who tailored their training personally—honing their strengths, correcting their weaknesses, and pushing them toward their full potential.
However, not all the elite students present here today were first years who needed personal instructors.
Most already had one, with the only exception being him and Stanley, who were the only new addition to the elite rankings.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, his eyes t with that of a blue haired student standing among the elite students.
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