The quiet of the Royal Academy of Arcana was deceiving.
Within its marble halls and velvet-curtained chambers, where chandeliers flickered with ever-burning crystals and polished floors reflected the grandeur of ancient houses, war simmered — not with swords, but with wit, secrets, and sorcery.
Kaelian stood at the center of it.
A royal bastard in name, but in truth a reincarnated tactician from a distant, modern world, Kaelian had begun weaving his influence in shadows. Between dusty archives and whispered spells, he tested his theories, broke forbidden seals, and rewrote rules written in blood centuries ago.
Tonight, in a concealed chamber he'd claimed as his sanctum — hidden behind collapsing stone in the abandoned northern wing — a circle of blood shimmered faintly on the ground. Hovering above it, an arcane flame pulsed in soft blue. The Eye of Aegis, a forbidden surveillance spell he'd successfully conjured for the first time, flickered open.
Through the dancing light, Kaelian observed a distant room: the meeting chamber of the Upper Elites.
He watched as two noble-born students, Valen Tharos and Sir Mairon, exchanged tense whispers. Valen, all arrogance and ambition, paced with fury.
"The bastard is moving too quickly," he hissed.
"Elgorn favors him. That's dangerous. He's nothing — no blood, no name — yet speaks of magic none of our tutors dare mention," replied Mairon coldly.
Kaelian smirked.
They're afraid. Good. Let fear gnaw at their certainty — it makes them predictable. But fear also sharpens the fangs of predators.
He closed the grimoire resting before him, disrupting the vision. The arcane flame dimmed, and the circle's pulse slowed. He'd tested enough. Tomorrow, the next phase would begin.
**
By morning, the Academy buzzed with whispered rumors. A professor had been found petrified in his study, clutching a charred parchment.
No official statement was given. But Kaelian made sure the right version of events spread — that the professor had dabbled with forbidden magic, and it had backfired.
In truth, it was one of Kaelian's carefully placed traps — a mimic grimoire with an encoded reactive seal. A test of curiosity and recklessness among the elite. A warning dressed as mystery.
It was his first true success in the shadows — a calculated disruption that raised his value in certain eyes and his danger in others.
But all eyes that rise attract light.
**
Later that week, during the Academy's most prestigious class — Strategic Arcana — Kaelian was called to the front by none other than Archmage Elgorn.
The room quieted. The Archmage's obsidian robe shimmered with enchanted constellations, and his silver gaze pierced through Kaelian as if reading the layers of his soul.
"Your recent treatise on asymmetrical conjuration circles," Elgorn said calmly, "has unsettled several of your instructors. Perhaps you can enlighten us as to where these ideas came from?"
A trap. Kaelian could hear it.
He bowed slightly, then spoke with measured confidence.
"I merely applied alchemical efficiency theories to magical structures. Innovation requires unshackled logic, not inherited arrogance."
A hushed gasp rippled through the noble students. That was a direct insult to them — their traditions, their families, their entitlement.
But Elgorn chuckled.
"Impertinent… but correct."
Then, the real test was given:
"You will lead a squad in the midterm tactical exercise. Your opponent: Prince Théor."
The announcement froze the room. Kaelian's heart skipped a beat.
Théor. His half-brother. His rival. His would-be executioner, if he could have his way.
Kaelian bowed again, hiding the chill that crept up his spine.
So it begins.
**
The arena was a marvel of illusion and construction — a miniature fortified town, complete with battlements, alleys, and arcane traps. The objective: strategic control, capture of key locations, and simulated siege warfare.
Théor's team was composed of noble prodigies — elite duelists, battle-mages, and tacticians groomed from infancy.
Kaelian's team? A mute alchemist, a clumsy archer, two minor spellcasters, and a servant boy posing as a scribe.
It was a deliberate setup. He was being tested — or sabotaged.
But Kaelian didn't complain.
Instead, he studied.
He used his team not for strength, but for information. Sent scouts in every direction. Charted movements. Placed listening charms. And then… disappeared.
Through hidden passages buried in the "town's" simulated sewer system — thanks to the blueprints he had memorized during a midnight scroll-theft — Kaelian infiltrated Théor's stronghold from below.
His strike was quick. One of Théor's command posts fell in the first hour.
But genius bred arrogance.
Kaelian anticipated a head-on retaliation. He did not anticipate a trap.
Entering what seemed like an unguarded chamber, he triggered a delayed detonation seal — a magic mine tied to spatial distortion. The explosion wasn't lethal, but it flung him across the room and cracked several of his ribs.
**
When he awoke in the infirmary, pain coursed through his body. The alchemist girl — still silent — sat by his bed and held up a small card: "We lost. But they bled for it."
A hollow comfort.
His first failure. Harsh. Personal. Public.
Not everything could be calculated. Not everyone was predictable.
Théor learned. He's not just muscle and cruelty. He can adapt.
Kaelian clenched his teeth and nodded grimly.
So must I.
**
The following days passed in recovery and reflection. Kaelian remained quiet, calculating his next move. His ribs healed. His resolve hardened.
He began again, not as a lone wolf, but as a spider.
He assembled a discreet circle: a rune-specialist from the southern provinces, a memory prodigy who could recall entire tomes after a glance, and a street rat turned novice thief — now a loyal shadow.
Together, they decoded pieces of a new manuscript: The Negative Codex, a legendary tome theorizing manipulation of probability and destiny.
Kaelian realized then: power lay not in victory, but in inevitability.
**
Weeks later, a new group challenge was announced: retrieve a rare artifact from the Forbidden Woods, a magically shifting landscape outside the Academy grounds.
No commanders were officially assigned.
But Kaelian's circle operated under his silent command.
He used distraction tactics, misdirection spells, and a bit of luck — calculated luck — to retrieve the artifact within hours, long before other teams even crossed the first warded boundary.
Officially, the credit went to the "squad." Unofficially, murmurs named him the invisible hand.
A second success.
A quiet triumph.
Kaelian felt the winds shifting.
**
But pride walks beside peril.
One evening, returning to his secret chamber, Kaelian froze.
The door was ajar.
Inside, chaos.
His tools shattered. His magic circle smeared. The forbidden grimoire — torn apart.
On the wall, carved with a dagger, were seven chilling words:
"You are not the only one watching."
No name. No symbol. Just a message.
Someone had discovered him.
Someone who knew what he was doing. Someone who understood it.
And who chose not to destroy him… but to warn him.
**
Kaelian stood in the wreckage, breath shallow, heart pounding.
He stared at the words, letting their meaning sink in.
He was not alone. He was not unrivaled.
Another player has entered the game.
His hand brushed over the broken runes, and for a moment, the cold touch of fear tickled his spine.
Then, slowly, his lips curled.
A whisper escaped.
"Interesting…"
**
End of Chapter 35
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