After defeating the beast, Azhriel didn’t waste any ti.
He turned and began heading towards where Arianne and Serica were, the air around him still carrying traces of his icy mana. The chill lingered, frosting the grass lightly beneath his feet with every step.
He hadn’t gone too far fighting. In just a few minutes, he reached them.
"Hey," he said, his voice calm as he approached, announcing his presence.
Arianne turned at the sound, her sharp eyes imdiately scanning him from head to toe.
"Are you alright?" she asked, her tone was steady, face neutral but her voice held a faint trace of concern.
Blood stained Azhriel’s forehead, a thin line that had dried under the cold air. His clothes were torn in several places, dark with old blood and dust, and his coat hung awkwardly over one shoulder, half-slashed.
Still, Azhriel stood tall.
"I am fine," he replied simply, rolling his shoulder once. "I already took a potion... though, i seriously don’t like the taste of that thing, and it still won’t leave my mouth." He made a face at that, as if the mory alone made it worse.
Listening to his words, Arianne let out a slow breath. A small smile touched her usually calm face as she rembered the Lunarblooms kept safely in her space ring.
"By the way, are the flowers safe? I couldn’t check on them because of those monkeys," Azhriel asked, glancing at her.
"Yes, they’re safe," Arianne replied with a nod. "I had placed them in my space ring right away, so that the demonic energy wouldn’t affect them."
"I guess I owe you, huh" she added after a pause. She had thought he might ask for sothing in return. But it seed he was serious about not wanting anything—except a favor.
"Well, that’s all good. Let’s head back to the camp," Azhriel said, turning his gaze to the horizon. The sun was rising, casting warm shades of orange and gold across the sky.
A new day had begun.
"Sorry," Arianne spoke up, "but I need to return to the capital as soon as possible."
"Hm, okay then. Goodbye," Azhriel replied—almost too quickly.
Arianne raised an eyebrow at his blunt response.
"Co on, you expect to get emotional, hug you or sothing?" he said, rolling his eyes. "I am just a guy, you t hours ago that happen to help you a little bit."
Arianne let out a small snort. "Strange boy."
’But also different.’ She thought silently.
"Besides, it’s not like we won’t et again or sothing. You’re going to the academy, right? We’ll see each other there." Azhriel shrugged, a faint smirk on his face.
"I guess," Arianne replied softly, her tone neutral, but her eyes lingered on him for a mont longer than usual.
******
A few days passed since Arianne’s departure, and the camp grew quieter in silence again. Azhriel, however, remained focused. With no distractions left, he threw himself into training.
He spent hours adjusting to his newfound strength, pushing his body to move faster, hit harder, and react quicker. The breakthrough had changed him—it made his senses sharper, and his control on magic and bloodline better.
This ti, he also didn’t neglect his affinities. He practiced with ice, letting frost dance across his blade, trained in space, warping short distances to strike from odd angles, and summoned flashes of lightning to enhance his speed.
One of those days, Solas finally returned.
"Ho, you ranked up, huh," he said the mont his feet touched the ground. He didn’t even need to check—just one glance, and he already knew. Not even Azhriel’s bloodline passive ability could hide it from him.
"Yeah, things happened. Broke through in the middle of a fight," Azhriel said, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
"Things like?" Solas asked, raising an eyebrow.
Azhriel shrugged and gave him a brief, vague summary of what had gone down. Nothing too detailed—just enough to explain. The guy wasn’t much of a listener.
"So, Fiona’s granddaughter ca here. How pitiful," Solas sighed, almost to himself.
"Hm?" Azhriel looked at him, confused by the strange comnt. But Solas didn’t explain—he simply waved it off and shifted the topic.
"The academy starts in a few days. But before that, there’s sothing I need to teach you—now that you’ve ranked up," he said, his voice suddenly serious.
Azhriel instinctively stood straighter, sensing the shift in his tone.
"Listen carefully, Azhriel," Solas said, his voice now carrying the weight of soone who had stood at the peak of countless battlefields.
"What I’m about to teach you... it’s the culmination of my life. It holds my beliefs, my experience, my will—everything that made who I am today. My sword art."
His words hung heavy in the air, as if the world itself was listening.
"Let’s go toward the open area, a bit," Solas said, his hands casually behind his back as he walked ahead at a calm pace.
Azhriel silently followed him, his curiosity growing.
"Do you know about the Sword Saint?" Solas asked, his voice light, yet carrying weight.
"A bit," Azhriel replied, his mind conjuring an image of a man whose na echoed through distant lands—one who was also said to be Solas’s rival.
It was rumored that the Sword Saint could cut through anything—even reality itself.
They reached a wide clearing—open skies above, surrounded by distant trees swaying gently in the wind.
The earth was still marked with the remnants of Azhriel’s training: sword marks, scorched grass, and patches of frozen ground.
Solas stopped in the center of the field. He turned, his expression turning solemn as he faced Azhriel.
"Watch carefully," he said, his voice steady. "I’ll show you the First Form of the art. That’s the limit of what you can handle right now."
His hand reached toward the hilt at his side, and the atmosphere shifted—quiet, still, as if even the wind paused to witness.
"The Lords Requiem Art- First Form."
"The Fools Redemption."
Slash.
A single green arc descended from his blade and the forest severed. HhhhnUnlike the written exam, the combat test was sothing else entirely—ever-changing and unpredictable.
So year it was one-on-one duels. Other tis, battle royales or monster-slaying challenges. But this year, Azhriel knew... it would be different.
There were three trials, this year.
Power.
Will.
Combat and Survival.
Each designed to test not just strength, but spirit, and the will to push through harsh paths.
After the theory exam, orders ca quickly. All students were directed to the Training Do. Azhriel didn’t wait for the announcents to finish. He already knew the place well—its layout, its secrets.
He walked swiftly through the city-like academy, passing towers, floating gardens, and spiraling runes that shimred in the sky. Eventually, the Do appeared on the horizon, massive and glinting in the sunlight.
The White Crystal Do.
It rose like a giant pearl, its surface seamless, catching the sunlight and scattering it into rainbows. Four massive gates were set up, each forming a line of waiting students.
Azhriel didn’t wait much. He bypassed the second gate, even though it had the shortest line. Instead, he moved to the third.
Was there a reason?.
Yes, a pretty big one.
She would be here.
His favourite character in the ga.
Inside, the do was like a cathedral of battle. Dozens of elevated fighting podiums floated across the vast space, bound by mana circuits and hovering platforms.
Weapons of every kind lined the sides—swords, spears, bows, axes. On another wall stood chanical training dummies, rune-bound and glowing with quiet nace. Near them, advanced simulation pods—VR units for testing spells and tactics.
The hum of magic swelled slightly, like a breath being drawn in.
Azhriel stepped forward as his number was called, his boots making no sound on the polished white crystal beneath.
The open area stretched ahead of him—circular, wide, and surrounded by faintly glowing white walls of mana that isolated the arena from the rest of the do.
Students gathered around the edges, so watching with interest, others too nervous about their own upcoming trials to care.
Instructors and examiners observed from elevated platforms, so holding tablets, others watching through enchanted lenses.
A cold voice echoed from above, laced with no emotion—only command.
"Power Evaluation—Begin."
As if responding to the words, a wide circle lit up beneath Azhriel’s feet. Complex magical patterns spun to life, forming a glowing array, while a golden column of light shimred ahead.
Before him, a single armored dummy stood tall—
A gleam of light trailed behind his blade, almost too fast to follow. A thin arc of ice shot out like a blade of winter itself, whistling through the air.
The mont it touched the dummy—
BOOM.
A burst of frigid wind tore through the air, sweeping across the arena. Mana surged like a silent blizzard as the dummy’s arm was cleaved clean off, the exposed cut instantly frosting over.
The ice spread like wildfire—coating tal, seizing joints—until the icy bloom reached its neck and froze it mid-motion.
For a mont, silence lingered.
Then the magical voice echoed once more:
"Evaluation: Exceptional Grade."
So students blinked. Others flinched as the temperature dipped unnaturally. A few examiners whispered among themselves, their gazes sharper now.
Azhriel simply stepped back. His expression didn’t shift, not even slightly.
That hadn’t been his strongest
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