Chapter 5: Orientation

Lance sat in the carriage, his fingers lightly tapping against his knee as his thoughts spiraled. The weight of realization settled over him—if such a notification had appeared, then danger was inevitable. The future loomed, uncertain and possibly lethal.

"We've arrived, young master," came Frederick's voice, snapping Lance out of his reverie.

He blinked, refocusing as the carriage came to a halt. Through the window, his eyes widened at the sight before him. The Hebrew Academy of Magic stood tall and imposing, its grandeur exceeding even the legends he had heard in his past life. The sheer scale of it was breathtaking—the main building stretched nearly a kilometer, its walls constructed from polished limestone, while the dark, steeply angled roof tiles gleamed beneath the midday sun.

So, this is it… Lance mused. I never imagined it would actually surpass my expectations.

Frederick's voice broke through his thoughts once again. "I must say, young master, you are rather small for your age. Do be cautious—this academy is filled with nobles, and they may not all be kind. Since it's your first day, I will wait outside should anything happen."

With that, Frederick stepped aside, guiding Lance out of the carriage. The moment his feet met the stone pavement, Lance took a slow breath, surveying the noble children entering through the grand iron-wrought gates. Their fine garments and upright postures exuded wealth and status, yet their expressions ranged from excitement to apprehension.

Turning back, Lance met Frederick's gaze. For a fleeting second, the two exchanged a knowing look—an understanding, a silent acknowledgment of parting. Then, with a slight smirk, Lance turned on his heel and strode through the gates.

Finally, that damn butler is off my back, he thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. No one told me being a noble would be this exhausting.

As he stepped into the corridors, the sheer magnitude of the academy enveloped him. The ceilings soared, adorned with intricate chandeliers that bathed the polished marble floors in a warm, golden glow. Enormous stained-glass windows cast colored patterns across the walls, depicting tales of legendary mages and heroic battles. The murmur of countless students filled the halls, a mixture of laughter, hushed whispers, and the occasional reprimand from an upperclassman.

Following the flow of students, Lance arrived at the vast auditorium, where rows upon rows of seats stretched out before a stage concealed by a heavy black curtain. Hundreds of noble children had already gathered, their presence filling the space with an electrifying tension. He followed the line of students and took a seat, his sharp eyes scanning the unfamiliar faces.

As the last of the students filed in, the lights dimmed, plunging the room into darkness. A few startled gasps echoed throughout the chamber before a single spotlight flared to life, illuminating the stage.

The heavy curtain drew back, revealing a man standing at the center. He appeared to be in his mid-sixties, his brown hair streaked with silver, his matted beard lending him an air of authority. His clothing—finely woven silk embroidered with military insignias—spoke of both status and experience.

Clearing his throat, he began to speak. "Welcome. My name is Jordan Randolf. I am the principal of this academy and the chairman of the Knights of Yvel."

The moment Lance heard that name, his mind reeled.

Wait a second… Yvel?

His pulse quickened as memories surged forth. That doesn't make sense. We're on the continent of Eurat, the furthest west of the eight continents. Yvel is nearly 10,000 kilometers north—one of the most distant continents. Not only that, but relations between these regions have been tense for years. Before my death, there were whispers of an impending war between them…

A sudden, suffocating darkness swept over Lance's senses, setting every nerve in his body on edge. His gaze flickered upward toward a wooden platform above the stage.

There—standing motionless—was a pale figure. His eerie presence sent a cold shiver down Lance's spine. The man's sharp eyes moved methodically across the crowd, scanning, searching.

Lance's breath hitched. This must be what the notification was warning me about.

Lowering his head, he clenched his fists, trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible. He knew his striking red eyes were a dead giveaway.

Applause suddenly erupted through the auditorium, signaling the end of the speech. Lance barely noticed as Principal Randolf exited the stage. The next thing he knew, teachers entered the hall, ushering students toward their designated classrooms.

Only then did he allow himself a quiet sigh of relief.

For now, I'm safe… but for how long?

Lance and about twenty other children trailed behind their teacher, their small footsteps echoing through the stone-floored corridor. The man leading them was tall, his broad shoulders and strong build giving him an imposing presence. His blonde hair shimmered under the torchlight, but his cold, lifeless gray eyes told a different story—one of exhaustion or perhaps indifference.

After a short walk, they arrived at a heavy wooden door. Without a word, the teacher pushed it open, gesturing for the children to enter. They hesitated briefly before shuffling inside, quickly claiming seats while the teacher strode to the front of the room.

Suddenly, his voice exploded through the air.

"STAND UP!"

The command sent a jolt through the class, and several children flinched in shock before scrambling to their feet.

Geez, somebody get this guy a chill pill, Lance thought, suppressing an eye-roll. As the teacher's harsh gaze swept over them, Lance took the opportunity to scan the room. It wasn't particularly large, but it was enclosed enough to feel safe. Only two possible entry points stood out—the main door they had entered through and a large window on the right wall. That window could be a problem.

"YOU! WITH THE RED EYES!"

Lance froze. He quickly glanced around, hoping someone else fit the description, but it was no use. He was the only one.

"Uhm… yeah?" he responded weakly, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

The teacher's glare darkened. "What's my name?"

Lance blinked, his mind racing for an answer. He glanced around frantically before his eyes landed on the desk in front of him. There, carved into the wood, was the name Mr. Snow.

"Mr. Snow?" he offered hesitantly.

The teacher's expression twisted with immediate fury.

"YOU WEREN'T LISTENING!" he barked. "THAT WAS THE PREVIOUS TEACHER OF THIS CLASSROOM. MY NAME IS MR. SNIX. UNDERSTOOD?"

Lance barely managed a hurried nod as Mr. Snix continued to scowl at him.

Jeez, this guy is seriously doing too much… We're a bunch of five-year-olds, not soldiers.

With a final glare that lingered just a little too long, Mr. Snix exhaled sharply.

"Everyone sit down."

The class obeyed in unison, sinking into their chairs with visible relief. The lesson had barely begun, and yet, Lance already knew—this was going to be a long day.