Become a legend?

The morning light penetrated the dormitory window, waking Ars Storia from his restless sleep. The nightmare from last night was still fresh in his mind, but his small body was now filled with curiosity and determination that was hard to explain.

He got out of bed, and his eyes immediately fell on a set of clothes hanging on an iron hanger near the closet. A military school uniform. Not just any ordinary uniform—this was a special design: an elegant purplish-black long skirt, a white shirt with gold accents, and a short coat that allowed freedom of movement. It did not hinder movement, even when jumping or running. Inside, there was a thin magic-made protector, absorbing light impacts.

Ars held the cloth slowly. The touch was soft, but full of meaning. This was not just clothing. This was a symbol—that he was now part of this world's military system.

He stood in front of the mirror. The figure staring back at him was a small girl with pale blonde hair, light blue eyes that radiated calmness but also determination. There was a hint of oldness in her gaze. Not like an ordinary four-year-old. But she was not an ordinary child. He was Rintaro Shiba—a dead man, reborn as Ars Storia.

He clenched his small fists.

"I won't be a pawn. I'll be a player."

With light but purposeful steps, Ars walked out into the academy's main courtyard. There, his eyes immediately caught a crowd of children in identical uniforms. All looked to be 12 to 15 years old, much older than him. But something made him pause: their expressions. Some were calm, some were arrogant, and some were afraid. But one thing that made Ars wonder—half of them were from the nobility.

"Nobles are trained here too…?" he muttered softly.

He knew his place: a commoner. One of the unsung. But why would the nobles want to go down to the same place as the commoners? Something was happening in this world. The system was changing. War might be just around the corner.

The academy's hallways were bustling with activity. Ars walked through them slowly. On the right side, he saw cadets practicing fire, ice, and lightning magic. Each spell was spoken in an ancient language, and each blast of magic struck a wooden target with military precision.

On the other side of the clearing, Ars's breath was caught in the air: a mecha unit—a five-meter-tall steel behemoth, standing tall with magical runes carved all over its body. Older cadets climbed into the cockpit and fused their magic into the machine's core. The mecha moved, swinging giant swords, holding up magical shields, and leaping with the aid of gravitational magic.

"This isn't just an academy," Ars thought. "This is the fortress of the war gods."

In the midst of it all, Ars knew one thing: he was different. He was small. His status was low. But his mind was sharp, and the will within him would never be defeated by even noble blood.

"If I wasn't born strong, then I'll build my own power."

"If this world wants to destroy me, then I'll learn it… and defeat it."

With calm steps yet full of hidden power, Ars Storia stepped into the new cadet induction area. This was the beginning of everything—the beginning of the rise of a legend. A little girl... who will shake the world.

The sound of the training horn echoed from the academy's main tower, calling all the new cadets to the center field. Ars walked with small steps, but his eyes stared straight ahead. There were quite a few surprised looks and even soft laughter from the other cadets when they saw the little girl walking alone, like a lost rabbit in a lion's den.

"What is that... a child? Don't tell me she's a cadet too?"

"Cute enough, maybe playing around."

Ars did not respond. None of the voices disturbed his mind. He had experienced more than just ridicule—he had died. He had been betrayed, abandoned, and lived in a harsh new world without a shred of support. Their words were nothing more than the murmur of the wind.

Inside him, there was a voice that kept whispering:

"Don't tell anyone your purpose."

"No need for confession."

"No need for sympathy."

"The more they think you are weak, the more chances you have to show who you really are."

As he stood in the middle of the line of other cadets, he watched. He saw their posture. The way they held their wands. The way they spoke to each other. Information was power, and observation was his first weapon.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young noble with a noble family crest on his chest glancing at him with contempt. But Ars only smiled slightly. In that smile, there was an unbreakable will.

"I don't need to defeat them today. But one day, they will know... that I am not just a child."

The young nurse from the academy approached and handed the cadets a training journal and a lesson schedule. Ars accepted his in silence. No questions. No words.

Magic theory classes, military tactics studies, magic programming for mecha units, the history of conflicts between kingdoms. That was their daily bread. But to Ars, all of that was not a burden. It was a tool. A weapon. A ladder to strength.

And every night, while the other cadets slept soundly, Ars stayed awake in his bed. Lighting a small candle. Rereading textbooks. Drawing magic patterns with his finger in the air. Memorizing the structure of the mecha from the diagram down to the details of its bolts.

In his mind, there was only one voice:

"Don't tell anyone."

"Let them laugh at you. Let them look at you with disdain. But when the time comes... it won't just be them who will be silent. The world will be silent too."

Ars Storia, the outcast, had taken his first step.

The silent steps of a legend.