Chapter 8 First Day (1)

Words : 1338 Updated : Sep 10th, 2025

"Are you nervous?" Rose asked, tilting her head as we walked. I exhaled. "Well, yes." She gave me a knowing smile. "Figured." I scratched the side of my cheek, glancing ahead at the towering first-year building that loomed over us like it was judging our very existence. Today was the first official day of Mythos Academy. Yesterday's commencement ceremony had been a formality—this was where the real madness began. "You left early yesterday too," Rose noted. "Yeah, just… hard, you know?" She nodded, not prying further. I didn't need to elaborate. This wasn't some fun high school adventure where I could coast through classes and make friends without a care in the world. This was a war zone disguised as an academy, and I was surrounded by people who could crush me without breaking a sweat. S~eaʀᴄh the ηovelFire.ηet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I quickly switched the topic, and we fell into easy conversation as we neared the building. Unlike yesterday, we weren't heading to the auditorium this time. Now, it was straight to our homerooms. We stepped into the elevator, a sleek, metallic chamber with glowing buttons marking each floor. "I'm on the fourth floor. See ya!" Rose chirped as we arrived at her stop. She flashed me a grin and waved as she disappeared down the hall toward Class 1-B. The last two students in the elevator also exited, leaving me alone. Fifth floor. Class 1-A. The elevator hummed as it ascended, a quiet tension settling in my chest. This was it. The moment the doors slid open, I stepped out, my eyes immediately locking onto the bold silver inscription on the classroom door. 1-A. I took a deep breath and swiped my finger across the metallic surface. The door slid open with a whisper, revealing a classroom far larger than it needed to be. At a glance, it could have comfortably seated at least thirty students. Instead, there were eight chairs. Eight. Arranged in a 4x2 formation, perfectly aligned according to rank. My gaze swept over the room as I stepped inside. Ian. Rachel. Lucifer. Jin. Ren. Cecilia. Seraphina. And then me—Rank 8. I smiled and waved at Ian, Rachel, and Lucifer, who acknowledged me with nods of varying enthusiasm. Then I walked over to my designated seat—bottom right, the very last chair. And sitting right next to me was Seraphina Zenith. Ethereal, beautiful, as unreadable as the sky before a storm. Our eyes met for a brief moment. Then she looked away. I resisted the urge to sigh. 'I really have to get used to this world.' Because, frankly, everyone here was unfairly attractive. It wasn't just Seraphina—all of them looked like they had been handcrafted by gods who had never heard of the concept of mediocrity. My gaze drifted across the room, locking onto Jin Ashbluff, Rank 4. The Prince of the West. A necromancer with the Gift of Necromancer's Touch, an ability that let him command the dead with absolute authority. If anyone fit the aesthetic of "dark, brooding prince with a terrifying power," it was him. And then there was the geography of power to consider. Each of the five continents in this world had their own specialties. The Western Continent was drenched in dark mana, making necromancy and curses far more prevalent. The Southern Continent revolved around bloodlines and beasts, their strength drawn from powerful ancestral inheritances. The Eastern Continent was Murim territory, where martial arts reigned supreme. The Northern Continent wasn't as specialized, but it focused heavily on rare magic—ice, lightning, and other elusive elements. And then there was the Central Continent. Ruled by the Slatemark Empire, the greatest superpower in the world. And the empire that I now called home. I barely had time to process all this before the door slid open again. Footsteps. Authority. Power. I didn't need to turn around to know who had just entered the room. Our instructor. Nero Astrellan. Black hair. Cold grey eyes. A presence that silenced the room without effort. The mid Immortal-rank magician—one of the strongest people in the academy, second only to the Headmaster and Vice Headmaster themselves. Why was someone like him teaching us? Simple. This class was broken. In terms of sheer raw talent, this Class 1-A surpassed every previous generation. The academy couldn't afford to assign us just any instructor. An Ascendant-ranker wouldn't be able to keep up. So they gave us an Immortal-ranker instead. Nero surveyed the room, his expression unreadable. "Today marks the beginning of Class 1-A," he said, voice calm, controlled, and carrying the weight of absolute certainty. "I know each of you is an exceptional talent," he continued, his gaze lingering on each of us in turn. "Which is precisely why I have been assigned to you." His eyes landed on me for a brief second. I stayed perfectly still. The first day of Mythos Academy had officially begun. "I trust you've all socialized and introduced yourselves by now?" Nero asked, scanning the room. Rachel and Lucifer gave small nods. The rest of us, whether we had or hadn't, wisely chose to stay silent. "Good," he said. "Then let's move on. We'll begin with the assignment of Arts." The room's atmosphere shifted—not tense, exactly, but certainly expectant. "For those of you who follow the Body aspect, Mythos Academy will be assigning you a Grade 5 Art. I will personally determine which Art best suits each of you." Across the room, the others barely reacted. Of course they didn't. The "Seven Monsters" of Class 1-A had no need for Grade 5 Arts. Every single one of them came from a family with a sacred, Grade 6 Art—something passed down through generations, something that belonged to them alone. But for me? For me, this was a lifeline. I sat a little straighter as Nero moved down the rows, handing out the encrypted black storage devices one by one. Finally, he stopped in front of my desk. "You didn't list any sword Art you practiced," he stated, fixing me with an unreadable gaze. "That's correct," I confirmed. Nero considered me for a brief moment before reaching into his spatial ring. A small, black box appeared in his hand, which he placed on my desk. "Then this should be suitable," he said. "It is called Tempest Dance Technique. Learn it well, Arthur." I stared at the box for a moment. 'Never heard of it. But if it's from Mythos Academy, it has to be good.' I traced a finger over the smooth, encrypted surface. Only I could access it. My mana signature would be required to unlock it. Before I could get too deep into my thoughts, a soft, melodic voice interrupted me. "Hey." I turned, only to find Seraphina Zenith had leaned in alarmingly close—so close that I could see the subtle shift of colors in her cyan eyes, the way the light played off her silver hair like moonlight on snow. "You really never learned an Art?" she asked, her voice as calm and distant as ever. For a moment, I wondered if she was actually curious, or if she was simply testing me. "Yeah," I replied, keeping my composure. "My sponsor insisted I learn the best Art from Mythos Academy." It was half a truth. If Count Chase had allowed Arthur to learn a Grade 4 Art earlier, he would have been stronger, sooner. But abstaining from it had its advantages—instead of relying on a flawed, lower-tier technique, I had mastered the fundamentals to perfection. Seraphina studied me for a second longer, then tilted her head slightly before pulling back as if nothing had happened. I let out a quiet breath. That face was a weapon. I turned my focus back to Nero as he continued speaking, forcing myself to ignore the lingering chill of Seraphina's presence.

Chapter 8 First Day (1)

Comments (0)