The imperial Arcarne Academy

Chapter 2 – The Academy That Judges All

The Imperial Arcane Academy stood like a challenge cast in stone, spires reaching into the clouds, walls carved with runes older than memory, statues of heroes frozen in mid-spell. Magic hummed through the marble beneath my boots, ancient and oppressive.

I passed beneath the archway, breath shallow.

This wasn't just a school.

It was a crucible.

Where mages were refined. Where weakness was bled out.

Where names meant less than results.

Nobles, commoners, scions of great houses… all reduced to one measure: Power.

Students had already arrived.

Some were sparring with flames. Others summoned shadows or stilled the wind with their palms.

They were levels ahead of me. Literally.

Level 15, 16, even 19.

I was Level 9.

Tier 1.

Barely a flicker.

Logic. Telekinesis. That was it.

While they tore holes in the air, I calculated vectors.

Inside the courtyard, mana-training lines buzzed with students.

Assassins trained in disappearing behind pillars.

Knights formed spears out of wind and grit.

I walked past all of them.

Whispers chased my steps.

"Valeon…?"

"No way. Level 9?"

"Third son of a nobody baron. Logic Affinity. It's a joke, right?"

Let them talk.

Let them laugh.

A girl with ember-red hair stepped into my path, stance like a blade drawn too early.

"Lyra Tressa."

She didn't ask for my name. Didn't need to.

"This place breaks the soft."

She brushed past.

A robed man appeared near the entrance, a senior instructor. His eyes scanned the courtyard with razor precision.

"Titles don't matter here."

He turned and vanished into the mist.

I kept walking.

Toward the gates. Toward the trials.

Inside the classroom, the silence was almost louder.

Glowing crystals floated above.

Walls shimmered with runes. Desks arranged like a battlefield.

Dozens of students.

White uniforms. Gold trim.

Smirking nobles.

Stern warriors.

Arcane prodigies.

And me.

I took the back row.

One by one, threads of mana glimmered around the others. Fire. Ice. Wind. Blood.

Level 14.

Level 17.

Tier 2?

I sat at Level 9.

Still.

Still breathing.

Still watching.

Still calculating.

The door opened.

The room stiffened.

A tall woman stepped in. Silver hair. Long coat. A presence that cleaved the air clean.

She dropped a tome onto the desk and faced us.

"First lesson."

She didn't blink. Didn't breathe wrong.

"What's the weakest known Affinity?"

Hands shot up.

"Illusion."

"Sound."

"Light."

A boy near the front leaned back. His collar dripped with gold. His smirk was carved in contempt.

"Logic. Can't even light a candle with it."

Chuckles. Nods.

The professor watched. Let the silence expand.

"Anyone possess it?"

I raised my hand.

Murmurs.

"Second Affinity?"

"Telekinesis."

That turned heads.

Even Gold-Collar blinked.

She snapped her fingers.

A rune lit beneath the classroom floor. A hidden trapdoor opened. A cage rose up.

Inside, something snarled.

Clawrat.

F-rank monster. Small, fast, vicious.

It lunged at the bars, red eyes gleaming.

"Immobilize it," she said. "You pass. Fail… and you'll need healing."

The cage clicked open.

It charged.

Pain tore through my arm. Blood soaked my sleeve. I bit down a curse.

Too slow.

It circled. Hissed. Twitched.

"Three-second cycles. Heavy on the left. Always hisses before the jump."

I spotted a shattered chair leg nearby. Reached out.

It wobbled, lifted.

The Clawrat hissed again.

I stepped forward, fast.

It leapt.

I struck.

Wood met fur and bone. It hit the ground in a heap.

Dead.

Silence.

I looked up. Met the professor's gaze.

"Next time," she said. "Warn me before demonstrating the weakest Affinity's potential."

I sat again.

No laughter.

No comments.

Just eyes.

Watching.

Measuring.

Good.

Let them wonder.

Let them rethink.

The truth?

They still had no idea what Logic could really do.

The lecture ended.

Students filed out in small, murmuring groups. Some glanced back. Most didn't speak.

I stayed.

The blood on my sleeve had dried into a stiff crust. My arm throbbed, but it wasn't the pain that kept me still.

It was the silence.

Not fear. Not pride.

Just… stillness.

I stared at the rune-etched floor where the Clawrat had died. The faint scent of scorched mana still lingered.

Someone sat beside me.

Not Lyra.

Not a noble.

Just a boy. Pale eyes. Sharp jaw. No badge on his robe.

"You see how it moves," he said. "Before it does."

I didn't answer.

He stood, brushing dust off his robes.

"They think strength is loud. Obvious."

He turned to go.

"But the quiet ones… they break things when no one's looking."

He walked away without giving his name.

I sat a little longer.

Then I opened my notebook. Not a spellbook. Just lined parchment.

I drew the Clawrat's path. Mapped its cycle. Measured how long it took between hisses and leaps. Then flipped the page.

A new formula.

"Response delay: 0.3s."

"Telekinetic precision: unstable at 4m range."

"Mana consumption: 2.6% per direct impact."

I wasn't done.

Not by a long shot.

Author's Note

Thanks for reading Chapter 2! If you caught the subtle flaw in the Academy's design described here, drop your theory in the comments. Every feedback or ⚙️ helps this story evolve.