Chapter 6: Attention

I laid on my dorm bed, staring up at the ceiling. The faint glow of the mana lantern on my desk cast soft, flickering shadows across the room. My thoughts kept drifting back to the tournament Emric and the others had mentioned. No matter how much I tried to push it aside, it gnawed at me.

With a sigh, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up. My desk was a mess of books and notes, and somewhere in the pile was the one I was looking for—a manual on the Academy of Aurimora's tournaments. I found it buried under a stack of papers and sat down, flipping it open to the section on first-year events.

"The Annual Aurimora Tournament," it read. "A test of skill, knowledge, and adaptability. Open to all first-years, it serves as both a tradition and a proving ground. Winners gain not only prestige but also access to advanced resources, mentorship, and potential future opportunities within the academy hierarchy."

I leaned back in my chair, letting that sink in. Prestige, resources, opportunities. It all sounded good on paper, but it came with strings attached. Winning meant standing out, and standing out meant eyes on me. That wasn't something I was particularly fond of, especially when I still felt like an outsider in this world.

I skimmed further down the page. "Some tournament winners demonstrate such exceptional skill and knowledge that they are considered for teaching roles after graduation, should their academic and magical prowess surpass that of their peers."

A faint smirk tugged at my lips. Teachers, huh? The thought of standing in front of a class, lecturing a bunch of wide-eyed students, was almost laughable. Still, it said something about the tournament's weight. Winning wasn't just about ego or bragging rights—it could shape a future.

The next section caught my eye. "Upperclassmen and faculty may bet on matches, with stakes ranging from coin to favors. While participation is optional, the attention of higher-grade students and professors can significantly impact one's career trajectory within the academy."

I frowned, tapping my fingers on the desk. So, not only was the tournament a proving ground, but it was also entertainment for the upper years. That explained why Emric and the others seemed so excited about it. For them, it was probably a chance to show off. For me, though, it felt like a double-edged sword.

On one hand, the resources and recognition could be invaluable. On the other, the idea of being a pawn in someone else's game—bet on like a horse at a racetrack—left a sour taste in my mouth.

I flipped to the back of the book, scanning for more details. The rules were fairly straightforward: single-elimination format, no lethal spells or attacks, and participants were judged on skill, creativity, and control. That last part intrigued me. Control wasn't something most fighters focused on. In my past life, brute force often carried the day. Here, it seemed finesse mattered just as much, if not more.

I set the book down and leaned back, rubbing my temples. The tournament wasn't something I could ignore, not if I wanted to make the most of my time here. But it wasn't a simple decision, either.

"Do I really need this?" I muttered aloud, the question bouncing around the quiet room. The answer was murky. My past life had taught me the value of strength, but it had also taught me the dangers of standing out too much.

Still, one thing was clear: if I decided to enter, I wouldn't do it half-heartedly. I'd prepare, study, and train until there wasn't a single crack in my armor. If I was going to step into that arena, I'd make sure I came out on top—not for glory or recognition, but because winning would give me the tools I needed to succeed in this world.

I reached for another book, this one on combat strategies in magical duels. The tournament wasn't until Vernalith, but if I was going to do this, the preparation had to start now.

The morning sun cast a warm glow over the training grounds as I stepped in, the faint scent of wood, sweat, and freshly cut grass filling the air. The place was buzzing with activity—students practicing spells, sparring, and laughing with each other. Kids these days sure do play a lot. Their idea of effort would've been laughable back in my old world. I couldn't help but feel detached from it all, like I was watching a group of amateurs trying to master what I had already conquered lifetimes ago.

I walked over to a rack of wooden swords, each one polished but lightweight. They felt more like toys than weapons. I picked one up, running my fingers along the grain of the wood, and gave it a few experimental swings. It wasn't much different from the training swords I used as a boy, though I didn't have the luxury of proper training grounds back then. My childhood had been nothing but a harsh fight for survival, first as a slave on the island of Feros and later as a warrior clawing my way up from the dirt.

I glanced around at the students, all so soft, their lives untouched by the brutality of true war. In my old world, I had commanded armies, risen from a slave to a king, and singlehandedly defeated empires. I still remembered the weight of real steel in my hands, the clash of blades, the screams of men dying around me as I fought my way to victory. Fifty thousand soldiers. Maybe more. I'd lost count after a while. But that was then.

I looked down at the wooden sword in my hand and tightened my grip. This was a different world, a different battlefield. Mana cores changed everything here—strengthening the body, amplifying speed, making people more durable than any human could ever hope to be in my old life. My victories as a swordsman back then might mean nothing now, but I still had my experience, my instincts. Those would always be mine.

I approached one of the practice dummies, a simple construct of wood and straw, and sized it up. My movements were deliberate as I swung the sword, testing its weight, the balance, the recoil in my arms. Each strike landed with precision, sending vibrations up my arm as straw scattered to the ground. It felt good—familiar, even—but there was no denying it wasn't the same.

As I swung again, a voice interrupted my focus.

"Hey, that's pretty good. You've got some serious form there."

I glanced to my left, where a girl had approached me. She had a bright smile, her posture relaxed, and an air of friendliness that I found hard to relate to.

"Thanks," I replied curtly, keeping my tone polite but distant. I returned my attention to the dummy, but she didn't take the hint.

"So, are you new here? I haven't seen you around much," she asked, leaning on a nearby railing.

"Yes," I said flatly, delivering another clean strike to the dummy.

She laughed lightly, undeterred. "Not much of a talker, huh? That's okay. You seem… serious. Are you training for the tournament?"

I paused for a moment, lowering the wooden sword. The tournament. Everyone seemed obsessed with it, and here she was, just another person asking me about it.

"Something like that," I replied, my voice even.

She tried to keep the conversation going, but I only half-listened, offering short responses when necessary. I didn't care much for small talk, especially when I was here to focus. Her questions blended into the background noise of the training ground, and my thoughts drifted back to my old life once more.

In those days, no one cared about pleasantries or tournaments. It was all blood and steel, survival and dominance. Yet, here I was, in a world where people had the luxury to chat and play. It was such a stark contrast, one I still wasn't sure how to navigate.

Eventually, the girl gave up on drawing me into a proper conversation and excused herself with a cheerful wave. I nodded, watching her leave out of the corner of my eye. Then, I turned back to the dummy, lifting the wooden sword again.

Mana or no mana, this world or the last, one truth remained the same: the blade never lies.

As I made my way to the cafeteria, my thoughts were preoccupied with my plans for the day. The morning training session had left me mildly satisfied, but there was still much I needed to do. The Academy of Aurimora was vast, filled with opportunities to gain knowledge, and I had no intention of wasting time. My goal was clear—learn everything I could, hone my abilities, and rise above the rest.

Just as I was approaching the cafeteria doors, she appeared again. The same girl from the training grounds.

"Hey!" she called out, her voice light and cheerful as she caught up to me.

I paused, glancing over my shoulder. She had a bright smile on her face and an air of determination that made it clear she wasn't going to let me brush her off this time.

"Heading to the cafeteria too?" she asked, falling into step beside me.

"Yes," I replied curtly, keeping my tone neutral.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, not waiting for an answer as she matched my pace.

I considered brushing her off, but something stopped me. She was persistent, I'd give her that, and I couldn't deny that she seemed different from the rest of the students I'd encountered. There was an intelligence in her eyes, a spark of curiosity that made me think she might actually be worth listening to.

As we walked, she introduced herself. "I'm Livia, by the way. First-year, just like you. I saw you at the training grounds earlier—pretty impressive with the sword."

"Thank you," I said simply, offering her a small nod.

"And you are…?" she prompted, tilting her head slightly.

"Sylas," I replied, keeping it brief. "Sylas Corvus Arctanis."

"Wow, fancy name," she said with a playful smile. "So, Sylas, what brings you to the academy? Looking to become a great mage? A combat specialist? Or maybe you're here for the prestige?"

I hesitated for a moment, unsure how much I wanted to share. "Knowledge," I said finally. "I'm here to learn."

"Good answer," she said with a grin. "Knowledge is power, after all. Me, I'm here for a bit of everything. I've always been interested in magic theory and practical applications, but I also want to make some friends while I'm here."

Friends. The word felt foreign to me. In my past life, alliances were forged out of necessity, not camaraderie. Friendship was a luxury I couldn't afford as a king, let alone as a slave. Still, I understood the value of building connections, even in this world. Livia might be the kind of person who could offer me valuable insights—or, at the very least, useful information.

As she continued talking, I found myself listening more closely. She spoke about her interest in elemental magic, her plans to participate in the upcoming tournament, and her desire to explore the academy's library.

"You know," she said, her tone turning thoughtful, "the tournament isn't just about combat. It's also a chance to show your understanding of magic, strategy, and adaptability. Some of the best mages in history made their mark during tournaments like this."

I nodded, filing away her words. She was clearly knowledgeable about the academy and its traditions, and I couldn't deny that her perspective might be valuable.

By the time we reached the cafeteria, I had decided to indulge her attempts at conversation, at least for now. As much as I preferred solitude, I couldn't ignore the potential benefits of keeping someone like Livia around.

"Thanks for the insight," I said as we entered the bustling cafeteria.

Her eyes lit up at my response. "Anytime. If you ever need help with anything, just let me know. I'm pretty good at research, and I know my way around the library."

I nodded again, making a mental note to keep her offer in mind. For now, though, I focused on getting my meal and finding a quiet corner where I could think. Livia might be useful, but I had no intention of letting her distract me from my goals. Still, I couldn't help but feel that this encounter might prove to be the start of something… significant.