The Undying Warrior's Rewind

7

That night, the Academy Administrator herself, a sharp, fiercely professional woman in her mid-thirties named Lady Gina, personally escorted me to the Sovereign Elite Class Dormitory.

Calling it a dormitory was an absolute insult to architecture. It was a massive, sprawling mansion-style estate surrounded by enchanted white-rose gardens, glowing mana-fountains, and marble walkways. 

It was so blindingly luxurious that even my residual Ethan Hoke memories made my mental jaw drop. 

The kid's previous accommodations in the lower-grade district were a joke; a single bad tropical typhoon would have folded that rotting wooden building like a cheap tent.

And here? Gina herself unlocked the mahogany double doors to my private suite.

It was massive. We’re talking a king-sized canopy bed draped in silk, a private training parlor, a sprawling stone balcony overlooking the entire capital, and, to top it all off, a literal personal butler standing in the corner with a silver tray.

"Welcome home, Master Hoke," the butler said, bowing a perfect ninety degrees.

What the hell... I thought, keeping my face locked in a mask of overwhelmed, country-bumpkin awe. "T-Thank you."

Gina patted my shoulder, her business-like demeanor softening just a fraction. "You earned this, Ethan. The kingdom protects its investments. Your elite uniform is pressed and waiting for you. Rest well. Tomorrow, your new life begins."

The uniform she left was a masterpiece of tailoring: striking gold accents stitched onto heavy, dark midnight-wool fabrics, bearing the crest of the Sovereign Class. 

That night, I ate like a king. The butler served a multi-course luxury meal of roasted manticore tenderloin, truffled mountain greens, and mana-infused elven broth. 

It had been a century since I’d tasted decent, high-tier food that wasn't standard military rations or dried monster jerky. 

I ate until my Tier-1 core practically hummed with satisfaction, then slept like a baby.

*****

The next morning, a private, levitating carriage lined with velvet seats brought me straight to the grand plaza of the Royal Magic Academy.

As I stepped out, the sheer scale of the reception hit me. Standing at the top of the white marble stairs was the Academy Dean himself. 

He was a tall, long-haired guy with golden-yellow locks that cascaded down his shoulders, wearing a high-mage robe so violently expensive that the enchanted gems woven into the hem probably cost more than my ordinary student's entire estate.

The entire student body was gathered in the plaza, separated neatly by class rank. On one side were the regular students; on the other, cordoned off by a literal velvet rope, were the spoiled brats of the Sovereign Elite Class.

"Presenting the Hero of the Capital!" The Dean’s voice boomed, amplified by wind magic so it echoed across the entire campus. 

"Reinstated by royal decree, the scion who awakened the ancient blood of the Berserker—Ethan Hoke!"

Instantly, a wave of loud murmurs tore through the crowd.

"Is that a joke? Him? The mana-less reject?"

"He looks exactly the same! How could a trash dropout kill a vanguard beast?"

"He must have stolen the credit. There's no way."

The glaring from the elite students was intense enough to melt iron. They looked at my dark-and-gold uniform with pure, unadulterated disgust. 

To them, I was a stray dog that had somehow slipped into a banquet hall.

Standing right at the front of the elite line was a group of three high-tier students. My eyes subtly scanned them, and my inner smirk widened into a razor-sharp edge. 

Thanks to the blood-red scroll burning against my chest beneath my tunic, I recognized their faces instantly.

Two of them were on the hit list. Two more transmigrated abyssal traitors, masquerading as top-ranking noble prodigies. 

They weren't just glaring out of noble arrogance, they were staring at me with a lethal, calculating suspicion, trying to figure out how a local cockroach had killed their vanguard beast.

The Dean turned to me, his golden hair shifting in the breeze as he offered a fake, politician's smile. 

"Master Hoke, as a hero, you have the right to choose your seat and your sparring partner for today’s introductory combat assessment. Who will you grace with your awakened power?"

I looked at the two traitors in the front row, who were subtly tapping their fingers against their magic staves, practically begging me to step into their trap.

The Dean’s voice still echoed across the marble plaza, waiting for my answer. The entire student body held its breath, their eyes locked onto my dark-and-gold uniform. 

The two hidden traitors at the front of the Sovereign Elite line, a cold-eyed ice mage named Julian and a wealthy marquis’s son named Brandon, stared at me like hawks watching a bizarrely dressed field mouse. 

They were practically radiating a lethal aura, waiting for me to puff out my chest like a typical arrogant meathead so they could challenge me and dissect my abilities on the dueling platform.

I looked at them. Then, I let my shoulders slump. I widened my eyes, allowed a bead of sweat to roll down my cheek, and took a half-step back toward the safety of the carriage, looking thoroughly overwhelmed.

"I... I get to choose?" I stammered, making my voice pitchy and nervous enough to carry over the wind magic amplification. 

"Um. Well. The Master said my Berserker blood only wakes up when I’m about to die, and honestly, looking at Lord Julian and Lord Brandon... they look like they could kill me just by frowning. I don't want to get hurt."

A collective wave of snickers and groans rippled through the regular student body. 

The Sovereign Elites didn't even try to hide their mockery; Brandon actually laughed out loud, shaking his head in absolute disdain.

"See? I told you," Brandon whispered loudly to Julian. 

"The trash just got lucky. He probably hid under a carriage while the monster had a heart attack, and the old men in the Tower fabricated a bloodline myth to keep the public from rioting."

Julian didn't laugh. His cold, calculating gaze remained fixed on me, trying to see past my pathetic display. 

But my acting was flawless. I had spent a century dealing with sociopathic politicians and cosmic entities; fooling a couple of teenage sleeper agents was amateur hour.

"If it's alright with the Dean," I said, pointing a trembling finger toward the very back of the arena, where a scrawny, second-year commoner student was holding a bent wooden training staff. 

"I’d rather spar with Toby over there. He... he accidentally tripped me in the cafeteria last term, and I think we're about evenly matched in magic power. Zero."

The Dean’s golden eyebrows twitched. He looked thoroughly embarrassed to have heralded a "National Hero" who immediately picked a fight with the weakest kid in the remedial class.

"Very well," the Dean sighed, his expensive robes rustling as he waved a dismissive hand. 

"The introductory assessment will commence on Dueling Ring Alpha. Master Hoke versus Student Toby. Please take your positions."