First Class
Morning light spilled into Arthur Valerian's quarters, a golden sheen over obsidian marble. His room — no, his entire floor — was quiet perfection. A domain fit for a king, built for one student alone. Floating high above Erinoguard Academy's main towers, his private sanctum was beyond opulence: a personal training arena, an alchemy lab, a cultivation chamber, and even a magical kitchen, all constructed with divine-tier enchantments. The Yearlord didn't live with the rest — he lived above them.
"Wake up, Master!" Elaris's crystalline voice echoed in his mind, sharper than any alarm.
Arthur groaned softly, burying his face in the pillow. "I'm up, I'm up…"
He dragged himself to the bathroom, brushing his teeth with one hand while the other scrolled through recent magical combat replays on his phone. After finishing his usual… business, he washed up, splashed his face, and tied his dark hair back with a black pin inlaid with a thin chain of gold and a glowing blue gem.
His uniform waited for him, laid out by an automatic dressing spell: a custom-cut black ensemble with subtle rune threading, its only ornament the gold-trimmed crest of Erinoguard emblazoned on the chest — marking him not just a student, but the student.
He slipped into it, fastened his enchanted bracelet, and checked the books that had been delivered by space magic overnight. Elaris had sensed them — he hadn't. "Of course you noticed," he muttered, storing the tomes inside his bracelet's pocket dimension.
In the kitchen, he activated the food printer and requested a traditional eastern breakfast: spiced rice, steamed dumplings, savory egg soup, and pickled vegetables. Then, with mechanical precision, he brewed his favorite — black coffee, bitter and bold.
He ate alone in the sunlit silence.
He lived alone.
After fifteen years in a palace where his every breath was monitored, Arthur relished this solitude. No guards. No servants. No expectations — only freedom, and his own terrifying potential.
He approached the warp gate embedded in the floor. No one else had access to it — not without his permission or direct override by a Rank 8 staff member.
"First-Year Building, Class S-1," he commanded.
A surge of blue light enveloped him and he vanished.
⸻
A breath later, he stood before a massive door forged of dragonbone and spellsteel — the entrance to Class S-1, the arena of monsters. Only forty students had made it this far. The weakest of them were at Peak Rank 1. Many were older than him. None were stronger.
Arthur stepped inside.
The classroom wasn't a classroom. It was a war chamber — tiered stone seats in a circular formation, each desk floating in front of its owner, responding to their mana. There was no blackboard. No fixed podium. Just open space and the hum of magical tension.
He made his way to his usual seat — by the window, fourth row, left flank. Cool sunlight streamed in, casting shadows across the polished floor. The clock ticked. Fifteen minutes until class.
He pulled out his phone and scrolled lazily.
Minutes later, students began arriving in waves. Some paused when they saw him — the Yearlord himself, alone and unreadable. A few offered nods, and Arthur returned them with a simple gesture. He saw familiar faces: Elias, expression hard. Feldine, calm as always. Veylan, intense. And then, Jullian.
The crimson haired human gave Arthur a smirk and raised his hand. Arthur responded, a small wave. After a pause, Jullian walked over and took the seat beside him.
"You've grown quite a bit," Arthur said, smirking.
Jullian scoffed. "Coming from a two-year younger freak, that's rich. Call me big bro at least."
Arthur leaned back. "Wanna test who's big?"
"You always like showing off." Jullian laughed, but the smile faded. "You know… you just disappeared. Four years. No calls. No letters. Nothing."
Arthur's golden eyes dimmed slightly. "I had to train."
"Train? For what? The apocalypse?"
Arthur's tone lowered. "Something like that."
Jullian stared at him for a second. "You always joke like it's nothing. But something's changed about you…"
Arthur didn't reply. Just smiled — faint and chilling.
Before the conversation could continue, the air shimmered — and then she appeared.
Velithra Drazhel, Rank 8, homeroom instructor of Class S-1.
Her long silver-gray hair flowed behind her like living moonlight. Her cold, ash-gray eyes swept the class with merciless precision. She was beautiful, lethal, and older than any of them could guess.
With a flick of her hand, a floating obsidian board appeared mid-air, and a throne-like chair materialized beneath her. She sat, crossing one leg over the other.
"Attendance," she said.
One by one, she called the students in order — from strongest to weakest.
"Arthur Valerian (Human)"
"Present, ma'am."
"Synthros Zephyryx (Dragon)"
"Present."
"Elias Elydrion (Human)"
"Present."
Threx Nyreth (demon)"
"Present."
"Nyssara Evelyn (elf)"
"Present."
"Saryn Bhumari (human)"
"Present."
"Jullian Reinhart (human)"
"Present."
"Feldine Sagnius (vampire)"
"Present."
"Sylas Nocatarion (vampire)"
…The roll continued. Demons, elves, vampires, beastkin, and werewolves. Forty names in total. Every single one a prodigy.
Then Velithra stood.
"You are not children anymore. This is not a playground. This is Erinoguard. You are elite. Your enemies will not care how well you scored on your entrance exams."
She raised her hand. A dark orb of mana flickered into life above her palm. It twisted — into a sword, a bird, a spiral, a lance.
"You all know how to form mana spheres. Good. Now forget that. Your task for the next two hours is to mold mana into forms based on your will. Not just form it — but transform it. Fluidly. Efficiently. Instantly."
Her gaze swept over the Rank 2 students. "You — change mana from one form to another without delay. Rank 1s — hold your shape. See how long you last before collapsing. You'll push that time higher every day."
She snapped her fingers.
"Begin."
Around the room, the air thickened as mana surged. Students summoned constructs — swords, spears, shields, wings. Some stumbled. Some faltered.
Arthur sat still. He raised his hand.
First, he conjured a small golden bird from his mana. Smooth, precise. Then, with a fluid gesture, the bird melted into a feline shape, prowling silently above his palm. The cat swelled, elongated, its limbs thickening as it became a tiger. Then a sword. Then two. Then six.
Gasps rippled through the class. Students paused mid-practice, eyes turning toward him.
Even Velithra blinked. Six? she thought. No instability. Not even a twitch. This… this is unreal.
Threx Nyreth, the demon youth with fiery red eyes, growled low. "He's forming six constructs at once. That's Rank 3-level control…"
"No, look again," muttered Veylan Drakmore. His silver-blonde hair caught the light as he leaned forward. "They're stable. Fully stable."
Jullian Reinhart exhaled sharply, watching Arthur conjure a mana bow and loose an arrow. The glowing golden shot slammed into the classroom wall and vanished in a puff of smoke—no damage, but the force was unmistakable.
Velithra's eyes widened. Did that actually leave a burn mark?
She walked to him slowly, composed but alert.
"Arthur Valerian. Come here."
Arthur stood, slightly confused but obedient. "Did I do something wrong?"
Velithra narrowed her eyes. "You tell me. You weren't supposed to have the capability to perform advanced mana alteration yet."
The class fell utterly silent as he stepped forward.
"Can you transform your mana into a sword?"
Arthur nodded, forming a katana in his right hand.
"A bow."
He changed it instantly.
"A spear."
Another shift—elegant, seamless.
Murmurs broke out.
"Insane…"
"How is he doing this?"
"Is that even allowed?"
Zaryndra Vel'Morak, the cold-eyed heiress of House Morak, leaned over slightly, her voice low and sharp as a blade. "He's making it look like child's play."
Dazareth Krovenn sat beside her, arms crossed, a deep scowl etched on his face. "I trained for a year just to hold a solid form for ten seconds… This is ridiculous."
Velithra summoned a heavy boulder with a snap of her fingers and gestured to it. "Strike it. With mana alone."
Arthur conjured a golden katana again, took a calm breath, and sliced.
Crack!
The boulder split clean in two. A sharp ring echoed through the room.
Now there was no mistaking it. Silence consumed the class like a storm had passed through.
Velithra's voice came low, almost whispering to herself. "I've taught here for seven centuries… and never seen anything like this."
Synthros Zephyryx, the dragon youth, scowled. "Impossible. He's only fifteen. What kind of monster is he?"
Nyssara Evelyn, normally cold and aloof, was visibly stunned. Her lips parted slightly before she shook her head. "…He's not human."
Even Threx, ever-proud and arrogant, had to admit it. "Tch. He's… different."
Velithra turned to the rest of the class, trying to compose herself.
"Arthur Valerian," she said slowly. "You've already demonstrated mastery over what I intended to teach this entire year. I will hold your theory exam this Sunday, but effective immediately… you are excused from further practical classes under me."
A beat of stunned silence. Then—
"What?" someone shouted.
"He's graduating this class already?"
"This is insane!"
The classroom exploded in emotion—shock, jealousy, awe. Some students clenched their fists. Others stared at Arthur with a mixture of respect and disbelief.
Jullian gave a dry laugh. "Of course. Of course it's him."
Elias, sitting in silence until now, looked at Arthur with an unreadable expression. Divine Core or not… he's grown too fast. What happened in those four years?
Velithra raised her hand, calming the class.
"Do not be discouraged. He is an exception. Your path is your own—walk it at your pace. This academy exists to forge legends. Some burn brighter early, others shine longer."
Arthur bowed slightly. "Thank you, Teacher."
Velithra nodded back, maintaining her composed demeanor. But her thoughts ran wild. What are you, Arthur Valerian? And what are you hiding beneath that calm smile?
As Arthur returned to his seat, the tension in the room remained palpable. Everyone was watching him now—not as a fellow student.
But as the one to beat.