The Outlaw Walks Among Nobles

The gates of the Academy of Veythar loomed ahead, massive black iron structures adorned with golden runes that pulsed faintly in the morning light. Beyond them lay the most prestigious institution in the kingdom, a place where nobles sharpened their swords and honed their magic, where ambition thrived, and failure meant ruin.

Raine Vaelor had no place here.

And yet, here he stood.

His boots crunched against the cobbled path leading up to the entrance, the dusty remnants of the lawless frontier still clinging to the worn leather of his coat. Around him, carriages of polished mahogany and gilded trim spilled out young nobles dressed in silks and embroidered cloaks, their postures exuding arrogance. He caught their glances—some filled with curiosity, others with disdain. They saw him as an outsider. Not one of them.

They weren't wrong.

The Academy of Veythar was a place of prestige, a battleground where the elite molded their legacies. Noble houses sent their heirs to sharpen their minds and their blades, to build alliances and claim their birthright. Even commoners with exceptional talent were allowed entry—if only to serve as stepping stones for the nobility.

But Raine? He hadn't entered by noble birth or talent alone.

He had earned his way in the hard way—with steel, blood, and a reputation that made men hesitate before drawing their swords. The fact that the Academy had accepted someone with his past only meant one thing: someone wanted him here.

And that unsettled him more than anything.

He could feel it already—the weight of unseen eyes, observing, judging. Somewhere beyond the towering archways, rival houses whispered, teachers placed their bets, and enemies formed before he even set foot inside.

"Nervous?"

The voice came from his left. Raine turned, catching sight of a young man leaning against a nearby stone pillar. He was dressed finely, though not as extravagantly as the others. His midnight-blue coat bore the insignia of House Damaris, one of the lesser noble houses—wealthy, but not ruling. His silver hair and sharp green eyes carried the easy confidence of someone accustomed to high society.

Raine didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied the young man's stance—relaxed, yet deliberate. A noble's habit of appearing at ease while keeping control of the situation.

"Should I be?" Raine finally replied, keeping his tone neutral.

The noble smirked. "If you weren't, I'd think you were either an idiot or already planning something reckless."

Raine exhaled sharply. "Maybe I'm both."

The noble chuckled, pushing off the pillar and offering a gloved hand. "Elias Damaris. I'd say 'a pleasure to meet you,' but let's be honest—you're either a fool or a madman for walking in here with that reputation of yours."

Raine clasped his hand, firm but not overly aggressive. "Raine Vaelor. And what reputation would that be?"

Elias grinned. "The one where you crawled out of the lawless lands and somehow ended up here. There are whispers that you've killed men, stolen from the crown, and outrun bounty hunters. Some say you're a rogue, others say you're just lucky." His eyes flickered with amusement. "Which one is it?"

Raine shrugged. "I suppose we'll find out."

The sound of a bell rang across the courtyard, signaling the start of the entrance trials. Though all students had already been accepted into the Academy, their ranking among their peers was yet to be determined. And in Veythar, rank meant everything.

High ranks granted access to elite tutors, political favor, and noble connections. Low ranks? They were little more than stepping stones for the ambitious.

Raine felt the tension shift in the air. Nobles who had been idly conversing now carried themselves differently, their postures sharpening, their gazes shifting to assess their competition. This wasn't just a school—it was a battlefield.

The Grand Marshal of the Academy, a towering man clad in silver-plated armor, stepped forward onto a raised platform. His voice boomed across the courtyard.

"Welcome to the Academy of Veythar. You stand upon the proving grounds of the greatest warriors and mages of our age. Here, noble blood will be tested, commoners will rise or fall, and weaklings will be discarded. If you seek mediocrity, leave now."

A hush fell over the crowd.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, the Grand Marshal raised his hand—and from the sky, a cascade of enchanted scrolls fell like drifting feathers.

One landed in Raine's palm. The parchment bore a single command:

Defeat your opponent in a duel. Your rank depends on it.

Raine exhaled through his nose. Of course.

A murmur spread through the students as they unrolled their scrolls, scanning the names of their assigned opponents. Raine's gaze flicked to his own.

Opponent: Aldric Valtheris.

A name he didn't recognize. But the reaction from the nearby students told him everything he needed to know.

Elias, still standing nearby, raised an eyebrow as he peeked at Raine's scroll. "Well, I'll be damned. They're pitting you against him?"

Raine rolled his shoulders, feeling the familiar tension of an impending fight. "Who is he?"

Elias smirked. "Only one of the most promising noble heirs in the Academy. High-ranking family, top-tier swordsmanship, and enough talent to make half the instructors nervous."

Raine glanced around until he spotted the figure standing on the opposite side of the courtyard.

Aldric Valtheris was tall, poised, and exuded an aura of quiet confidence. His midnight-black coat bore the insignia of House Valtheris, a noble lineage Raine had heard whispers of but knew little about.

Aldric's eyes met his. Cold. Calculating. A swordsman's gaze.

Raine's grip tightened on his scroll. He didn't need to know his opponent's full history to understand one thing:

This duel wasn't just about rank. It was a test. A message.

And Raine would be damned if he let himself be used as a stepping stone.

Let the nobles play their games. He would play to win.