I exit the simulation with a whoosh. The pull feels like someone yanks me out of deep water at high speed, and my stomach flips while my ears pop, and the stone under my boots steadies a beat later. It is very disorienting.

"Congratulations, Jacob Cloud."

A hand pats my shoulder and I look at Elder Lioren.

This man was trying to kill me until a moment ago, I frown. Has he lost his mind? Why is he smiling at me? Am I being played? Is he plotting…

He's not plotting, idiot. Ytrial exists since time immemorial. For him to be an Elder here, he must have some kind of integrity. He wouldn't have made it otherwise. The Academy selects the loyal. Sure, they might blunder and follow their blood and race before anything at times, but he just saw an unknown recruit destroy Platinum traps. I would really like to know, Cloud, what kind of Skill you possess that can do such a thing.

Not telling you, I reply mentally. So, he's actually happy I'm alive?

Favors go deep here. The Academy is about connections. He sees potential in you. Perhaps, he wants to take advantage of it. Or… if I must be honest, this young man seems pretty impressed with your talent—I think he's genuine.

This guy looks like he's hundreds of years on his shoulders, I tell King Baalrek. I wouldn't call him young by any measure.

Yeah, hundreds. Call me back when this kiddo has at least a few tens of thousands or more.

"Your reward," Elder Lioren suddenly wakes me from my reverie.

He hands a few slips that he seems to have signed on the spot, and a token with a '60' on it. The slips feel warm from fresh ink, and the token has the weight of stone that remembers heat.

"You have not yet received your personal token for points. Take this. I always carry a few with me since we're the one who distribute academy apparel and tools to recruits."

"Does it cost money?" I say, looking at what seems like a magical piece of enchanted obsidian. The surface drinks the light, and etched numbers glimmer deep inside it like a night sky that trapped a single star.

"It does. But the Academy… you know how it goes."

"I don't?" I say, confused.

"The Quests, Cloud."

"What about them?"

"The Quests," Elder Lioren frowns.

"What about them?"

A statuary man who I had not noticed before interjects. His presence presses the air a little flatter, and even Lioren straightens.

"The Academy takes a decent cut of Quests that are distributed around the world. It doesn't exactly lack money. And none of its ex-alumni can really do much about it since everyone is required to, as part of the damn agreement, not complain nor try to change it if they want to enter Ytrial."

"I'm very sorry, sir. I'm Jacob Cloud," I say, bowing to this guy who even Elder Lioren seems to look at with reverence.

"Dean Amenotep. Dean of Admissions. Jacob Cloud? I'll remember your name. As for the Quests. Every single posting in the world that goes through the Academy, which controls the postings in the Adventurers' Guild, requires half the money to be paid to Ytrial. That is how we maintain the very expensive enchantments and spells and… fancy tokens."

I look at the obsidian token in my hand. The edge cuts cold into my palm as if it wants me to remember the cost.

"What? Wait. Half?"

"It is a pretty good business and no one really dares defy the Headmaster," Elder Lioren shrugs.

"Who came up with this? That sounds insane. Everyone pays half the money they make from quests, from all quests, to Ytrial? Even the Adventurers?"

"There have been a few wars waged by the Adventurers Guild against Ytrial in not so recent memory," Dean Amenotep replies. "But… it's… well. Let it not be me to badmouth the Headmaster."

Dean Amenotep actually leaves after that without explaining anything else. His steps make no noise, and the juniors on the rail watch him go as if a storm front just slid past.

"What just happened?" I ask, looking at Elder Lioren.

"The Headmaster sort of hides around the Academy, listens, and, well, punishes you if you badmouth him. He's very… sensitive. Scaly, you could say."

"He's what?" I ask, frowning.

"Errr… I won't be the one telling you. I'm not getting into that old monster's amusements. Come now, Jacob Cloud. I'll bring you to your dorm and give you the rest of the things you need."

I gesture to Lancelot, Fatty, who's still watching us from the bleachers with a wide mouth.

"Yo, let's go."

Then I turn to Elder Lioren.

"Excuse me, Elder. Do Squires sleep in the same room of their Knights?"

"Yes. That's what bunk beds are for," Elder Lioren frowns, as if he was stating the obvious.

"Bunk beds! Dibs for the top one!" Fatty shouts.

"Yeah," I say, looking at Fatty with a scared look, "that's never happening."

* * *

I can't believe my luck, honestly. I expect ice or distance after what just happened, yet Elder Lioren stays… engaged. His mood swings from murder to mentorship make my head spin, and the halls do not help because the academy proper rises like a fortress that swallowed a city. Bannered archways lead into rings of courtyards, and rune-lamps burn with steady light that smells like hot iron and rain.

I didn't expect Elder Lioren to be so…

Nice.

Well, after trying to kill me with such passion, at least, one would expect a less engaging treatment. Instead, the fact that he shamelessly tried to kill me and couldn't manage seems to have reinvigorated the man. He talks with his hands and chuckles when he points out places where other recruits once made history, and the juniors we pass look like they cannot decide whether to salute him or hide.

"Oh, Jacob Cloud," Elder Lioren laughs, patting me on the shoulder, "this year, it will be one of the greatest years the Academy has seen since I've been here. I am not at liberty to discuss, but the kind of talent that's entering the fray… you'll find that the competition will never get tougher than what you'll experience here. Greatness is about to descend on us. Some say, it might even be… let me not jinx it. It's hard to find ten champions."

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

I have no idea what the man's been saying for the better part of the last thirty minutes as he walks me and Lancelot around and shows us a few structures, and then we finally reach the massive fortress that makes the Academy proper. Elder Lioren points out some of the largest classrooms where first years stay, and murmurs from inside those doors roll out like surf on stone.

"The dropout rate is pretty high," the old Elf says, "about seventy percent of the Apprentices here don't make it. Funnily enough, Squires do survive most of their Knights."

"Huh?" I ask, confused. "Survive? Do Squires stay in the Academy even if their Knight is not there anymore?"

"Oh, I mispoke," Elder Lioren waves a hand. "When I said survive, I mean that usually when Apprentices die, the Squire survives. It's a pretty remarkable phenomenon if you ask me."

"Can you stop cheering?" I ask, looking at Fatty behind me and feeling him jump on his feet, all excited. Then, I turn back to Elder Lioren, "so, roughly, how many people die here each year? As in, out of all those who drop out."

"Virtually all of them," Elder Lioren says, closing one eye and running the math in his head. "I would say, about 95% of the Apprentices who drop out do so because they're dead."

"They drop dead," I hear Fatty laugh behind me. "Did you get it?"

I turn to Fatty and wonder if I'm still in time to change Squire. Then I face forward because the corridor opens onto a terrace, and the whole Citadel breathes under us like a living thing. Towers punch at the clouds, and wardlines crawl along the stone like veins that glow when a bell tolls in the distance.

"So… don't people lose their minds? I imagine nobles wouldn't be happy with… their children dying? And the Quests?"

I'm still reeling thinking about those insane numbers.

"The dropout rate among nobles is much lower than that," Elder Lioren nods. "In fact, it's closer to ten percent of all the new Apprentices. Possibly, among Royals, it's less than one percent. Most of those who die are great talents that were either scouted by the Academy itself in some popular locations or those like you, who managed to somehow reach Ytrial by themselves."

"Don't people need a qualification to enter Ytrial? Like, a recommendation?"

"Technically, a recommendation sways the assessment in your favor, but, usually, it only allows to take the test. For some, since it's resource expensive, we don't even take take tests. We just do a superficial assessment and if the person doesn't look remarkable at all and has no recommendation, then we just send them back the way they came from."

I take a big inhale. The air smells like old parchment and quenched steel.

It is hard getting Ytrial. If I had come in another life, without the Rainbow Skill, I don't think they'd have ever let me in.

This shows, honestly, just how selective the Knights are. I am pretty strong. Well, by Clearwater standards, I am very strong. But the guy here says that the competition this year is going to be very big. The thought settles in my chest like a weight that both crushes and steadies me.

"Elder Lioren, may I inquire, how tough will the competition actually be?"

"I cannot share details, Jacob Cloud. But, you are currently pretty weak. The… well, the Elf you killed. He wasn't remarkable. I'd put him, perhaps, around Intermediate Gold Rank in power? Perhaps slightly higher than that?"

"Isn't that, like, a lot?" I frown. "For someone who's just an Apprentice… Aren't there Adventurers who made an entire career as Gold Ranks?"

"Adventurers," Elder Lioren wrinkles his nose in disgust. "Brutes. But yes. Outside of here, it might be powerful. Especially if you used to be a commoner among humans. Gold Ranks, for those who don't know better are like minor deities. But here? That's the threshold. More than one person, you'll find out, despite being Gold Rank, is already Early Platinum Rank in power. Whereas, the real talents, those might be already at Intermediate Platinum Rank. Some of the very best are at Advanced Platinum Rank in power. And the monsters who sometimes grace us with their presence? Even while their level is at Gold Rank, their power reaches the very peak of Platinum Rank. But those are…"

Elder Lioren shakes his head. He lets the rest hang, and the silence does more work than a speech.

"You? Your power right now, is remarkable given your background. But in the absolute position of things, especially at Ytrial, it's not something I'd flaunt. But don't be discouraged. You do have something special about you. Many Knights came to Ytrial with very little and left as some of the greatest heroes of their time. For you, the key to success might be your trapping senses, for example. You might become a great trap master."

Interesting. Traps. I should look into that.

"Where's a Late Gold Rank in the scale of power?" I ask.

"Late Gold Rank, first year Apprentice?" Elder Lioren strokes his beard. "Top sixty or seventy percentile in a common year. This year? I've seen things. Probably… bottom 30th percentile."

"That's…" I widen my eyes. "That's… wow."

"You're lucky. Those in the presence of greatness get greatness rubbing off them. You'll see people whom you might never cross again. Be grateful."

Finally we reach one of the dorms. The doors stand thick and scarred, and the corridor smells like soap, leather, and the smoke of a dozen different oils.

"In Ytrial, everyone sleeps under the same roofs. It doesn't matter if you're a noble, royal, or whatnot. It's one of our policies and also, it makes people grow together. In my opinion, it prevented many wars. People who have spats in a dorm can solve it here, and then become allies, or even friends. One day, they might go on and become Kings and Queens. Or even Emperors and Empresses. That's why the Headmaster has always enforced this rule for everyone."

The mysterious headmaster no one wants to talk about, I think with a frown. I really wonder what's the secret of this man.

"You'll meet him at this year's ceremony," Elder Lioren sighs, as if reading my mind.

"The Headmaster?"

The man nods and then, he makes a few set of uniforms, one my size, one gigantic appear in his hands. The cloth carries the academy's deep crimson and a thread that glints like captured dawn.

"These are the uniforms. You've already received your token to accumulate Academy points. They'll be tallied toward a total even you spend them all. You can trade them, too. At the end of the year, the Academy, with all its mighty resources, rewards the ones with the most points."

"Are the rewards good?" I ask.

"Jacob Cloud," Elder Lioren raises an eyebrow. "Even sons of Emperors crave the rewards that the Academy dishes out. Remember, the Academy steals—well, takes lots of payments for his services based on Quests. I don't think there are Empires quite as rich as the Ytrial and its Headmaster. The man really likes his coin."

"Does the Headmaster have a hoard or something? You're painting a weird picture. Is this guy swimming in his money?"

Elder Lioren looks away and coughs. He suddenly finds interest in a crack along the wall and refuses to elaborate.

"Anyway, there's two weeks before the opening ceremony. Come to me in a few days and I'll arrange for you the best courses I can think of. Some of them, you'll have to gain access by yourself, though."

"Sure," I bow to Elder Lioren as the man makes his way.

Then, I turn toward the bunk beds he brought us at since I'm hearing A LOT of creaking and bustling. The top frame screeches as if it wants to surrender.

"Holy shit! Come down before you destroy our beds!" I scream at Lancelot, seeing him sitting his large buttocks on the top bunk.

"Make me!" Fatty puts his fists up. "I'm not going down without a fight!"

* * *

After beating the living hell out of my Squire, we go walk around the Citadel. The streets inside the walls run like veins between towers, and smithy hammers ring from an arcade while incense drifts out of a shrine where someone prays for rank. The place breathes training.

"So, we'll take these two weeks to train," I say, looking at a bruise right on Fatty's forhead. "But first, I think I need to upgrade my Skills, at least the basic ones. Then, my Class ones too. There's a lot of training in our future."

I hear a loud grumbling from Fatty's stomach.

"Can we stop to eat something?" he asks.

"Sure."

We sit at a tavern, getting some food, and, while I barely nibble on mine, I turn my attention internally. The room smells like broth and roasted meat, and the wood under my elbows feels carved by a thousand nervous hands.

What's the Platinum version of Hell's Sword? And what about Dark Blade? And the other Class Skills? Should I even worry about Infernal Veins for now?

King Baalrek voice comes off annoyed.

Platinum… so weak. Jacob Cloud, you disgust me.

Sure, I frown. Can you answer?

I can feel the upgraded version of Hell's Sword in this city. There's a Skill Crystal for sale. The rest of the Skills, their Platinum version, is not that hard to find. But this one? You'd be lucky to snag it up.

Can you lead me to it? I say, suddenly jumping off the chair.

Of course.

But I fear you might not like the person selling it.

To be more precise, they might not like you.

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