The Gates of the Sky-Piercing Academy

The house in Sector 7 was an exercise in minimalist design. The stone walls were bare, the wooden furniture functional and unadorned. The only luxury was the breathtaking, vertigo-inducing view from the small garden at its rear. For a prince who had grown up surrounded by embroidered silks and sandalwood incense, the spartan simplicity should have felt like a demotion. To Amrit, it felt like freedom.

Here, he was not the Third Prince, the frail footnote, or the monstrous prodigy of Kshirapura. Here, he was simply Student Amrit, an unknown quantity in a sea of talent, stripped of all titles save the one he was here to earn. The simple room was a blank slate, a perfect starting point.

He spent his first hour not unpacking his meager belongings, but acquainting himself with his new environment on a spiritual level. He sat on the meditation cushion in the center of the room, his eyes closed, and cast out the net of his spiritual sense. He did not probe or spy; he simply listened to the pulse of the Academy.

The Outer Court was alive with a chaotic, vibrant energy. It was a symphony of a thousand different auras, a tempest of ambition, anxiety, hope, and pride. He could feel the blazing, arrogant confidence of students in the more prestigious sectors closer to the center, their Prana burning like bonfires. He could feel the nervous, flickering energy of those like him, assigned to the outer edges, the unknowns and the underdogs. And permeating it all was the immense, ancient, and unfathomably deep power of the Academy itself—the great spiritual veins beneath the city and the watchful, dormant auras of the Elders in the central spire.

The Academy was a living, breathing ecosystem, a proving ground designed to foster competition at every level. The very geography of the student housing was a form of social hierarchy. He was at the bottom rung, and the only way to go was up.

He was just beginning to explore the faint runic formations embedded in the walls of his own house—wards for privacy and elemental stability—when a polite but firm knock echoed from his door.

Amrit's senses had detected the approach long before the knock came. The visitor's aura was moderately strong, at the peak of the Body Tempering Realm like Arjun had been, but it lacked the arrogant fire. It was a steady, curious, and slightly nervous energy.

He opened the door. Standing there was a young man of about seventeen, with a round, friendly face, a mess of curly black hair, and bright, intelligent eyes. He was dressed in the practical, well-made robes of a wealthy merchant's son rather than the ostentatious silks of nobility. He held up a hand in a gesture of greeting, a slightly flustered smile on his face.

"Greetings! Sorry to bother you on your first day. I'm Rohan, your neighbor from next door," he said, his words coming out in a rush. "I saw you arrive. Well, everyone saw you arrive. Or rather, they saw your registration result. My word, I've never seen the Spirit Stone do… that. Black and gold? The whole registration hall has been buzzing about it. Is it a bloodline? A special constitution? My cousin thinks you're secretly a scion of the lost Shadow-Sun dynasty…"

He trailed off, realizing he was rambling, a blush creeping up his neck. "Apologies. My mouth runs ahead of my brain sometimes."

Amrit offered a calm smile. This Rohan was open and transparent, a refreshing change from the coiled vipers of the palace court. "Amrit. A pleasure to meet you, Rohan. And I'm afraid I must disappoint your cousin. I'm no lost royal."

"Oh, right. Of course," Rohan said, scratching the back of his head. "Still, quite the entrance. You also had a run-in with Prince Valerius on the Sky-Walk, they say. Stood up to his guard and made the Prince himself apologize. That's like poking a sleeping dragon in the eye. You've got more courage than sense, my friend."

"I merely stood my ground," Amrit said simply.

Rohan laughed. "In the Academy, standing your ground is a declaration of war. You've made a powerful enemy and a whole lot of curious onlookers on your first day. Not a bad start, I suppose." He leaned against the doorframe, his demeanor becoming more conspiratorial. "Look, you seem new to all this. Not just the Academy, but… everything. The way you carry yourself, it's different. Most of the nobles who come here are peacocks. You're… I don't know, a quiet hawk? Anyway, I figured you could use a quick rundown of how things really work here, before the trials eat you alive."

"I would appreciate that," Amrit said, genuinely grateful. He had absorbed books, but firsthand knowledge from a fellow student was invaluable. He gestured for Rohan to come inside.

Rohan stepped in, his eyes quickly scanning the bare room. "Right. First things first: forget your name, your title, your kingdom. Here, only one currency matters: Merit Points."

He tapped his own student token, which was identical to Amrit's. "This isn't just an ID. It's your life. Your score from the entrance trials will determine your starting Merit Points. After that, you earn them. Completing missions from the Mission Board, winning in the official Dueling Arenas, excelling in exams, making breakthroughs in your cultivation… even something as simple as selling rare herbs or artifacts you find can earn you points."

"And what are they used for?" Amrit asked, already understanding the brilliance of the system.

"Everything," Rohan said with a sweep of his hand. "This house? It's free for the first month. After that, it costs 100 Merit Points a month. Want a better house in a sector with denser Prana? That's 500 a month. The food in the dining halls? The basic stuff is free, but the spirit-enhancing meals cost points. Access to the advanced libraries? Points. Private lessons from an Elder? A whole lot of points. The Cultivation Towers? That's the big one."

He pointed out the window towards a cluster of pagodas that glowed with a faint inner light. "Those towers are built directly on top of the primary spiritual veins. Cultivating in the lowest-level tower for one hour is like cultivating for ten hours outside. It costs 10 Merit Points an hour. The highest-level tower, the one reserved for the Inner Court, is said to have a hundred-to-one ratio. The cost is astronomical. The point is, the Academy gives you nothing but the opportunity. Wealth, status, and power are all tied to your ability to earn these points. It's a ruthless meritocracy."

Amrit nodded slowly. It was a perfect system for fostering a culture of hyper-competition. It forced every student to constantly strive, to fight for every advantage. "So the entrance trial is not just for entry. It's for placement."

"Exactly!" Rohan exclaimed, glad Amrit was catching on so quickly. "It's the single most important event of your first year. A high score gets you a huge cache of starting Merit Points, a better residence, and maybe even the attention of an Elder, which could lead to a personal apprenticeship. A low score… well, you'll be struggling to pay your rent by the second month. It's designed to separate the true geniuses from the merely talented right from the start."

He gestured for Amrit to follow him outside. "Come on, I'll show you the hub."

They walked out of the quiet residential sector and into the bustling heart of the Outer Court. The central plaza was a hive of activity. A massive, glowing board dominated one side—the Mission Board, covered in shimmering requests ranging from "Collect five Sun-Glow herbs from the southern cliffs" to "Assist a local merchant caravan in fending off Stone-Hide boars."

On the other side were the Dueling Arenas, a series of circular, shielded platforms where students were already engaged in fierce, Prana-fueled combat, with crowds cheering them on. Wagers of Merit Points were being made on the sidelines.

"This is where it all happens," Rohan said, his eyes wide with the energy of the place. "It's a city that never sleeps. Always a mission to do, always a duel to be fought, always points to be won or lost."

As they stood there, a ripple of excitement passed through the crowd. Prince Valerius, flanked by a group of equally arrogant and well-dressed young nobles, was striding towards the plaza's central monument. Princess Fenghua and her entourage were not far behind, maintaining a cool distance but clearly part of the same elite social sphere.

"See that?" Rohan whispered, nudging Amrit. "The factions are already forming. That's the Imperial Clique. Heirs from the great empires and their vassal states. They stick together. Over there," he gestured to another group, "that's the Sect Alliance. Disciples from the major righteous cultivation sects. They see themselves as morally superior to the nobles. It's all politics, even here."

Amrit watched them, his gaze analytical. He was not just seeing factions; he was seeing the first outlines of the world's power structures, condensed into a schoolyard. This was the raw material he had to work with.

Rohan then led him to the plaza's central monument. It was a towering, ten-foot-tall obsidian monolith that hummed with a quiet power. Carved into its surface in glowing silver runes were lists of names.

"This is the Trial Monolith," Rohan explained. "After every major test, the top rankings are displayed here for all to see. It's the ultimate source of fame and shame in the Outer Court. Right now, it's showing the preliminary talent readings from the Spirit Stone at registration."

He pointed to the top of the list.

Prince Valerius (Draconian Empire) - Amethyst Gold - 9.8 Princess Fenghua (Vermilion Sun Empire) - Vermilion - 9.3 Zian (Sect of the Whispering Scroll) - Starlight Silver - 9.1 Kael (House Volkov) - Bloodstone Red - 8.9

…and so on. The list was a clear, quantifiable hierarchy of talent.

Rohan scanned the list, his finger tracing down. "My score was 7.2. Not bad for a merchant's son. Puts me in the top thirty percent." He kept looking, his curiosity getting the better of him. He wanted to see how the Academy had classified Amrit's bizarre result. He found it near the bottom, not because of a low score, but because of its anomalous nature.

??. Amrit (Kshirapura) - Unknown (Black/Gold) - Rating: ???

Three glowing question marks. The Academy's own system could not quantify his potential.

As they stood looking at it, a loud, brutish laugh cut through the air. A massive youth, built like a young bear and radiating a crude, powerful aura, strode towards them. He was flanked by two cronies. Amrit recognized his name from the monolith: Kael of House Volkov, ranked fourth.

"Well, well, look what we have here," Kael boomed, his eyes locking onto Amrit. His gaze was full of disdain. He was a man who believed in raw, obvious power, and Amrit's lack of a visible aura was an insult to him. "The great mystery from the backwoods. 'Unknown.' 'Rating: ???'. I'll tell you what that means. It means you're a fluke. A broken Spirit Stone, or some cheap trick to get attention."

He jabbed a thick finger at Amrit's chest. "This is a place for true warriors, boy. Not for sideshow acts. I'd wager you won't even last through the first stage of the entrance trial. When you fail, I'll be there to laugh."

Rohan tensed, ready to speak up, but Amrit put a placating hand on his shoulder. He looked at Kael, his expression not changing from its usual placid calm. He did not feel anger or indignation. He simply analyzed.

[Target: Kael of House Volkov.]

[Realm: Peak Body Tempering. Foundation: Brutish (High-strength, low-finesse). Relies on overwhelming physical power. Mental State: Arrogant, insecure, provoked by things he cannot understand. Threat Level: Moderate.]

"The trial will reveal the truth for all of us," Amrit said, his voice quiet but carrying a strange weight. He then turned his back on the fuming Kael and walked away, Rohan scurrying to keep up.

Leaving Kael sputtering in impotent rage was a more powerful statement than any comeback. It showed he wasn't even worth engaging with.

As they walked back towards their sector, Rohan let out a shaky breath. "Are you insane? That was Kael Volkov! His family are basically northern warlords! He crushes people in the dueling arenas for fun!"

"He is strong," Amrit acknowledged. "But he is also loud. Loud things are often hollow."

They reached their quarters, and Amrit stopped at his door. He looked back at the distant, soaring spire at the heart of the city. He now understood the Academy. It was not just a school. It was a crucible, designed to burn away the dross and leave only the purest, strongest steel. It was a hunting ground.

The gates he had passed through today were not the gates of the city. They were the gates of the battlefield. The entrance trial was the first campaign, and the Merit Points were the spoils of war.

He had passed the threshold. He had taken his first step into the vast, competitive world of the Academy of a Hundred Schools. And he was ready to begin his conquest.