The Academy Begins

The Academy of Castlevania was unlike anything the Northern Kingdoms had ever known. It was not a place of fragile nobility, where pampered heirs learned to conjure flames for entertainment. It was not a temple of ancient rites, where mages studied musty tomes and debated philosophy. This was not Ban Ard, nor Aretuza, nor any of the crumbling institutions that had shackled magic beneath the weight of politics and fear.

This was a crucible. A forge where the weak were broken and the strong were reborn. And I would ensure that only the worthy survived.

The hundred students who had come to Castlevania were no longer mere children. They had left behind their homes, their pasts, and the world that had rejected them. Here, they were stripped of their old identities. No more village outcasts. No more frightened runaways.

They were mine now.

And it was time for them to learn what that truly meant.

Their training began immediately. There were no weeks of adjustment, no kind words of encouragement, no time to mourn the lives they had left behind. Sentimentality was a weakness I could not afford, and neither could they.

The first lesson was control.

Magic was power, and power without control was useless—a raging fire that consumed everything in its path, including the wielder. Many of these students had spent their lives suppressing their abilities, terrified of discovery, of persecution, of what their magic could do. That fear had no place here. It was a shackle they needed to break.

I stood before them in the main hall of the Academy, the vast chamber illuminated by glowing runes carved into the black stone walls. The air crackled with raw magical energy, thick enough that even the weakest among them could feel it. Their faces, a mixture of apprehension and a nascent excitement, were illuminated by the eerie glow.

"You are here because you are gifted," I said, my voice echoing in the stillness, amplified by subtle enchantments. "But power means nothing if you cannot wield it. You are not here to play with magic. You are here to master it. To become its instrument."

I raised a hand, and the temperature in the room plummeted. Frost spread across the floor in an instant, the breath of every student visible in the icy air. A few of them shivered. One stumbled back, a whimper escaping his lips. A thin layer of ice began to form on the floor, crunching beneath their feet.

"Control yourselves," I repeated, the word a low growl. "The world will not coddle you. It will test you. It will break you. Only those who can control themselves can survive."

I shifted the temperature again, heat flooding the room like the heart of a furnace. Sweat dripped down their faces. The weaker ones gasped, unable to handle the sudden shift. The ice melted instantly, replaced by a wave of oppressive heat. Their discomfort was palpable, and intentional.

I let them suffer for a moment, observing their reactions. Some clenched their fists, their faces contorted in effort. Others simply succumbed to the extremes, their bodies trembling. One boy, his face bright red, looked like he was about to faint.

Then, with a flick of my fingers, the magic vanished, returning the room to a neutral state. The sudden relief was almost as shocking as the extremes had been.

"Magic is not just fire or lightning," I continued. "It is will. It is understanding. It is knowing that the world bends to those who are strong enough to shape it. It is about dominance – dominance over your own power, and ultimately, dominance over the world around you."

They did not question me after that. The demonstration of my power, the stark reality of the training ahead, had silenced any dissent.

Training was brutal.

The weak fell behind quickly. Some could not grasp the fundamentals of mana control. Others lacked discipline, their emotions dictating their magic instead of the other way around. They were weeds in a garden, choking the potential of the stronger plants.

One student—a Redanian boy named Marek who had shown initial promise, his talent flickering like a dying candle—collapsed after only three days. His magic flared out of control during a simple meditation exercise, sending a shockwave of raw energy that shattered the pillars of the training hall. Dust and debris rained down around him as he lay on the floor, gasping for breath, his eyes wide with terror.

He wept when I stood over him, his body shaking with exhaustion and fear. "Please," he begged, "I… I can do better. I promise."

"You are weak," I told him, my voice cold and devoid of sympathy. "And weakness has no place here. You are a liability, a danger to yourself and others."

He begged for another chance, clutching at my robes. "I… I'll control it. I swear it!"

I granted it. Not out of compassion, but as a lesson to the others. They needed to see the consequences of failure.

But when he failed again, when he chose to let his emotions rule him instead of his will, I did not stop the other students from watching as he was escorted out of the Academy and cast back into the mundane world. His failure was a stark reminder of the price of weakness.

There was no cruelty in it. Only reality. Not everyone was meant to wield power. Those who could not endure had no right to stand beside those who would reshape the world.

And the ones who remained understood that lesson well. The fear of failure, the knowledge that they could be cast out at any moment, fueled their determination.

For every failure, there were successes.

Some students excelled beyond expectation, their talents finally given the freedom to grow without chains. A girl from Mahakam, no older than fourteen, named Anya, who could call forth stone with a single whisper, her control over earth elemental magic astonishing. A mute boy from Nilfgaard, named Caius, his mind sharp as a blade, whose ability to manipulate shadows made him almost untouchable in combat, a silent predator in the darkness. A young woman, pale-haired and soft-spoken, named Elian, whose control over ice surpassed even what I had seen from seasoned sorcerers, her power chillingly precise.

I tested them all, pushing them to their limits, demanding more than they thought they could give.

And they adapted. They grew stronger, more skilled, more ruthless.

A month into their training, I gathered them in the lower courtyard, where the full moon bathed the black stone walls in pale light. The air was crisp and cold, a perfect setting for the lesson I was about to impart.

Before them stood one of my knight-class Iensbern Homunculi—a towering figure of enchanted steel and bound magic, created for war, a silent, unyielding opponent. Its eyes glowed with an eerie green light, and its armor shimmered with protective runes. It held a massive greatsword, its edge razor sharp.

"Defeat it," I ordered, my voice cutting through the silence.

They hesitated, glancing at one another. Fear was evident in some of their eyes, but there was also a flicker of something else – anticipation.

Then, the first student stepped forward. A boy, bold, eager, fire already curling around his hands. He rushed forward, unleashing a stream of flame at the homunculus's chest.

It did nothing. The flames washed over the homunculus, leaving its armor untouched.

The knight moved, faster than any mortal could, and in an instant, the boy was on the ground, his spell shattered, a blade pressed against his throat. The homunculus hadn't even raised its sword.

"Dead," I said simply. "Next."

One by one, they tried. And one by one, they failed. Some used fire, some used ice, some tried illusions. But the homunculus was too strong, too fast, too well-defended. It moved through their spells as if they were nothing, its greatsword a constant threat.

Until one did not.

A girl, silent, calculating, Anya, waited. She did not attack blindly. She studied. She observed. And when the homunculus struck, she anticipated. A step to the side. A flick of her wrist. A bolt of lightning, precisely aimed, striking not the homunculus's armor, but the exposed seam of its joints, where the magic binding its armor was weakest.

It collapsed in an instant, its greatsword clattering to the ground.

The others stared, their expressions a mixture of awe and disbelief.

I smiled. A genuine smile, not a cruel one.

"Good," I said. "The rest of you—learn from this. Strength is not always brute force. It is about observation, about strategy, about finding the weakness in your opponent. It is about intelligence."

By the end of the year, the Academy had become something real. What had once been a gathering of lost children was now a disciplined force. They trained every day, not just in magic, but in combat, alchemy, and strategy. They learned how to wield their abilities with precision.

They learned that power was neither good nor evil. It was simply power.

And they learned that they were meant to wield it.

Their families had also adapted to their new lives. The village surrounding Castlevania had grown into a true city, hidden beneath magical concealments, untouched by the chaos of the outside world. Merchants and craftsmen thrived under my protection. Spies and informants began to spread outward, their purpose simple—to watch, to listen, to prepare.

Because the world beyond Castlevania was falling into chaos. The first whispers of war between Nilfgaard and the North had begun. Tensions rose. Rulers schemed. Each kingdom, caught in a web of alliances and ancient grudges, postured for advantage. Nilfgaard, its armies vast and disciplined, its ambitions barely veiled, was like a coiled serpent, ready to strike. The North, fractured and distrustful, seemed oblivious to the impending threat, consumed by petty squabbles and internal power struggles.

None of them saw what was truly coming. They were so focused on the immediate political landscape, the shifting alliances and perceived threats, that they missed the larger picture. They failed to see the true power that was rising in the shadows, the force that would reshape the world.

But I did. I saw the currents of fate swirling, the inevitable clash between North and South. And I knew that when the time was right, when my Order had become strong enough, the world would see it too. They would learn that power had been hidden away for too long. And that Castlevania was ready to rise.

The second year of training was about refinement. The raw talent the students possessed was now being honed into deadly precision. They were no longer just children playing with magic. They were becoming weapons.

Anya, her control over earth now absolute, could reshape the very landscape with a thought. She could summon walls of stone, create fissures in the earth, and even manipulate the flow of underground water. Her training focused on battlefield tactics, on using her abilities to control terrain, to create choke points, to trap and disorient enemies.

Caius, the silent boy from Nilfgaard, had become a master of shadows. He could move unseen, his form blending seamlessly with the darkness. He could create illusions so realistic they could fool even the most experienced mages. His training centered on stealth, assassination, and information gathering. He was becoming my unseen hand, my whisper in the dark.

Elian, the pale-haired girl with chilling control over ice, had learned to summon blizzards, to freeze entire lakes, to create weapons of pure ice. Her training emphasized the destructive potential of her magic, turning her into a force of nature, capable of freezing the very blood in an enemy's veins.

And these three were just the beginning. The other students, each with their own unique talents, were progressing rapidly. They were learning to combine their abilities, to work together as a team, to become a cohesive fighting force.

Beyond magic, their training delved into other disciplines. They studied history, learning from the mistakes of the past, understanding the ebb and flow of power. They learned strategy, both on the battlefield and in the political arena. They studied alchemy, not just to create potions and elixirs, but to understand the fundamental building blocks of matter, to manipulate and transmute.

They also learned combat. Not just magical combat, but physical combat. They were taught to wield swords, to fight hand-to-hand, to defend themselves against mundane threats. They were becoming more than just mages. They were becoming warriors, strategists, scholars. They were becoming my elite guard, the core of my future army.

Their days were long and arduous. They trained from dawn till dusk, pushing their bodies and minds to the limit. They sparred with each other, honing their skills, learning to anticipate their opponents' moves. They practiced their magic, pushing the boundaries of their abilities, learning to control ever more complex and powerful spells.

And at night, they studied. They poured over ancient tomes, deciphering forgotten languages, unlocking the secrets of magic that had been lost for centuries. They debated philosophy, discussing the nature of power, the meaning of justice, the role of magic in the world.

They were being molded into something more than just mages. They were being molded into leaders, into thinkers, into individuals who could shape the future.

As the students grew stronger, so too did Avalon. The city surrounding Castlevania had expanded, its population swelling with craftsmen, merchants, and scholars, all drawn to the promise of safety and opportunity. The village had become a thriving hub of activity, hidden from the outside world by powerful illusions and wards.

My Iensbern Homunculi maintained the city's infrastructure, ensuring that everything ran smoothly. They also served as my eyes and ears, gathering information from across the Northern Kingdoms, keeping me informed of the political machinations and the growing tensions.

The merchants of Avalon, operating through secret channels, established trade routes with the outside world, bringing in resources and valuable information. They were my network, my connection to the mundane world.

And as the world outside descended further into chaos, Avalon became a beacon of order and stability. It was a place where magic was not feared, but embraced, where knowledge was not suppressed, but celebrated. It was a place where the future was being forged.

The whispers of war grew louder. Nilfgaard's armies massed on the borders of the North. Kings and emperors scrambled to form alliances, their fear finally outweighing their petty rivalries. The world was on the brink.

And I was ready.