Viola had just started teaching, but Ehan could already feel several pairs of eyes on him. Especially those three brats from the Five Great Noble Families. The constant attention was grinding on his nerves.

  ‘Damn it… Why do they keep staring at me every damn second? I’m a human too, you spoiled motherfuckers.’

  Suddenly, a loud screech tore through the classroom as Viola ran her nails down the blackboard, the sharp sound making a few students wince and cover their ears.

  “Now, now,” she said, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Focus your eyes over here.”

  She stopped scratching, turned, and leaned casually against the lecture stand, letting out a long yawn.

  “Let’s start with something simple... Can anyone tell me the standard power rankings for swordsmen around the world?”

  Almost everyone raised their hand. It was basic knowledge—every student here had dreamed of becoming a swordsman at some point, and this was one of the first things they'd learned.

  Viola lazily scanned the sea of raised hands before pointing toward one of the students seated in the middle row. His name, from the earlier introductions, was Kael Fergus—a calm-eyed boy from a lesser noble family. His white shoulder-length hair swayed slightly as he stood, composed and confident.

  “Miss Viola,” Kael began, voice steady, “as we all know, there are six standard power ranks for swordsmen across the world.”

  “The first is Rusted Blade—which probably applies to half of us here.” He glanced around, drawing a few chuckles.

  “The second is Tempered Blade—which some of us might have reached, depending on our background and training.”

  He paused, then continued, "The third is Precise Blade. It's where swordsmanship begins to refine, and control over one's blade and movements becomes critical. I assume... that might be your level, Miss Viola."

  Viola raised an eyebrow but said nothing, letting him go on.

  "Fourth is War Blade. This is for those who’ve survived real battles and possess advanced techniques and battlefield instincts. Academy's Sword instructors might be at this rank, as if I know."

  "Fifth is Grand Blade. To reach this, one must learn to infuse their aura—energy—into their sword. It takes on a specific color, and the darker the colour, the more powerful the user. Our headmaster Callesta is in that rank."

  "And finally," Kael said, pausing for effect, “the highest known rank—Soul Blade. Achieved only when one’s sword becomes completely saturated with their aura, turning pitch black. Few in history have reached this peak. In the current Era there are very few alive, who have got this rank."

  There was silence for a moment. Even those 3, Five Great Nobel kids seemed impressed.

  "Hmmm... Well done, kid. You said everything right." Viola smirked and licked her lips slightly. "Take your seat."

  Kael nodded and sat down without another word. Ehan, however, leaned back slightly in his chair, arms folded, eyes narrowing.

  'Six ranks, huh... That system hasn't changed a bit.'

  But then suddenly, Ehan’s eyes widened. His expression shifted from casual disinterest to sharp seriousness.

  'Wait!… Only six ranks?! But… at my time, there were seven.'

  His breath hitched.

  'The Eternal Blade…? Where is it? I was among the few who reached that level…'

  Before he could dwell on it more, a curious voice rose from the back of the classroom.

  "But Miss, wasn’t there another rank too? The one where the swordsman could draw an aura-like blade entirely from their energy? A pitch-black sword made purely of aura?"

  Ehan's heart skipped a beat.

  'Y-Yeah… That’s it. That’s what I used to do. I could conjure a sword in either hand, forged completely from my aura…'

  Viola smirked, eyes glinting with something unreadable. She glanced briefly at Ehan—just for a second. Then, just as quickly, she looked away.

  "You’re certainly not wrong, kid," she said, her voice cool and teasing, "but that’s considered a fictional rank. A legend. A myth created from fragments of impossible texts. The remaining scriptures that mention it are beyond current human comprehension. So historians concluded that the so-called seventh rank is just a tale to inspire awe."

  Ehan’s fists clenched under the desk.

  'Fictional? You’re telling me… I, the Blade Supreme… that mad wise man from the east… that ice-hearted woman from the north… our powers were all fictional?'

  His jaw tightened, teeth grinding in frustration.

  He almost let his emotion take over—but then stopped himself. Years of discipline kicked in.

  He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment and regaining control.He knew getting angry and frustrated won't do any help.

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  The class then continues, with random historical talks and debates.

  When it was time and class got over, the students began packing their things, Viola casually walked toward the door. Just as she was about to exit, she stopped, snapping her fingers.

  "Oh, shit!—almost forgot," she said, turning back with a sly grin. "All of you are officially in Grade 1 now. There are a total of eight grades here at Strom Viel."

  The class paused, listening attentively again.

  "You’re not allowed to leave the academy’s area, until you're in Grade 4, And more importantly—you’re forbidden from entering the North Wing."

  The classroom stirred in confusion.

  The North Wing—that was the main entrance of Strom Viel. The heart of the academy’s outer campus. Always buzzing with activity—vendors, merchants, messengers, incoming students. It was the public face of Strom Viel, where everyone entered for the first time. For many students, it felt like a connection to the outside world.

  Viola smirked, clearly amused by the students’ reactions.

  "Don’t look so shocked. You can access the South Wing, which is located behind the academy’s last block. That’s where you’ll find the boarding houses, teacher quarters, and even the headmaster’s residence."

  She stretched with a small yawn, resting her hand on the doorframe before continuing.

  "But remember this—you are not allowed to use real swords until you reach Grade 5. Until then, it’s all wooden swords."

  A collective groan echoed across the classroom.

  Everyone had heard the rules were strict… but this? No access to the liveliest part of the campus? No real swords for possibly years?

  Viola rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh please, you’ll live."

  She began to leave but paused one last time, her tone suddenly colder, "Also… don’t get any funny ideas about escaping through the South Wing."

  Her gaze flicked across the room like a warning.

  "The open grasslands and trees there stretch out to the far wall of the campus. And past that? A range of jagged, barely climbable mountains. Behind those peaks sits Strom Viel’s southern garrison—a small army stationed to ensure no one leaves without permission."

  Her voice dipped lower.

  "And if any of you do get past them... you’ll be melted by the Head Instructor who controls the South Wing. That’s a promise."

  A heavy silence fell over the room.

  Suddenly, the classroom erupted into groans of frustration. They hadn't expected this restriction.

  The commoners and slave-born students, however, stayed quiet. For them, this wasn’t anything new. Living with restrictions, boundaries, and commands was just a part of their everyday lives.

  But for Nobel born kids... It was like snatching away everything they have from them.

  'These kids… Why the hell are you all so irritated?' Ehan narrowed his eyes as he glanced around. 'This is for your own good. Otherwise, you'd just waste your time loitering around the academy, distracted from training.'

  Viola let out a small, irritated click of her tongue.

  "Tsk... These freshers," she muttered under her breath. Then, addressing the class again with little enthusiasm, she said, "Your next class is Physical Fitness. Be at the training ground in five minutes. Your teacher will be waiting for you."

  She rolled her eyes at the disappointed looks around the room, then walked out with her usual bored expression.

  'Spoiled brats... They should be grateful to even be here,' she thought as her boots echoed against the cold hallway stone. 'In my time—during wartime—Sword Academy students were made to do manual labor. We were whipped if we made a mistake. And no one dared to raise their voice against a teacher.'

  In the class, everyone was stretching their arms, getting ready to head to the training grounds. Ehan, however, remained seated—lost deep in his thoughts.

  As the students began filing out, Cedric found himself walking beside a boy with striking features. The boy turned to him and extended a hand.

  "Hey, Cedric Throne. Nice to meet you—I’m Einar Ragnulf. I’ve heard a lot about your older sister," he said with a polite smile.

  Cedric shook his hand warmly, a slight smile forming on his lips. "Thanks, Einar. Pleased to meet you too. It’s good to have people like you at this academy."

  Nearby, Lena was chatting with a few other girls. Some of the lesser noble girls had approached her, and she responded with graceful charm. The commoner kids grouped together, keeping to themselves, while the slave children remained in their usual tight-knit cluster.

  Ehan finally rose from his seat.

  The moment he stood up, a shift ran through the room. Eyes subtly turned to him. Some commoners and slaves instinctively moved aside, creating space. Most of the lesser nobles avoided eye contact—though a few dared to whisper behind cupped hands.

  A few girls cast quick glances at him—fleeting and cautious—pulling their eyes away the moment he looked even slightly their way.

  'Stop doing this things to me, you assholes. I’m not some gangster or mafia boss,' Ehan thought with a low scowl.

  He walked silently, heading straight toward the classroom door. As he passed the group of girls where Lena stood, neither she nor the others tried to speak to him.

  At the doorway, Cedric and Einar were still standing, mid-conversation. Ehan walked toward them.

  "I-Is he coming this way?" Einar whispered nervously.

  Cedric’s breath caught for a moment. "Can’t say… anything," he muttered, eyes fixed on Ehan.

  'Cedric...So he's Callesta's younger brother...' Ehan thought.

  Dozens of scenarios ran through their minds, but to their surprise, Ehan didn’t even glance at them. He walked past—calm, quiet, and focused—leaving a strange silence in his wake.

  'If I remember correctly, the training ground should be somewhere around here...' Ehan thought as he made his way down the hallway.

  Ehan walked through the academy casually, as if he already knew every path and turn.

  He didn’t look like a typical Grade 1 student—lost or hesitant—but rather someone familiar with the entire layout. Before long, he arrived at the physical training grounds.

  It was a large, open area with well-maintained running tracks and various exercise equipment spread across the field.

  At the center stood a man—shirtless, muscular, and barefoot—wearing only a pair of loose trousers with a thick belt wrapped around his waist. He was casually drinking beer straight from the bottle, yet he didn’t appear the least bit drunk.

  Ehan approached him and asked, "Sir, are you the physical training teacher for Grade 1?"

  The man stopped mid-sip, turned to face Ehan, and gave him a once-over. Then, taking another swig, he replied, "Yeah, that’s me. You a First Grader? Well, congrats—you’re early. Most of the Grade 1 kids get here late. They usually get lost trying to find the place."

  He finished the rest of the bottle in one gulp and flung it aside without a care. His eyes narrowed slightly as he asked, "Wait… are you, by any chance, Headmaster Callesta’s younger brother? I heard she was bringing her brother this year. Can’t think of any other reason why a fresher would know their way around so well."

  Ehan smirked slightly and replied, "No sir, I’m not the Headmaster’s brother. But he’s in my class. His name’s Cedric… or something like that."

  "Hm… that’s strange. Then how did you find your way here, kid? Care to explain?"

  "Oh sir, it was just a lucky guess. I found it on my first try."

  "Well, that’s quite the feat. Most kids wander around like headless chickens their first day," the man chuckled. "Name’s Grey Reest. What about you, kid?"

  "It’s nice to meet you, Sir Grey. My name is E—"

  Before Ehan could finish, Cedric and Einar arrived, followed by a group of boys trailing behind them. The girls entered shortly after, with Lena walking in front.

  "Oh man, we finally found the place," one of the boys muttered.

  "All thanks to Cedric," another added, giving him a light pat on the back.

  "Wow… the ground is huge," a girl gasped, her eyes wide.

  "Look, E-Ehan is already here."

  Several students whispered among themselves as they walked toward Grey and Ehan.

  Grey glanced around at the group and rolled his shoulders. “Looks like everyone’s here. Well, we’re short on time, so screw introductions for now. Let’s get straight to the real work,” he said, cracking his knuckles with a grin.

  The students gathered around, falling into place beside Ehan, their curiosity piqued as they faced the barefoot, beer-chugging instructor who didn’t look like any teacher they had imagined.