Ilya jumped into my arms.

  It has been two years since I sent four orphans in a cart bound for Cadria. Part of me wanted to say Ilya hadn’t changed a bit, but I would be lying. I barely recognized her. When I last saw her, she was fifteen—a short gnome girl with boyish features that could easily pass by as one of the younger orphans. Now, standing before me was someone entirely different. Her soft, gnomish features had taken sharp edges, and her wavy hair, now long, fell past her broad shoulders. Her bluish skin, now darker, revealed how much time she had spent outdoors honing her skills. In the black fencing attire, she looked sleek and dangerous.

  Her smile, however, remained the same.

  Ilya pressed our cheeks together and squeezed me like a mandarin.

  Luckily, I was a high-level Prestige Class. Otherwise, she would’ve broken me like a gorilla fidgeting with a toothpick. How many levels has she gotten since we last met? Her arms didn’t feel like the hug of a Lv.10 Hunter.

  After a moment, we separated.

  Despite dreaming of this moment for years, I didn’t know what to say.

  “Are you taller?” I asked.

  The last time I saw her, Ilya barely reached my sternum. Now she reached my shoulder.

  “Mister Clarke! You don’t ask a lady gnome her height!” she replied, smiling from ear to ear.

  The cadets behind her snickered.

  “Robert, please. You are declawing my assistant,” Holst said with a weary voice.

  The cadets were more interested in our little reunion than remaining ‘tenderized.’

  Holst rubbed the bridge of his nose. Unlike the cadets, he didn’t seem fond of heartwarming reunions. Who could have guessed? What I couldn’t guess was why Ilya, out of all people, was Holst’s assistant.

  “You can go, Ilya. I’ll take it from here,” he finally said.

  Ilya grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the room, but not before making a vaguely threatening gesture towards the new cadets. The corridor was empty, and the muffled sound of combat from the classrooms echoed against the walls. Classes continued despite the hour of the day. Ilya had been in those same rooms, and I was starting to suspect her letters didn’t have the whole truth.

  Ilya spun around, her eyes gleaming, and hugged me.

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” she said.

  “I could say the same about you,” I countered. “Holst’s assistant? Really?”

  Ilya’s cheeks turned deep violet. Gnomish blushing. She crossed her arms defensively.

  “Long story, but I asked first! What are you doing in the Academy?”

  I couldn’t help but smile. Some things never changed. Turning the tables on her was impossible when she got the initiative. A part of me wanted nothing but to indulge her. Maybe I was getting old and soft already.

  “Grandmaster Astur caught wind of my skills and asked me to teach a cadet squad, so I’ll be around for a whole year,” I said.

  Ilya’s brow furrowed in confusion.

  “Really? Nobody knows you were our teacher. We kept the secret, even Firana, and she has gotten worse by the week.”

  I scratched my chin.

  “I know you have kept the secret. Astur doesn’t know I was your teacher. He believes Wolf and Firana are my children. He kinda blackmailed me. I have to teach here if I want them to graduate.” I shrugged, downplaying the issue.

  I was planning to get as much benefit from my stay at Cadria as possible.

  Still, Ilya muttered a curse under her breath. “Those idiots, I told them—” She stopped abruptly as if catching herself.

  “Do you know something?” I asked, my eyes narrowing, trying to see through her suddenly innocent expression.

  Ilya blushed even deeper, almost turning into a plum.

  “I will gather the team,” she deflected my question. Then, before I could stop her, she turned around and jogged down the corridor. “Let’s meet in fifteen, at the Egg!”

  I was left with more questions than answers.

  “That was interesting,” Talindra muttered.

  I had almost forgotten she was there.

  “What is interesting?” I asked.

  Talindra flinched, her expression making it clear she hadn't intended for me to hear.

  “The girl, she adores you,” she said. “You can't be that bad if a girl likes you so much.”

  * * *

  The Egg was where the magic happened—literally. Under the blue glass dome, hundreds of mana bubbles—training rooms—were tailored to different exercises and combat styles. The magical walls were transparent, so I could see what transpired inside. Cadets practiced their swordsmanship, archery, and spellcasting or sparred against each other. The air was saturated with leftover mana. Fireballs, thunder, and wind blades hit the barriers, making the floor tremble. Tall water jars and piles of stone bricks were laid against the outer wall for elemental magicians to use. Above everything, the blue crystal dome absorbed the leftover mana of the cadet’s skills.

  For a glass house, the place endured quite a bit of abuse.

  Upon entering the Egg, there was a reception desk where one could hire a Fortifier. Healers were more expensive, and Health potions were priced up to the ceiling. Most cadets seemed to rely on their own defensive skills.

  “Would you like a protective barrier, sir?” the receptionist, a lanky young man dressed in a black robe, asked. Red hem. Academic Circle.

  “No, thanks. I have mine,” I said, looking around.

  I expected to find instructors overseeing every combat, but no one supervised the duels. Easy, Robert, they have it under control. Ilya had all her fingers intact. I forced [Foresight] to project the memory. Ilya was using gloves.

  I looked around. Ilya was nowhere to be found.

  “If you don’t have a training partner, you can use a Mana Puppet,” the lanky man said with his slurring voice. He vaguely reminded me of Shaggy from Scooby Doo.

  The offer caught my attention.

  If I were to remain at the Academy for a year, I could also try to cultivate my Class.

  “Do the Mana Puppets know how to fence?” I asked.

  Shaggy gave me a placid smile.

  “This way, sir.”

  Shaggy guided me into a bubble with a hundred mannequins in full armor hanging from the ceiling. Some were old and rusty, while others had brightly painted breastplates and feathered helms. The scene would've been nightmarish if I didn’t know they were dummies. I told Shaggy I wanted something in the neighborhood of Lv.6 [Swordsmanship]. With a nod, he pulled a crank, making a rusty soldier in black armor descend.

  “The puppets above Lv.5 [Swordsmanship] are rarely used. Too advanced for the new cadets, too risky for the old ones. The older they get, the more they try to preserve their pride,” Shaggy said, examining the joints and applying a few strands of mana to the dummy.

  The puppet came to life and stood on its own. Behind the visor, its eyes suddenly came to life—two blue orbs that vaguely reminded me of the Lich. I expected the clunkiness of a medieval automaton, but the thing moved like a living person.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “They are a bit unnerving at first, but you’ll get used to it quickly. This one is based on a Kigrian Knight. It will copy their fighting style,” Shaggy explained. “Enter the outlined area to start. The puppet will stop moving once it runs out of mana, or you abandon the area. I warn you, the Puppet will try to hold back, but their hits might still hurt.”

  “Understood,” I said.

  Shaggy put more mana into the puppet, and suddenly, a blue ring appeared on the floor around us.

  “It’s ready. You can use one of those practice swords,” he said, pointing at the weapons rack outside the circle. “If you need a Healer or a potion, just shout ‘mend,’ and someone will come to help. Any questions?”

  I had a few, but I was also itching to start. The puppet had no runes written, so I assumed the mechanism was different, probably a skill.

  “How realistic is his technique?” I asked.

  “Just like the original.”

  Shaggy stepped away from the living armor and performed a slight bow before returning to the desk.

  I entered the circle, and the Kigrian Knight saluted me.

  I saluted back.

  Shaggy had forgotten to tell me that puppets lacked the understanding of what light sparring was. The Kigrian Knight pushed forward like I had spat on the grave of his favorite dog. For the next few minutes, I fought for my life.

  The silver lining was that the puppet had an almost impossibly precise technique. Every movement belonged to the Kigrian school of fencing. There were no stutters, false steps, or improvisation. I defended myself and slowly created a mental map of the puppet’s technique. The Kigrian Knight fought like a hedgehog.

  If my technique was about controlling the initiative of the fight, the Kigrian style was all about counters. At first, I thought a defensive style would allow me to control the pace of the battle, but I was wrong. No matter the direction of my attacks, I always found the Kigrian sword ready to sting. Each of my steps had a mirrored movement that tried to disrupt my tempo.

  Such a style would be impossible without the help of the System, but I wasn’t in a position to act like a swordsmanship purist. The System was a reality for the inhabitants of Ebros, and it was only logical that they made full use of it.

  It took me a few minutes to understand the Kigrian fencing style; paired with a scrambling skill, it would be deadly.

  After fifteen minutes of intense fighting, the puppet slowed as it started running out of power.

  I used that short window of weakness to copy the Kigrian techniques, but sooner than I wanted, the puppet died. I was covered in sweat, and the tendons of my hand felt stiff as planks. My heart beat like a buzz, but a smile was drawn on my face. A part of my mind was telling me to check if Ilya had arrived; another part wanted me to repower the puppet, maybe even call Shaggy to unhook a different one. There had to be two hundred of them.

  I didn't get to do either because a tall young man with a prideful aura entered the bubble. Long golden earrings hung from his ears. His tanned skin made me think he was a Southerner like Aeliana. He was human, though.

  Seven cadets trailed closely behind, each angrier than the last. They surrounded me like a pack of hyenas.

  “Robert Clarke?”

  “In the flesh,” I replied.

  They were too young for their intimidation attempt to work.

  “You have a lot of nerve to show up here, old man,” the leader said.

  I was at a loss for words.

  “You will have to be more specific, kid. I have beef against a dukedom, a few Imperial Knights, and several lesser nobles,” I replied.

  Although the Osgirians never acknowledged their relationship with Janus, they weren’t happy that I foiled their plans to control the new trade route. The enmity from the lesser nobles came from my meteoric rise through the ranks of Farcrest nobility and the fact I shot down every attempt at marriage and recruitment after the Stephaniss Tournament. I still got letters of complaint from Lord Glopfinger from time to time. Nobles didn’t easily forget.

  “Are you with Rhovan or the Osgirians, kid?” I asked.

  The cadets exchanged a confused glance.

  “We are with Wolfie and Firana. We know how much of a deadbeat father you have been. If this is a ruse to regain their trust now that they will become Imperial Knights, you are out of luck. We will not let you get to them,” the leader said.

  Astur wasn’t the only one who believed I was Firana and Wolf’s biological father.

  But why?

  As a teacher, I sought to shed all the preconceptions about my students and focus on the factual truth, but my instinct told me Firana had everything to do with this. There was no other way of interpreting Ilya’s reaction. That was ‘Firana-fueled annoyance’ no matter how I looked at it.

  I was too tired for this stuff.

  “Look, I’m sure you have reasons to do this, but I assure you, it’s a mistake. I’m not their father,” I said, but Golden Earrings interrupted me.

  “Of course you aren’t! You abandoned them!”

  Eight swords were drawn in unison. Polished steel shone with the bluish light from the mana barriers. In a world where killing someone was as easy as casting a skill, drawing a blade was the ultimate sign of aggression. It was a gesture expected to be answered with extreme violence.

  “You don’t want any of this, kid,” I calmly said, channeling mana into the practice blade.

  “You should have thought better before wronging one of us,” he replied.

  Eight enemies in a perfect circle around me. Five of them were inside the puppet’s circle. Powering the Kigrian Knight would be easy, even at this distance. Stone bricks were piled against the wall eight meters from me. Next to the pile was a water basin. Four thousand liters. The cadets must be seventeen years old on average. They couldn’t be above Lv.25, not in such a short time, not so far from the Farlands.

  In the past, I would have tried to keep things civil, but I had changed since arriving at Farcrest—maybe for the worse. No matter how hard I tried to bring Earthly sensibilities to Ebros, the sensitivities of this world had stuck with me.

  Enduring students’ disrespect was part of my job; I was supposed to help them overcome their flaws. But if someone drew steel to hurt me, they wouldn't get away unscathed.

  “Put your swords down. Last warning,” I said.

  Mana slowly surged through their bodies.

  “Wrong call,” I said. “When I’m done, you’ll need the whole Nature Circle to put you back together.”

  Just as the leader channeled his mana, I cast three skills in rapid succession.

  [Stun Gaze] froze the cadet to Earring’s right, and [Intimidation] did the same with the cadet to his left. Six left to go. At the same time, I shot a strand of mana into the Kigrian Knight. The circle on the ground shone and the puppet returned to life, pouncing on the cadets inside the combat area. It took two of them to keep the puppet at bay. Four left to go.

  I pushed enough mana into my practice sword to cut steel, but I didn’t get to cross swords with Earrings. Thunder echoed inside the bubble, and a red blur shot by my side faster than my eyes could follow. The figure smacked Earring’s sword and, keeping the momentum, punched him in the face.

  I turned to face the other three cadets, but it was too late. A defensive perimeter surrounded me. Firana in front, Ilya to my left, Zaon on my right, and Wolf at my back, every single one of them with their swords drawn. [Foresight] didn’t even identify the cadets as enemies.

  “What do you think you are doing, you bunch of imbeciles?” Wolf asked.

  Not only was his voice deeper than I expected, but he had grown two or three spans since the last time. Besides his height, Wolf remained the same as always. Not even his haircut had changed, nor his bushy brows. Still, his presence filled the room like he was the unmistakable leader of the pack.

  “Nugget told us your father appeared at the Academy, so we thought we should… talk to him,” Earrings said, holding his bloody nose. “I don’t get why you are mad, Wolfie. You hate his guts!”

  Wolf took a deep breath and counted five Mississippis.

  “This isn’t my biological father, you snotbrain! This is my… adoptive… father. Sort of,” he said, his words growing weaker as he went on.

  The cadet leader gave me the ‘whoops’ face.

  “I blame Nugget,” he said.

  “Screw you, Aardvark. I told you to tell Wolf, not whatever this is,” Ilya replied.

  The cadets lowered their weapons while four of them tried to suppress the Kigrian Knight. I broke [Stun Gaze] and [Intimidation] and dispelled the mana around my practice sword. No one around us had noticed that the skirmish wasn’t a training drill.

  Wolf gave me an apologetic look, her green face flustered.

  “I missed you a lot, kid,” I said, opening my arms.

  Hugging Wolf was like hugging a bear and a gorilla simultaneously. He wasn’t going to reach Little One’s span any time soon, but he was enormous. For an instant, my feet left the floor. My spine cracked.

  As soon as Wolf set me down, something struck my side, nearly knocking the breath out of me—a tangle of reddish brown hair.

  “I can’t breathe, Firana,” I muttered as her arms wrapped around me.

  “I know! My heart is racing at a thousand miles per hour, too!” Firana replied, squeezing me even tighter. Then, Firana pushed me back and glanced at my face, seemingly to ensure I was the right guy, and headbutted my chest again.

  “Hello, Zaon,” I said, feeling like a deflating balloon.

  “Hello, Mister Clarke,” he replied with his usual polite demeanor.

  Zaon had also experienced a growth spurt. He still had the slender elegance of pureblood elves, but his shoulders were broader, and his arms muscular. He was even more handsome than before. His golden hair fell like a cascade over his shoulders, with braids framing his face and preventing rogue strands from falling over his eyes—a less evil version of Sephiroth.

  “Come here, show me those arms,” I said as Firana rubbed her face against my chest like a dog who hadn’t seen their owner in a long time.

  I grabbed Zaon’s shoulders.

  They felt like braided steel.

  Finally, I ruffled Firana’s hair.

  “Are you here to see me?” she asked, stepping back. Her smile seemed to want to escape the frame of her face.

  Firana had grown into a gorgeous woman. The tomboyish girl was gone; in her place was a poised young woman, her hair longer and her posture regal. Her whole presence transmitted competence. However, her mischievous smile refused to abandon her face. The little devil was still there, hidden beneath her eyes.

  “I am here to see you, actually,” I said, hoping to clarify the mystery. “A whole lot of people—Lord Astur and your cadet friends included—believe you two are my biological children. What’s the deal with that, Firana?”

  Before she could answer, Wolf put a hand on Firana’s shoulder.

  “Ilya told us everything. It’s my fault, Mister Clarke,” he said, summoning part of his Character Sheet and turning it around for everyone to see.

  Name: Wolf Clarke, Half-Orc (Strong, Sturdy).

  Class: Warden Lv.27

  “Hey! Don’t show him your Character Sheet. He isn’t your family!” Aardvark said.

  “Shut the trap, or I’ll hit you again, Aardvark,” Firana barked back.

  Seeing Wolf’s Character Sheet, emotion overwhelmed me.

  Maybe I was getting too old for real.

  “I am flattered, Wolf, but you didn’t have to drop Dassyra’s name—”

  “I had to, so he wouldn’t know I am his son,” he interrupted me. “I met my real father. I met Samuel Byrne.”