“Gwendyr,” the old woman said as we walked through the academy halls. “Headmaster of Specia Academia for the past thirty two years. And unfortunately for my stress levels, an old friend of Boros.”
The academy was enormous.
Not simply large, but layered with intention. Every corridor connected to another section with purpose. Courtyards opened into lecture halls. Training grounds blended into gardens filled with glowing plants and floating lanterns.
Students passed us constantly.
Some wore academy uniforms. Others dressed according to their disciplines. Robes for mages. Light combat gear for martial classes. Thick aprons stained with oil and soot for craftsmen.
And every single one of them stared.
Mostly at Gwendyr.
Then at me.
“You’ll get used to it,” she said without looking back.
“I doubt that.”
“Hm. Good. Arrogance is exhausting.”
She continued guiding me through the academy grounds personally, which apparently was not normal. The longer we walked, the more attention followed us.
Eventually we arrived at a massive circular courtyard divided into two halves by a silver line embedded into the stone.
“Specia Academia operates on dual schedules,” Gwendyr explained. “Day classes and night classes.”
I blinked.
“…Night classes?”
“Yes. We are a capital institution, not a village school.”73Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkBp8DwFfRq
She gestured toward the brighter half of the courtyard first.
“The day curriculum is attended primarily by humans, beastfolk, elves, dwarves, and species aligned with daylight activity.”
Then toward the darker half.
The architecture itself subtly changed there. Softer lighting. Dark blue stone instead of white. Shaded windows. Lanterns emitting pale violet flames instead of gold.
“The night curriculum exists for nocturnal races. Vampires. Demons. Devils. Certain spiritkin. Species whose biological rhythms function differently.”73Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxcpfNB9dZz
As we continued walking, I noticed students from both schedules interacting normally despite the separation. Some shared meals together. Others debated openly near fountains or sat beneath trees reading books.
No visible hostility.
No strange tension.
Gwendyr noticed where my eyes drifted.
“Specia, Goddess of Species,” she said quietly. “Mother of all races beneath the light of Almas. Her doctrine rejects superiority through birth.”
The way she spoke carried familiarity.
Not worship exactly.
More like respect earned over centuries.
“She loved all beings equally,” Gwendyr continued. “And this academy reflects that belief.”
For a moment, the noise of the courtyard faded behind her words.
It reminded me strangely of House of Spiders.
Different races.
Different cultures.
Different values.
Existing together through structure instead of dominance.
We eventually arrived at another building overlooking the inner academy grounds.
“This will be your temporary residence,” Gwendyr said.
I stared upward.
“Temporary?”
“If you survive.”
“…What?”
She ignored my concern completely and opened the doors.
Inside resembled a small noble estate more than student housing. Polished wooden floors. Bookshelves lining the walls. A kitchen. Training space. Multiple rooms.
“You are classified under special commission admission,” she explained. “Boros personally recommended you. That grants several academy privileges.”
She began counting casually.
“Private residence. Flexible curriculum attendance. Access to restricted sections with approval. Monthly allowance. Priority instructor evaluation.”73Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpZwehA1qO8
“Why?”
“Because Boros threatened me.”73Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡP9uRuACtzS
She handed me a small silver card etched with the academy crest.
“This identifies you as a commissioned student.”
I turned it over slowly in my hand.
It still felt unreal.
A week ago I was punching slimes outside Haven Reach.
Now I apparently had academy privileges inside the capital.
Gwendyr clapped once.
“Come. You should at least know the faculty before rumors fully distort reality.”
The academy tour resumed.
The first instructor we encountered was a giant of a man hammering metal beneath an open forge pavilion attached directly to one side of the academy.
Professor Durn.
A dwarf.
Broad enough to resemble a wall wearing an apron.
He glanced at me once.
“Too skinny.”
Then returned to forging.
“That was a compliment,” Gwendyr informed me.
Next came Professor Seraphine.
An elf specializing in magical theory. Long silver hair. Calm expression. The moment she looked at me, several floating magic circles surrounding her paused slightly.
Interesting.
Then resumed.
“Hm,” she murmured.
That was all she said.73Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYwhAP5rpQN
Further inside the academy we met combat instructors.
Professor Kael specialized in swordsmanship.
Instructor Vey handled spear techniques.
A beastman woman named Rhaka oversaw body conditioning and martial combat.
Rhaka looked directly at my hands.
Then at the arm guards Boros gave me.
“…So you’re the one.”
I suddenly felt nervous again.
Finally came the students.
Not ordinary ones either.
Top ranked students.
Apparently Gwendyr enjoyed throwing people into uncomfortable situations.
A swordsman from a noble house.
A vampire mage specializing in blood rituals.
A beastfolk lancer.
An alchemist surrounded by floating potion orbs.
All of them strong.
Much stronger than me.
And every single one of them visibly confused.
Because according to the system hovering above my head, I was still Level 1.
One of them finally asked the obvious question.
“…Headmaster.”
Gwendyr adjusted her glasses calmly.
“Yes?”
“Why is a Level 1 student receiving special commission treatment?”
The entire hallway became quiet.
Gwendyr smiled faintly.
Then answered with complete confidence.
“Because Boros Vainglory personally recommended him.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Even the top students visibly stiffened at the surname.
Vainglory.
Again.
That name.
That impossible overlap between AO and Illusion Tree.
I felt it once more.
That same quiet sensation from the library.
Like the past was not dead.
Only waiting.73Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡc2n2FlNnm8
The silence lingered longer than it should have.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
The students were reacting to the name itself, not merely Boros as a person.
Vainglory carried weight here.
Real weight.
The noble swordsman straightened immediately. The vampire mage stopped twirling the blood orb floating above her hand. Even Rhaka folded her arms differently, posture sharpening just slightly.
Gwendyr noticed all of it.
Naturally.
“Good,” she said calmly. “At least history lessons are not entirely wasted on this generation.”
One of the students finally spoke.
“…The Vainglory bloodline still exists?”
“Fragments of it,” Gwendyr replied. “Mostly descendants. A few survivors. Fewer worth mentioning.”
Then she looked directly at me.
“And Boros unfortunately remains very alive.”
A few students laughed quietly at that.
The tension eased.
Slightly.
But their eyes kept returning to me afterward.
Level 1.
Special commission.
Personally recommended by a Vainglory.
None of those things fit together properly.
Eventually Gwendyr dismissed the group and continued leading me deeper into the academy.
Night had fully settled outside now.
The academy changed with it.
Soft lights illuminated the walkways while certain sections became more active instead of quieter. Students from the night curriculum began appearing in greater numbers.
I saw horns.
Pale eyes reflecting lantern light.
Dark cloaks.
Long ears.
One student casually walked past with a tail of black smoke trailing behind him like living mist.
No one reacted.
Normal here.
Specia Academia truly was built differently from Haven Reach.
We stopped at a balcony overlooking the lower districts of the capital.
From here, Specia looked endless.
Golden roads stretched across the city like rivers of light. The central cathedral shone brighter than the moon itself while distant airships drifted between towers.
“You’re staring again,” Gwendyr said.
“It’s hard not to.”
“Hm.”
She rested both hands behind her back.
“For many students, this academy becomes the center of their world.”
Her tone shifted slightly.
“Do not let it become yours.”
I looked at her.
She continued watching the city below.
“Academias produce specialists. Experts. Scholars. Heroes.” She paused. “And fools who mistake walls for horizons.”
The words settled quietly in my mind.
It sounded less like advice and more like regret.
“…Why tell me that?”
“Because Boros sent you here for a reason.” Her eyes moved toward me briefly. “And it certainly was not to become comfortable.”73Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwjlsxOj3D9
A cold wind moved across the balcony.
Then Gwendyr suddenly changed topics entirely.
“You are classless.”
Not a question.
“Yes.”
“Intentionally?”
“…At first, yes.”
“And now?”
I hesitated.
That answer had changed over time.
Originally it had been avoidance. Simplicity. Freedom from commitment.
But now…
Now it felt closer to observation.
A path outside standard expectations.
Something undefined.
“I don’t know anymore,” I admitted honestly.
To my surprise, Gwendyr smiled slightly.
“Good answer.”
Before I could ask why, she continued walking again.
“There are many kinds of ignorance. The worst kind is certainty without understanding.”
We eventually reached a massive pair of doors near the center of the academy.
Unlike the other sections, these doors carried layered magical seals across their surface.
Library.
No.
Archive.
I could feel the difference immediately.
Gwendyr placed a hand against the seal and the doors slowly opened inward.
The sight beyond nearly stopped me in place.
Rows upon rows upon rows of books extended farther than physically possible. Floating shelves moved through the air guided by unseen forces while glowing scripts traveled between pillars like streams of living information.
The smell hit next.
Old paper.
Ink.
Dust.
Knowledge.
“This,” Gwendyr said quietly, “is the Grand Archive of Specia Academia.”
My chest tightened slightly.
Luna would lose her mind seeing this place.
The thought appeared instantly and naturally enough to surprise me.
Gwendyr stepped inside.
“Most students only access outer sections. Advanced permissions unlock deeper levels.”
She glanced back at me.
“Yours are already approved.”
“…Boros?”
“He specifically wrote,” she replied dryly, “‘If the boy breaks into your archive searching for books, it will become your fault for making the doors too weak.’”
I covered my face briefly.
“That sounds like him.”
“You’ve known him for barely a month.”
“…That’s enough.”
For the first time since arriving at the academy, Gwendyr laughed openly.
A real laugh.
Short, but genuine.
Then her expression softened slightly afterward.
“You remind me of someone,” she murmured.
I blinked.
“Who?”
But she had already turned away.
“Your classes begin tomorrow evening. Day curriculum remains optional for you currently.”
She started walking toward the deeper sections of the archive.
“Until then, try not to accidentally destabilize the academy.”
“…Was that a joke?”
“No.”
And somehow that worried me more.73Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPQ6d40jB58
After Gwendyr left, I remained standing inside the Grand Archive for a long while.
The scale of it refused to settle properly in my mind.
The library in Haven Reach had felt intimate. Fragile. Human. Every damaged page carried the weight of time and neglect.
This place felt eternal.
The archive breathed quietly around me. Floating shelves moved along invisible paths overhead while magical lights drifted between aisles like slow fireflies. Somewhere deeper inside, pages turned on their own.
I started walking.
Not randomly.
Systematically.
Old habits.
The archive was divided into sectors, each marked by silver inscriptions embedded into the floor itself. History occupied one of the largest sections by far, stretching across multiple levels. Magic theory was even larger.
Martial disciplines occupied the eastern wing.
I passed shelves dedicated entirely to weapon classifications. Spears. Axes. Curved blades. Mounted combat. Battlefield formations. Shield doctrines.
And then finally, Unarmed Combat.
Small.
Very small.
Compared to the others, it almost looked neglected.
I stared at the shelves for a moment.
That somehow made sense.
Most players preferred weapons. Reach. Damage scaling. Skills.
Fists were inefficient.
Even in AO, true hand to hand fighters were rare.
I pulled out the first book I saw.
Foundations of Body Alignment.
Then another.
Open Palm Disciplines of the Southern Coast.
Another.
Eight Principles of Reactive Countering.
No skill books.
No magical manuals.
Just techniques.
Movement.
Weight distribution.
Timing.
I sat down near one of the reading tables and began reading.
Hours passed quietly.
Sometimes I shifted sections entirely.
History next.
The Beginning Era. Early kingdoms. Fragmented records of the Lost Era. Mentions of divine conflicts during the Forbidden Era.
Again and again familiar names appeared.
Vainglory.
Wolfgang.
Beolith.
Every time I saw them, the same feeling returned.
Not coincidence.
Overlap.
Like Illusion Tree had inherited pieces of something older.
Then magic.
That section was absurd.
Entire bookshelves dedicated solely to fire manipulation theory. Others focused on spatial compression, summoning structures, mana circulation pathways, ritual casting, dimensional convergence.
I found a subsection on Chronomancy.
Small.
Restricted.
Most books required special authorization.
Still, I managed to access introductory texts.
The descriptions felt strangely incomplete compared to the vision from the cave. They described time magic as unstable and mathematically impossible to fully standardize.
Yet I remembered the carvings.
The equations.
The movement.
Shaman’s Dual Path.
I leaned back slightly in my chair.
Hermit.
That movement had definitely belonged to him.
Or at least something close enough to feel terrifying.
The thought lingered while I continued reading.
At some point I realized the archive had grown quieter.
I looked upward.
Most students were gone now.
Only a handful remained scattered across distant sections. The magical lights dimmed slightly to reflect the late hour.
A clock embedded into one of the pillars read:
11:47 PM.
I exhaled slowly.
My eyes burned slightly from reading.
Still, I kept going.
More history.
More martial theory.
One particular unarmed combat text caught my attention eventually. It described something called Intent before Motion.
The principle sounded simple.
A skilled fighter moved before conscious thought completed itself. The body recognized opportunity faster than deliberate reaction.
Boros did that constantly.
Every exchange against him felt like he already occupied the space I intended to move into before I moved there.
Not prediction.
Experience refined into instinct.
I closed the book slowly.
Midnight.
The archive lights shifted toward darker tones signaling closing hours for most students.
I stood up carefully, returning the books one by one.
History.
Martial Arts.
Magic.
Unarmed Combat.
My mind felt crowded afterward.
Not overwhelmed.
Active.
Like gears refusing to stop turning.
ns216.73.217.54da2
and then Add to home screen.