LUCIUS

  Time slipped by so effortlessly that, when I finally stopped to take it in, we were already twelve years old. Twelve years in this barely explored world, brimming with laws I still don’t grasp and mysteries lurking behind every well-lit corner. I’m itching to uncover it all, especially after what the Paradox Scriptures have revealed to me so far.

  I’ve been ignoring something obvious: that book might hold answers about this world. Useful answers. Crucial ones, even. And yet, I overlooked it. Why? The answer’s simpler than I’d like to admit. Because I’m obsessed with carving out a place for myself. A name. A legacy. I want to be someone great and important. Like Dad is, and like Mom once was.

  Isolde and I decided to follow that same path: to become General Guardians of the kingdom. It’s an ambition lofty enough to demand more than just desire. To get there, we have to climb the ranks as warriors: first as Sentinels, then Masters of the Veil, then Ether-level Guardians, and finally, General Sergeants.

  But it all starts in one place:

  Millford Magic Academy.

  “Wow.” That’s supposed to be the reaction. But I can’t help a twinge of cynicism. In my previous world, novels recycled magical academies like this so often they became as predictable as the end of a bad tragedy. It’s hard to get excited when you already know the sleight of hand behind the curtain.

  “Do we really have to enroll in the academy?” Isolde asked, her voice flat. She was slouched beside me on the bench, as if gravity weighed her down more than the rest of the world. “I know we need it to become General Sergeants, but I doubt it’s the best way to sharpen our physical skills. Plus… we’ve been waiting three hours.”

  “I know, but—” I tried to speak, only to be cut off.

  “Three hours, Lucy! This is so boring~!”

  “Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking, Issy.”

  “Sorry~.”

  “And yes, it’s important. Remember, we need to graduate to get our student registration so we can take the promotion exam.”

  Bureaucracy is tedious, sure. But it’s a blessing in disguise. Once we’re General Sergeants, we’ll be free to roam the world without restrictions, uncover its secrets, or seize power. The downside is the anchor: if the kingdom faces a crisis, we’ll be duty-bound to return immediately to restore order. I guess even freedom comes with a tightly knotted chain.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  The academy spans six years. The first two qualify you for the Master of the Veil exam, the next two for ascending to Ether-level Guardian, and the final two are the gateway to General Sergeant. One shot. One chance. Fail, and you’re stuck at the lower rank forever. No second tries. No redemption.

  For now, we just have to prepare for the entrance exam. Become, even if only temporarily, Sentinels of the kingdom in training. While we’re there, that title’s little more than a game of tag. The real responsibility falls on the actual Sentinels. We’ll just observe. Learn. Prepare.

  “Do we really have to wait for the line to shrink? If we stay here, it’ll be dark before we can even register for the entrance exam.”

  “It’s what we have to do to enroll. Besides, the line’s not that long, Issy. You’re getting worked up over nothing.”

  “Hey! Ugh! This is so boring~!”

  It definitely is. But I can’t really blame her. The line to reach the registration tables seems endless. I guess that’s what happens when an academy becomes the kingdom’s only educational hub and draws in an entire generation of hopefuls, from nobles with lofty surnames to peasants with dreams too big for their boots.

  Oddly enough, some would rather migrate to other kingdoms or even cross continents to avoid this place. Maybe the idea of competing with hundreds of kids desperate for recognition feels… repulsive to them. And it’s understandable: this line isn’t just humans. There are elves and dwarves, too. I wonder if that’ll be a problem. The novels from my past life were full of endless conflicts between those races. Then again, fiction rarely nails real-world politics.

  “Oh! Hey, Lucius, Isolde!” a familiar voice called out. Alicia appeared from the right, weaving through the crowd like it was nothing more than backdrop.

  “Hey…” I replied, my expression unchanged.

  “Alicia! Good morning!”

  “What are you guys waiting for?” she asked, plopping down next to me as if waiting was a concept that didn’t apply to her.

  “We’re waiting for the line to thin out so we can register, too. What about you?” Isolde answered, always more outgoing than me. I, on the other hand, just stared at the sky, searching the clouds for some distraction that didn’t involve unnecessary small talk.

  “I see… I don’t think this line’s ending anytime soon. I can’t even see the back of it anymore. Want some help?”

  Help? What kind of help could someone like Alicia offer in a situation like this? Unless she’s planning to cut the line or talk us into it, which would be… intriguing, but risky.

  “How exactly are you going to help?”

  “Hehe… Just wait a sec,” she said, jumping up and darting toward the line. She vanished into the crush of students in no time.

  “Uh… what’s she supposed to be doing?”

  “No idea! But I bet it’s going to be impressive.”

  “Well… whatever it is, we’ve got no choice but to wait. Want something to drink?”

  “Yes! But… do you have any money?”

  “Of course. Mom gave me 50 florins. That should cover a bottle of water for both of us.”

  “Sweet! I’ll wait here then.”

  “Be right back.”

  I stood and walked away from the bench, leaving Isolde behind. Fifty florins for a bottle of water… I guess that’s the price of civilization. Glass bottles, a liter of filtered water, maybe a fancy label design. Nothing that justifies the cost, obviously. But this world’s monetary system has its own logic—one I, still piecing together a new existence here, haven’t quite cracked yet.