“I understand, Lilina. Truly,” Nerion said after a brief silence, his voice calm yet firm. “But my objective will not change. This is the only chance I have to participate in the Grand Tournament. When the next one comes, I will already be sixteen, perhaps even seventeen, and the window will have closed. Fate will no longer be on my side. So even if the path ahead is arduous—perhaps even close to impossible—I still have to try. I have to go all out.”

  Both Karles and Lilina could tell that Nerion was not speaking lightly. This was not the reckless bravado of youth, nor the empty boasting of someone intoxicated by talent. There was a weight behind his words that left no room for mockery. Neither of them laughed, nor did they attempt to dissuade him further.

  Instead, they exchanged a look, and after a moment, nodded in unison.

  “Alright,” Lilina said. “Then let’s do this.”

  Karles followed soon after, his expression thoughtful yet resolute. “To be honest, I would love to participate as well. Truly. But I know my limitations. That does not mean I will hold back during the next Ranking—on the contrary. This is our chance to be noticed by the upper management of the academy. Even if the dream is distant, we must still reach for it. Otherwise, what is the point of being here, in the Lyceum?”

  He paused briefly, then continued, turning his gaze back to Nerion.

  “But you, Nerion… you have a chance. A slim one, perhaps, but a real one. You might be selected for the Special Course, and even be considered for the Core Class afterwards. Once that happens, we may no longer be able to walk alongside you—but for the next four weeks, you can count on us completely.”

  Lilina smiled and added, “Indeed. You won’t be alone in this.”

  Nerion felt a warmth rise in his chest at their words, yet it was accompanied by a sense of hesitation. What he was attempting was difficult—dangerously so—and if his friends devoted themselves to helping him, it could very well hinder their own progress in the coming Ranking. The thought of dragging them down with him sat poorly in his heart.

  He was about to refuse when Lilina cut him off sharply.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she said, crossing her arms. “I know exactly what’s going through your head. You think accepting our help will ruin our chances. Typical. Always trying to shoulder everything alone.”

  Nerion scratched the back of his head, a faint sheen of sweat forming despite the cool air. he wondered.

  Lilina continued, her tone now measured but unwavering.

  “Helping you is also helping ourselves. If you manage to enter the Special Course, you’ll prove yourself to be one of the best among the first-year students. And since we’re in the same class, your rise will lift us as well.”

  She paused, then her expression turned serious.

  “Our class is… fractured. I’m sure you’ve already noticed. We are not much weaker than the other Inner Classes, but we suffer from infighting. There is no true leader capable of uniting everyone. Solda and his group form one faction. Karles and I another. Some students hover around us, offering superficial support when it suits them. Others remain neutral altogether. Under such conditions, it is almost impossible to outperform the other classes.”

  Karles nodded and took over seamlessly.

  “There is, however, another way. A rare one—but it has happened before. When a single student is so exceptional that they carry the entire class on their shoulders. That was the case with Senior Brother Marcus.”

  His eyes shone faintly as he continued, enthusiasm creeping into his voice.

  “And who’s to say there won’t be additional benefits? We will also grow stronger alongside you. We’ll take advantage of your Contribution Points—openly, shamelessly. You’ll eat the meat, and we’ll drink the soup. We’ll train at your place every afternoon. And if possible…”

  He hesitated only for a moment before pressing on.

  “…you could convince your brother to guide us once or twice. Being instructed by a Dragon General—by a genius TAO Emperor—is something money cannot buy. That alone would be worth everything we invest here.”

  Karles’ pragmatic tone, dressed in calculated sincerity, finally tipped the scales.

  Nerion knew they were trying to convince him for his own sake as much as theirs. Lilina came from a family overflowing with martial talent; her father was a true Saint. Karles, though from a merchant house, was far from lacking in resources or backing. They did not him.

  And yet, they chose him.

  Before he could respond, Lilina fixed him with a glare that allowed no argument.

  “That’s settled,” she said flatly. “You either accept our help, or our friendship ends here.”

  Nerion raised both hands in surrender, laughing softly.

  “Alright. I yield.”

  A genuine smile spread across his face—one free of calculation or restraint. He etched this favor deep into his heart, silently vowing to repay it many times over.

  Without further delay, the three sat together and began planning the next four weeks in meticulous detail.

  Karles immediately took Nerion to the cafeteria and engaged the lunch lady in lengthy negotiations. Given Nerion’s unusual situation—few students outside the Core Class could afford daily special menus—Karles leveraged advance payment and volume to secure a twenty-eight per cent discount. For six hundred Contribution Points paid upfront, Nerion would receive tailored meals for the next twenty-eight days. A fortune, yes—but one Nerion judged well spent. He did not currently need martial manuals or new techniques. His foundation was already solid.

  Next, they moved to the training facilities.

  The training room manager, an unassuming yet sharp-eyed old man named Lothar, listened patiently as Karles outlined their needs. After much discussion, they settled on renting a Crushing Gravity Room.

  This particular room, constructed using rare materials extracted from the depths of the Grand Desert of Avi-Sena and reinforced through complex alchemical arrays, could amplify gravity up to ten times its natural strength.

  Few students dared use it.

  The risks were considerable, the costs exorbitant, and the benefits limited to those with suitable constitutions and meridians. A single careless session could result in catastrophic internal injuries.

  Still, Nerion committed.

  For two hours every afternoon until the test, the room would be theirs—at the cost of three hundred and fifty Contribution Points.

  By the time the agreement was finalised, Nerion was left nearly penniless.

  And so, the four weeks of relentless, focused training began.

  Each afternoon afterwards, Nerion entered the gravity chamber alone, gradually increasing the pressure as he practised the first three forms of the Free Flowing Fist. His goal was not sparring, but absolute internalisation, forcing his body to adapt, to breathe, to move under crushing force.

  Unlike others, Nerion’s reforged body—nearly on par with that of a magical beast—allowed him to endure pressures that would cripple most warriors.

  Afterward, he would rest briefly, then invite Karles and Lilina to the manor.

  The new home already looked different. Soldiers and guards stood at the gates, the royal flag waving proudly above the Grand Army symbol. A new plaque gleamed at the entrance:

  HOUSE OF THE QILIN

  Elisha welcomed Nerion’s new friends with warmth and sincerity.

  Karles and Lilina were nervous meeting the Dragon General — a living legend synonymous with fearlessness and fortitude. Even Lilina, usually tomboyish and bold, felt a touch of shyness.

  When they explained their plan, Elisha did not hesitate.

  Lilina took the chance to say her father and brothers were sincerely pleased with his appointment as Dragon General. Whether perfunctory or not, Elisha sensed the Aitana family from the north held no ill will.

  Seeing their sincerity, Elisha promised full support.

  “You are welcome here,” he said. “Train as much as you like. I’ll join you all and give you pointers whenever I can. When I’m unavailable, my most trusted soldiers will join you”

  He couldn’t be with them every afternoon — a Dragon General was one of the busiest men in the Kingdom — but they were welcome to train openly at the manor’s special training room.

  Karles and Lilina were exhilarated.

  Training under a genius TAO Emperor, even occasionally, was an honour beyond price. They knew they had made the right choice.

  And so, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the second day at the Lyceum came to an end. Not with idle chatter or hollow dreams, but with sweat, resolve, and a target set firmly in the heart.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Night descended peacefully over Ansem, draping the capital in a sea of warm lights and hushed murmurs. In the noble district, lanterns glowed softly behind ornate gates, and laughter mixed with music carried by the cool evening breeze.

  The newly established Manor of the Qilin

  Far from the Manor itself, the Night Market

  Amidst the crowd, one of the gardeners from the Manor moved with practised ease, ostensibly haggling over rare fertilisers and local produce. He chatted easily with merchants, laughed at coarse jokes, and spoke openly—almost proudly—of his service under the new Dragon General, as if eager for the world to know where his loyalties lay.

  What no one noticed was the brief exchange of glances between him and a shadowed figure watching from the window of a small tavern near the market’s edge.

  Nor did anyone notice the small, emerald-green bird perched on a weather-worn gargoyle three stories above him, its bright eyes fixed unblinkingly on the gardener, never once losing him from sight.

  After a while, the gardener excused himself and turned into a narrow alley, his steps unhurried, his posture relaxed—but his eyes sharp, scanning reflections in puddles and polished stone.

  The man from the tavern was already waiting.

  “Chirp. Chirp.”

  The sound was soft, almost playful.

  Little Green took flight in a flash of green, gliding silently across the rooftops before landing on the shoulder of a young woman with dark braided hair standing atop a nearby building.

  Serena de Vainilla did not move. She simply followed the alley with her gaze, her expression calm, focused—mercilessly so.

  This time, there would be no escape.

  The following three weeks seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.

  Nerion had settled well into school life. While there were still a few who looked at him with open disdain, most students simply did not care. Their attention had long since shifted to matters far more pressing—the impending Inner Class Ranking. Even Solda and his usual entourage refrained from provoking him openly.

  Yet from time to time, Nerion would catch Solda watching him.

  Not with open hostility—but with a strange, measuring gaze. Like a snake that had already chosen its prey and was merely waiting for the right moment to strike.

  Nerion did not understand the reason behind those looks, nor did he dwell on them. He was confident in himself, and confident that whatever obstacle lay ahead, he would face it head-on.

  Most afternoons were spent in relentless training.

  Back-to-back sparring sessions became the norm, often against multiple opponents at once. Nerion was undeniably strong, but even he could not dominate Lilina and Karles consistently—both were gifted TAO Grandmasters, honed by years of elite instruction and blessed with formidable talent of their own.

  The afternoon before the Demotion Test arrived heavy with tension, not only for the Inner Class, but for the Outer Class students as well. Anxiety clung to the academy like a low fog.

  At the Manor of the Qilin, the backyard bore silent witness to the weeks of brutal training. Broken stones, shattered tiles, and deep cracks in the ground painted a picture of utter devastation.

  Nerion stood at the center.

  Lilina, Karles, and Elisha were attacking him simultaneously.

  For this particular exercise, Nerion was forbidden from counterattacking. His task was singular and absolute: defend

  And defend he did.

  RA TA TA TA TA TA!

  The air thundered with relentless assaults. Nerion moved with fluid precision, maintaining his stance at all times—parrying, blocking, evading, redirecting. His body responded instinctively, his movements seamless and economical, never excessive, never rushed.

  His Unbreakable Stance

  What had improved the most was not his raw strength, but his reaction speed, spatial awareness, and ability to defend against multiple enemies without losing rhythm. This was no coincidence. Nerion was fully digesting the insights he had gained during the trials at the Royal Military School—insights born of hardship and epiphany.

  “STOP.”

  Elisha raised his hand, a satisfied smile on his face.

  “Very good, little brother. You didn’t disappoint us,” he said. “Even with an almost unending barrage of attacks, you managed to adjust your rhythm correctly. Whether it was Karles pressing you, Lilina changing tempo, or even me stepping in—you responded at the right moment every time.”

  Elisha’s pride was evident.

  He was equally thankful toward Lilina and Karles. Both had given their all—not only attacking with full force under Elisha’s guidance, but also stepping back when needed, allowing Nerion to experiment, to fail safely, and to refine his techniques. Sometimes, simply being there was enough.

  Nor had their efforts gone unrewarded.

  True to his word, Elisha joined their training once or twice each week, offering guidance that was nothing short of priceless. Both Karles and Lilina improved steadily under his instruction.

  Elisha had even finalized a trade agreement with the Santana Family, ensuring his manor a steady supply of the spiritual agricultural products that had made them famous. The Santana Patriarch was more than pleased—this partnership opened the door to future military contracts.

  The Aitana Family was equally satisfied. Lilina’s father sent a letter of appreciation, pledging full support when Elisha was assigned to oversee the Northern Border.

  All things considered, the group had achieved remarkable progress in a short time.

  After three consecutive weeks of gravity training, Nerion’s agility and fluidity had increased noticeably. He could now tolerate double the normal gravity

  Without the obscene amount of Contribution Points extracted from Selene’s punishment, such progress would have been impossible.

  Daily consumption of the specially tailored meals further reinforced his foundation. Nerion managed to raise both his Qi and Mana to Level 12

  This improvement went largely unnoticed. Most students were also pushing themselves to the limit, many advancing one or two levels through heavy investment from their families. Such growth was unsustainable, but desperation made people reckless.

  Nerion took care to eat from the Special Menu only when most students had already left the cafeteria. The Gravity Room, being one of the least-used facilities in the academy, allowed him to train without drawing attention.

  “Well,” Elisha finally said, clapping his hands once, “we’ve done all we can for now. Tomorrow is the Demotion Test. After that, we’ll know the rules for the Ranking, and we’ll adjust accordingly.”

  “Guys… I really can’t thank—”

  “Stop right there,” Lilina cut in sharply, raising an eyebrow. “Say ‘thank you’ one more time and we’re no longer friends.”

  Nerion once more yielded to Lilina. The repeated threat did not diminish Nerion’s gratitude towards his friends.

  Elisha watched the trio with quiet warmth. For a moment, Nerion looked like a normal teenager again.

  “Well, little brother,” Elisha asked, “worried about tomorrow?”

  “What do you think?” Nerion replied with a grin.

  “Cocky little runt,” Elisha laughed, before returning to his study.

  Work awaited.

  He found Serena already there, immersed in reports.

  “Any leads on the spy?” Elisha asked, pouring himself a glass of spirit wine to recover his stamina.

  “Unfortunately, no, Lord General,” Serena replied calmly. “Both men were well-trained and tight-lipped. Our suspicion points toward agents connected to either House Mora or House Alara.”

  Elisha fell into thought.

  “Serena,” he said after a pause, “call me Elisha when we’re alone. We go back too far for titles.”

  She nodded.

  “They could be involved,” he continued. “But I doubt they’d act so openly. More likely, intermediaries. Or outsiders. Rhodar and the other territories would love to learn more about me.”

  Serena smiled faintly.

  They returned to their work.

  The day was far from over.

  Meanwhile, at another manor in Ansem, Solda was seated alongside several of his followers, entertaining a guest.

  The young man standing before them wore the uniform of the Lyceum as well—yet it was unmistakably different.

  Its colour was paler. Its lines simpler. Its ornamentation restrained.

  The Outer Class

  Though less regal, it carried its own austere authority.

  “So,” Solda said lazily, his voice dripping with habitual disdain, “do we have an agreement?”

  The young man across from him—Javier Julian

  Javier was not an ordinary Outer Class student. He was the strongest of the first-year cohort, a man who had clawed his way to the top through relentless effort and no small amount of talent. Among the Outer Class, especially in the early years, the competition was brutal—far more so than in the Inner Class. Every Demotion Test was a chance for a carp to leap the Dragon Gate.

  And Javier had prepared meticulously.

  He had studied the lowest-ranked Inner Class students, measured their strengths, and weighed his odds. He had heard of Nerion Nil Radomia, of course, but the rumours painted him as shallow, unstable, unworthy. A non-factor.

  So when Solda sought him out with this proposal, Javier’s first instinct was to refuse outright.

  The Outer and Inner Classes diverged sharply as the years passed, but at the beginning? The gap was narrow. These first tests were his best chance. Perhaps his only real chance.

  Worse still, Solda’s tone grated on him.

  Javier’s family belonged to the upper bourgeoisie. Not nobility, but close enough to glimpse it. His dream was simple and consuming: to elevate his house, to earn the Ansaran patronymic — .

  Pride burned in his chest.

  And yet, before he could reject Solda outright, reality intervened.

  His family’s warehouses were suddenly inspected. Permits delayed. Contracts questioned. Guards and hired thugs—bearing the subtle fingerprints of the Philimos Family

  Nothing overt. Nothing illegal. Just pressure.

  His family pleaded with him.

  They had options, yes. But all costly. All risky. And none guaranteed.

  Humiliation tasted bitter on Javier’s tongue.

  Those were the circumstances that had led him here.

  “Relax, Junior Brother Javier,” Solda said, leaning back, fingers steepled. “It’s not as though this will be your last chance to enter the Inner Class.”

  Javier said nothing.

  “You do me this small favour,” Solda continued smoothly, “and I’ll take you into my entourage. The benefits alone will outweigh what you’d gain from scraping into the Inner Class this year. Your family will receive my House’s protection. Friendship. Stability.”

  A pause.

  “Is that not sincerity?”

  Javier’s fists clenched at his sides. In the end, he bowed his head slightly.

  “…Fine,” he said stiffly. “But I still don’t understand something. That boy—Nerion. By all accounts, he’ll fail the Demotion Test on his own. Why go to such lengths? Why involve me?”

  Solda’s eyes cooled.

  “That is not your concern.”

  He rose, voice low and final.

  “Let’s just say someone with far greater interest than you wants to be absolutely certain. Chance is an indulgence we cannot afford.”

  Solda waved a hand dismissively. “You’ll do as instructed. That will be all.”

  A leather pouch arced through the air and landed at Javier’s feet.

  “An advance.”

  Javier hesitated, then opened it. Gold coins gleamed inside. And beneath them was a jade slip.

  His breath caught.

  A Martial Skill

  Martial techniques were treasures. Not every Lyceum student could learn many of them. They were graded—low, middle, upper, top, divine—and even a middling one could change a cultivator’s future.

  The techniques Mikael had taught at the Orphanage would be considered middle to upper grade

  This jade slip contained a middle-grade technique

  Considering that learning a comparable skill through the Lyceum cost nearly four hundred Contribution Points

  He closed the pouch carefully.

  Without another word, he left.

  Solda watched him go, eyes narrowed in contempt as Javier clutched the bag to his chest like a lifeline.

  “Pathetic,” Solda sneered. “If not for Senior Brother Auron’s request, I wouldn’t sully myself dealing with this trash.”

  He turned to his companions.

  “In any case, that boy is finished. Tomorrow is only the beginning. I’ll make sure he understands where he belongs.”

  There was no hatred in Solda’s heart. For hatred required effort.

  This was simply politics. Order. Maintenance.

  A beggar had overstepped his station and meddled in the world of nobles, wearing a uniform he had no right to.

  By being Elisha’s brother, Nerion had inherited enemies he didn’t even know existed.

  Such was the price of insolence.

  And Solda intended to collect it in full.