Prelude to Exchange Program I

I was handed Rank 1 without even needing to lift a sword in the exam, and from there, it was straight into a mountain of catch-up work—a whole year's worth, crammed into the days ahead. Training alone had occupied my past year, and now it was time to drown in studies.

The third year marked the time when, in the novel's timeline, Lucifer would have defeated Drake, a once-brilliant student who succumbed to dark temptations. But that story had already played out here. Drake was gone, leaving one less storm on the horizon.

After class, Lucifer called out to me. "Arthur, we need to talk."

I followed him without question to one of the high-tech training grounds scattered across campus, quiet and brimming with memories of our early days.

"What's the rush? Can't hold back till the Sovereign's Tournament?" I joked, as he turned to face me.

"We fought here the first time," he reminded me, a flicker of intensity in his gaze. "And you won."

It was hard to believe that was nearly two and a half years ago, at the start of our first year. Back then, I had just arrived in this world, barely understanding what I'd been thrown into. That duel had felt like a triumph—a chance to defeat the protagonist, even if he'd been holding back most of his true power.

Lucifer held my gaze, and I could see the changes in him. "I know I can't win against you now," he admitted.

I nodded. Lucifer had grown, his strength undeniable. But the gap between us had widened. Soon, I'd reach the peak of Integration-rank.

According to the novel, Lucifer was due to achieve Ascendant-rank during the Sovereign's Tournament in his fourth year. He would begin forming his Sword Heart soon after, upon reaching the peak of Integration-rank around the winter of that same year.

But things were different now. This version of Lucifer was far stronger than his counterpart in the novel, poised to reach those heights months sooner. Even so, he was still at least six months from reaching the peak of Integration-rank—the level required to stand a chance against even a low Ascendant-rank warrior.

It was, in truth, a brilliant display of both power and skill. If it hadn't been for Art, there would have been almost no gap between us. Lucifer's growth had been explosive after finally breaking through White-rank, a limit his underdeveloped body had held him in for too long.

"You can't," I said, agreeing with his own assessment.

A flicker of something crossed his face. "Did you even surpass that?"

I nodded. "That was the condition for taking back my body."

To reclaim it, I had to surpass Art—even with my low Integration-rank power. He'd wielded that same body with such mastery that he'd defeated an Ascendant-ranker, skipping an entire rank with sheer skill and control. He was a monster, in the truest sense, a master of mana whose precision was frightening.

Lucifer's verdant eyes studied me, weighing something unseen. Finally, he exhaled, a wry smile on his lips. "Handing Rank 1 back to you was the right choice."

I shrugged. "Even if you hadn't, I would have taken it back during the mid-years."

He chuckled, a small sound, acknowledging the truth in my words. The rivalry between us had always been fierce but unspoken, the quiet battle of wills pushing both of us to grow. And yet, today there was something in his gaze that held a new kind of respect—a realization that whatever lay between us now was not just competition but recognition of the paths we'd each walked to reach this moment.

"Make a bet with my father for the Sovereign's Tournament. Might as well see if you can get yourself another Ancient-grade artifact," Lucifer suggested, a sly grin on his face.

I raised an eyebrow. "So, you want me to swindle your father out of an artifact?"

"Swindle? Hardly," he scoffed, waving off the notion. "An Ancient-grade artifact isn't such a big deal to him. My family does rule half the Northern Continent, after all. But to be fair, I don't think he'd be as willing to wager this time around."

I nodded, catching his meaning. Arden Windward was no fool. The last time he'd made the bet, he hadn't thought I had a chance of surpassing Lucifer within five months. But if he saw me now, that calculation would look quite different.

Lucifer's grin faded, turning more thoughtful. "Joking aside, you've heard about the Field Trip replacement, right? They're sending us on an exchange program instead."

"Exchange program?" I asked, tilting my head. "Where to?"

"Starcrest Academy," he replied. "We'll be there for a month."

The name caught my attention immediately. Starcrest was known not only for its rich history but also for its unique approach to magic and combat training, vastly different from Mythos.

And then, of course, there was Seol-ah Moyong. Known in the future as the most skilled swordsman in pure sword technique, she was also the one I'd managed to save from Jack's schemes during the festival.

"Wait, so we're leaving next month?" I asked, watching Lucifer nod in confirmation.

"Starcrest Academy isn't exactly lacking in strength," he added thoughtfully. "They've got three Integration-rankers among their third years."

I couldn't help but smirk. "We've got five. And by the time the Sovereign's Tournament rolls around, we'll have three more at Integration as well."

Lucifer nodded, a glint of determination in his eyes. He turned to face me, his gaze sharper. "Arthur, duel me here and now."

I raised an eyebrow, letting out a long sigh. "Really?"

"Yes," he replied firmly, his stance unwavering. "Show me the difference between us."

In response, his Ancient-grade sword, Valediction, manifested in his grip, its silver sheen catching the light. This was the blade that would accompany Lucifer for years, right up until he reached Immortal-rank.

I studied him for a moment, realizing this was something he needed—needed to see for himself. With a nod, I drew my own blade.

"This is the only Ancient-grade artifact I'll use," I said, feeling the weight of restraint settle over me. After all, this was a duel, not a battle to the death, and Lucifer only wielded one Ancient-grade artifact.

He pressed his lips into a thin line but nodded, his resolve clear. With a flick of his wrist, he activated the training ground's defensive barrier, a shimmering shield of mana encasing us in a sphere of protection to prevent our clash from spilling out.

The air thickened, charged with anticipation, as we took our stances. We met each other's gaze, a silent acknowledgment of respect and rivalry passing between us. And then, with a surge of energy, the duel began.