The north road stretched before Ethan as the first rays of sunlight pierced through the morning mist. He adjusted the small pack containing everything he owned–a spare set of clothes, Owen's whetstone, and a few copper coins. Birds sang their morning songs, blissfully unaware to the life-changing journey ahead.
Captain Hartwood stood with her four guards beside a simple wooden wagon. Their gray uniforms with silver trim looked impossibly clean against the dusty road. Lord Kellen Rayworth had already arrived, sitting tall on a chestnut horse while his servant secured a large trunk to the wagon.
The two village girls with mana affinity–Mira, with her long brown braid and Lina, with freckles across her nose–huddled together, whispering nervously.
"Candidates," Captain Hartwood acknowledged with a nod. "We leave immediately."
No horses were offered to the commoners; they would walk, as expected.
"Ethan."
He turned to find Owen approaching, something wrapped in cloth tucked under his arm.
"Thought you'd slip away without a proper goodbye?" The blacksmith's voice was gruff, but his eyes revealed genuine emotion.
"Didn't want to wake you," Ethan replied.
Owen pushed the cloth bundle into Ethan's hands. "Made this last night."
Inside was a small knife with a leather sheath–nothing fancy, but perfectly balanced and razor-sharp.
"Thank you," Ethan said, genuinely moved. In his first life, they'd parted with just a nod.
Owen clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't embarrass me at that fancy Academy."
The wagon lurched forward. Ethan tucked the knife into his belt and fell into step behind it. He glanced back once at Rivermill, the only home he'd known as a child. The forge's chimney puffed smoke into the morning sky. Owen stood watching until the road curved, taking him out of sight.
The first day passed in near silence. Lord Kellen rode ahead, occasionally speaking with the Captain about hunting grounds and noble affairs. Mira and Lina walked together, their conversation limited to nervous whispers about what awaited them. Ethan maintained a steady pace, his mind cataloging the differences between this journey and his first life.
His younger body tired more quickly than expected. By midday, his legs burned with fatigue. The Captain called a brief rest beside a stream, allowing them to refill water skins and eat dried meat from the wagon supplies.
"Holding up?" one of the guards asked Ethan, noticing him stretching his aching calves.
"Well enough." Ethan replied.
The guard chuckled. "Seven days of walking weeds out the weak before they ever reach the Academy gates."
Evening brought them to a roadside inn where Lord Kellen disappeared into a private room after a hot meal. The commoner candidates were led to the stables, where they were given thin blankets.
"Best get comfortable with straw," the same guard advised as he checked the horses. "It's luxury compared to what some Academy quarters offer."
Ethan settled into a corner, recalling how he had complained bitterly about these conditions in his first life. Now, he simply observed Mira and Lina huddling together for warmth, their faces reflecting the first doubts about their chosen path.
On the second day, they reached Crossroads, a market town where three roads converged. Three other recruitment groups awaited them–officers in the same gray uniforms with their selected candidates. The atmosphere shifted immediately as the groups merged.
Fifteen candidates now traveled together–three nobles and twelve commoners from various villages and towns. The nobles quickly formed their own circle, sharing private jokes while casting thinly veiled glances of disdain at the commoner.
"Look at this sad collection," sneered a tall noble with a hawk-like nose and expensive boots. "Seven days with these peasants? Intolerable."
Ethan recognized him instantly–Aldric Vannon. In twenty years, he would become one of the King's most brutal enforcers, personally ordering the execution of entire villages that refused increased taxation.
"Tradition requires it, Aldric," Lord Kellen replied, loud enough for all to hear. "Every sword needs a hilt, but also a scabbard to be tucked away when not needed."
The nobles laughed. Several commoner candidates clenched their fists, but one stepped forward–a broad-shouldered boy with sandy hair.
"We have as much right to try as you," he declared.
Aldric's smile turned cold. "Rights? A peasant speaks of rights?" He casually knocked the boy's pack into a muddy puddle with his riding crop. "Know your place."
Captain Hartwood returned before the situation escalated. "Mount up. We've lost enough daylight."
As the expanded caravan moved on, Ethan helped the outspoken boy retrieve his muddied belongings.
"Thanks," the boy said. "I'm Tomas, from Riveredge."
"Ethan. Rivermill."
"We can't let them treat us like that," Tomas whispered fiercely.
Ethan glanced at the Captain, who had definitely noticed the interaction but chose to ignore it. "Choose your battles carefully. The Academy is the real test, not the journey."
Each night brought them to a larger settlement as they approached the capital. More candidates joined until their number reached twenty-four–still only five nobles among them. Ethan remained quiet, observing the dynamics unfold. Tomas gathered a small group of commoners who spoke boldly about proving themselves. In his previous life, Ethan had been part of that group, but most had dropped out within weeks.
The mana-gifted candidates–now seven in total, including Mira and Lina–formed a loose alliance, discussing magical theory in hushed tones. They would eventually train separately from combat students, focusing on spellcraft rather than swordsmanship.
On the fifth day, rain turned the road into thick mud. The nobles rode with oilskin cloaks pulled tight while the commoners trudged through ankle-deep muck, their clothes soaked through. When an elderly farmer offered his barn for shelter, the nobles claimed the cleanest spots and ordered commoners to sleep near the animals.
"It's fitting practice for their futures," Aldric laughed, lounging on fresh hay while the commoners cleared space in dirty stalls.
That night, Ethan overheard the nobles planning to "test" the commoners–hiding their water skins, muddying their packs, and creating small obstacles disguised as accidents. In the morning, several candidates found their boots filled with pig slop and their packs soaked with spilled oil.
"Accidents happen," Aldric smirked when Tomas confronted him.
Captain Hartwood and her guards ignored these incidents completely. This too was part of the test–learning to endure without complaint and to solve problems without assistance. By the sixth day, three commoners had turned back, unable to continue under such conditions.
On the seventh morning, the remaining candidates crested a hill, and there it was – Crownshard, the capital city of Aldoria. Even knowing what to expect, Ethan couldn't help the genuine awe wash over him.
The massive city sprawled across the valley, its white stone walls gleaming in the afternoon sun. The Crystal Palace rose above everything, a shimmering spire that caught the light and broke it into rainbow fragments. Noble districts surrounded it like petals of a flower, while the commoner quarters spread outward in concentric rings. Ships dotted the harbor to the west, bringing goods from across the known world.
"Magnificent," Captain Hartwood said, suddenly beside him. "Many never adjust to its scale."
"It's... bigger than I imagined," Ethan replied honestly. His first view of Crownshard remained one of his few genuine memories from his original life.
He studied the defenses with a soldier's eye–guard rotations, weak points, escape routes. He noted changes from his later memories; the eastern tower wasn't yet completed, and the southern gate lacked the reinforcements added after the Tidehaven rebellion.
Tomas and the other commoners stood speechless, overwhelmed by the city's grandeur. The nobles watched their reactions with smug amusement.
Inside the city gates, the caravan wound through crowded streets. Common folk stepped aside, bowing to the Academy procession. Nobles watched from balconies, assessing the new candidates with calculating eyes.
Children ran alongside them, pointing at the Academy uniforms with excitement. Merchants hawked their wares, the scents of spices, fresh bread, and less pleasant urban odors creating a sensory assault after days on the open road.
The Academy occupied the northwestern district–a sprawling campus of training grounds, dormitories, and lecture halls surrounding the imposing Grand Spire which reached twelve stories into the sky. Ancient trees lined the main avenue, their branches forming a living canopy above the stone pathways.
At the Academy gates, Captain Hartwood addressed them formally. "Candidates, you have completed the journey. Tomorrow begins the true Entrance Examination. For tonight, rest and prepare."
Guards directed them to separate areas–nobles to comfortable guest quarters near the administrative buildings, commoners to stark barracks on the outskirts of the grounds.
The commoner barracks was a single long building with rows of narrow cots. There was no privacy, minimal comfort, and shared washing facilities. The stone floor was cold, and the blankets were thin. Several candidates looked dismayed at the conditions.
"They're trying to break us before we even start," Tomas whispered, dropping his pack onto a cot.
"No," Ethan replied, claiming a bed near the door. "They're showing us what to expect. The weak will eliminate themselves."
As night fell, Ethan lay awake, listening to the nervous whispers of the other candidates. His palm tingled slightly, the Kingmaker Blade responding to its proximity to the Academy grounds. Tomorrow would bring the formal examination–his first step into the heart of the system he had once served, and which had ultimately betrayed him.
Outside, guards patrolled the perimeter, their torches casting long shadows across the practice yards. Beyond the Academy walls, the lights of Crownshard twinkled like earthbound stars, concealing the darkness that festered at its core.