The night sky over Avalon was shrouded in a pale mist that hung low, like the restless spirits of the dead. It was well past midnight. The academy was silent and cold. Magical lanterns along the corridor flickered weakly, casting whispers of light. A lone magical owl flew past the tower rooftops, and only Isaac’s footsteps echoed through the long, deserted stone hallway."Don't let anyone see you," he muttered, glancing nervously over his shoulder. His black cloak swept the floor. His breath was visible in the air.He stopped in front of a rusted iron door, unused for years. An old sign above it read: Spare Practice Room – Do Not Enter. Isaac smirked. "Perfect."With a touch of mana, the lock clicked open. The door creaked as it swung inward, revealing a dusty, abandoned room with a stone floor, empty shelves, and a long table scorched with old burn marks. The air inside was thick, as if hoarding secrets buried long ago.He dropped his bag to the floor and pulled out black candles and

The main hall of Avalon Academy had turned into a sea of anxious and hopeful faces. A massive crystal chandelier hung high above, casting a soft glow that shimmered across white marble walls veined with gold. Yet the beauty was in stark contrast to the tension in the air — the sound of footsteps, hushed whispers, and silent sighs clashed and blended together.Isaac stood tall among the crowd, his long black robe flowing neatly with his lean figure. His gaze was sharp, with a faint, confident smile playing on his lips — a smile only he knew the true meaning of. His slightly messy black hair was deliberately left unkempt to avoid drawing attention. His eyes scanned the room, noting the expressions of his rivals and the professors watching from the high balconies.“Don’t let your guard down,” he reminded himself, recalling the harsh lessons under Professor Eldrin in the dead of night. “Mana control is key. Never reveal your full power. Otherwise, I’ll become their main target.”Beside him

The sky above Avalon Academy hung gray. A thin mist lazily rolled between the old stone towers, blurring the edges of the garden and making footsteps echo hollowly through the halls. Inside the professors' meeting room on the upper floor, the fire in the large hearth crackled faintly. The scent of burning wood mingled with the aroma of black coffee and fresh ink.At the long round table cluttered with stacks of magical documents, seals, and half-empty porcelain cups, a tense atmosphere loomed thick.“Whose child is he, really?” scoffed Professor Kael Renswick, flicking dust off his overly neat green robe. His silver glasses reflected the dim light, hiding his sharp eyes.“Elowen, do you really want this academy to be run by a boy without noble blood?” he continued, twisting the end of his mustache.Professor Elowen Mireille straightened her back. Her silver hair cascaded elegantly, her blue eyes calm and glowing.“Kael, you saw the exam yourself. No noble could manipulate an ancient ma

The morning fog had not yet fully lifted from Avalon Academy’s courtyard when the great bell rang three times, echoing like a court’s judgment.Isaac stood in front of a small mirror in the preparation room. His dark dueling uniform clung to his lean but agile frame. His black hair was slightly tousled, and his eyes—those that had once watched the world burn as the Demon Overlord—now gazed at his reflection with an uncanny calm."Relax, Isaac. It’s just a trial… with the entire academy watching. Not nerve-wracking at all," he told himself, then sighed.The preparation room door burst open. Elara Moonveil rushed in, breathless, her hair a mess as if she'd been chased by a griffon."Isaac! You’re not in the arena yet? Everyone’s looking for you. Even Professor Valdor’s starting to grumble like a troll who missed breakfast."Isaac raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. Maybe he really hasn’t had breakfast.”Elara glared at him and grabbed his arm. “Come on! We can’t let them think you’re chickening out

A thin veil of autumn mist hung low over the stone towers of Avalon Academy, casting a gloomy atmosphere that quietly gnawed at anyone who walked too fast. The once-bustling corridors now seemed filled with whispers—not just from the wind, but from rumors. Words flung about as if at random, yet they struck like daggers."‘That new boy’s luck will run out eventually…’""‘True genius can’t be faked—especially not by lowborn blood…’""‘A real mage doesn’t hide his strength behind a strange smile…’"Isaac walked past the bulletin board, which was plastered with anonymous quotes, as if a gossip magazine was throwing a party. He squinted, reading the neatly written phrases in thick purple ink. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly."Hmm. ‘Weak roots cannot uphold glory?’" he murmured softly. “A noble’s words… or a drunk poet’s?”His steps were light, almost uncaring. But in his eyes—those dark, calm, nearly cold eyes—there was a glint like a blade hidden beneath a cloak.Behind a stone wal