Chương 29: Chapter 27

Ten Lances sat in the large auditorium, representing the full cohort of new attendees to Arcadia's Academy of War and Magic. Having arrived before anyone else, Shaya and her Lancemates sat together in the first two rows from the stage, with plenty of space between them and the other Lances who likewise sat in their own little clusters. The many empty chairs made the room feel too large, the space between each Lance speaking more of rivalry than camaraderie.

Well, we're not the ones that decided to sit apart from the others.

"Why is the auditorium so big if they only accept sixty new students each year?" Shaya whispered to Briariel.

"I heard that their entrance requirements have grown more rigorous, so they're not just letting anyone in anymore." Cyren scoffed from behind Shaya, his ears twitching. He leaned forward to add his piece.

"Enrolment dropped since the new dynast pushed monochromatism and showed a certain… preference." He nodded at the other Lances in the arena. Shaya glanced around at the other Lances, noting their potent nephilim blood. But with Cyren's comment, she also noticed that most of the students here were descended from Astoria—the current dynast—and Cirithill—the current dynast's closest ally.

A few nephilim were Vynderian and Kassaran like Oraeus and Shepherd, respectively, but what few she saw suggested mixed heritages intermingled with Astoria and Cirithill, and family colours belonging to those loyal to them as well. She and Cyren were the only descendants of Tarrak and Silanir, as well as the only demigol. Apricot also stood out as the one foreign individual, especially amongst her Lance of Astorian nephilim.

Shaya gave her a wave, which she returned shyly, earning both of them derisive glances from the others around. She recognized some of the others in the crowd as well, including Lan and, infuriatingly, Galo.

"Favouritism indeed," she mumbled back to Cyren and Briariel.

"Nonsense," Briariel chided.

"Astoria is the God of Justice and Honour—she wouldn't allow for that kind of bias."

"She's also the God of Strategy," Shaya said, echoing Krebo's words to her nearly a month ago.

"A mage is only potent if well trained, and denying her enemies sanctioning and training…it makes sense." Her giant friend shot her a hurt, incredulous look, but someone took the stage before she could retort.

"It's foolish of them," Oraeus added from behind them.

"While the Imperial Academy has a geographic advantage of being on top of a confluence of all six ley-lines, its real strength was in the diversity of students and teachers it drew. Without that, local academies within each kingdom will be happy to independently train their mages and try to poach the greatest teachers from one another."

"Agreed," Shaya said, surprised that Oraeus' stance mirrored her own on this issue.

"We're losing out on each region's specializations, diluting the Empire's strength overall." He nodded, his infernal eyes looking at her with a modicum of respect. A burst of power washed over them from the front of the room, drawing all eyes. On the stage, Sapphire light parted reality to form a portal from which a man emerged. Behind him, Shaya spied what appeared to be a boardroom full of white-robed figures, but the portal slammed shut too quickly for her to make them out.

"Good morning, students," his raspy voice echoed across the auditorium, carried by mundane acoustics.

"I am Chancellor Zaal, and I have the pleasure of inducting you into the hallowed ranks of the Imperial Legion." Wow, nothing about the man's voice or posture suggests he is taking any pleasure in this, Shaya thought, looking up at the tall, gangly man that walked to the centre of the stage. Professor Zaal wore layered robes of white and deep, royal purple, accented by rose-gold embroidery and jewellery. He appeared to be a potent nephilim at a glance, but one of mixed heritage.

He bore the infernal red eyes and pointed ears of Vynderwynd's descendants, with the flowing, metallic platinum hair common amongst Astoria's nephilim and a trim beard of the same colour. The skin was a mixture of the two: a deep red marbled with luminescent veins that gave him a golem-like appearance. Despite his attitude, Shaya couldn't help but respect the man when she saw his badge. The fact that it possessed Sapphicyte and Amecyte was interesting, but that wasn't what impressed her.

The rust-red coloured amulet was made of orikalkite—the strongest material known in Nadrendir—and meant that he had achieved the greatest heights of magedom in the Empire. The Chancellor was one of the few people in the Empire, possibly even the world, that was part of the Ninth Circle.

"Welcome to the Imperial War Academy," the Chancellor continued, "the finest mage academy on Nadrendir. The sixty of you represent the newest cohort of Warmages recruited into the Imperial Legions, the most promising youths from across our Empire.

No matter if your heritage is that of a highborn nephilim," he said, looking to a golden-haired boy, "or a lesser nephilim," he looked at Shaya, drawing a few chuckles from mages in the hall while she ground her teeth at the pointed insult, "you have all showed the potential to make history with your power—and your dedication." This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

He clasped his thin hands behind his back as he began pacing across the stage before them.

"Your first-year professors will bore you with some of the basics, to ensure that no one's regional education is found lacking, but then you can expect your growth to accelerate. Our training regimes will expand your spirit's circuits so you can cast more spells and greater ones at that, your channels will grow so you can draw in more aether at once, and your capacity will deepen to store more aether at once.

We will also hone your willpower, to ensure that the aether you channel leaves a minimal influence on your mind. Beyond these magic muscles, we will help you improve practical skills such as dowsing, to ensure you are never caught off guard by enemy magics, and teach you new runes and glyphs to broaden your magical repertoire. You will learn from the finest mages and minds of the Empire—and even beyond—which will turn you all into potent Warmages that can keep the Empire safe from its enemies.

"In exchange," he said, turning to face them again and gesturing towards them with an open hand, "you will be thrust into military action routinely. Before you think you are ready, even. Work hard to ensure you're prepared, because it is not just your life on the line should you fail in your duties. A Lance relies upon each specialist to shore up the weaknesses of the others and form a cohesive unit that can overcome any challenge it encounters."

Zaal closed his hand into a fist as he finished, pausing to let his message sink in. Well, I do hope everyone gets the message and works together, Shaya thought, directing her hopes pointedly at a certain member of her own Lance.

"You will have three deployments in your first semester, but they will be once per month after that. This is how you will earn your keep, but fear not, you'll also be rewarded for your services—assuming you perform well." A thin smile split the Chancellor's face.

"The best performing Lances in any given deployment will earn the most rewards, while the worst will be left only with scraps." Shaya cast a glance at the rest of the auditorium, watching as what little camaraderie existed in the room vanished. Fractures even formed within Lances, as highborn nephilim cast dark looks at the weaker members of their squads.

"We have found that, in the past, a little competition encourages greater growth in our students," Zaal's smile grew, "but we will not tolerate diminishing or sabotaging of others—you are ultimately all on the same side and you will grow strong together. Or you will die. Learn this lesson fast, as your first deployment is in six weeks." Students gasped.

"Yes, we are indeed cruel," Zaal nodded, "but we have found that early exposure to dangers sparks the greatest growth. And placing the first deployment just before mid-terms ensures that none of you leave studying to the last minute, especially if any of you plan to challenge your courses at mid-terms."

"What does that mean?" Shaya whispered to Samorn.

"If you feel you've already mastered a course," she whispered back, "you can challenge it by mid-terms. You'll be given a more challenging exam that would test your abilities at the end of the course and, if you pass, you've completed the class. My older siblings told me the option is rarely used, since the Academy punishes that kind of arrogance." Hopefully they punish many more kinds of arrogance than that.

"Now rise," Zaal commanded, his tone completely different. Power surged over the entire auditorium, the spectral energy stealing their breath and sending a cold tingle up their spines. The chancellor's entire body radiated Amethyst aether that washed off him in waves, and all from a mere heartbeat of drawing in aether. With a wave of his hand, clear, crystal blades appeared before each student—none of them bearing a hilt or safe way to hold it.

"Grip your crystal in your salute and swear the Oath." Shaya and the others did as ordered, slamming right fists over their hearts. Shaya winced as the crystal cut into her hand, the edges as sharp as a scalpel, and heard a few of the students gasp in shock or pain. Zaal gave them a moment to recover, then everyone repeated after him.

"I, Shaya Heirosoth, do solemnly pledge to be the sword and shield of the Arcadian Empire against all enemies, foreign or domestic." She felt the crystal in her fist grow warm as it absorbed her blood.

"That I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same above all else." Shaya almost stuttered on the last line, hoping she would never have to choose between this oath and her kingdom.

"That I will obey the orders of the Archon of the Empire and faithfully discharge the duties of the office in which I am about to enter." Power flowed from the crystal.

"We shall stand vigilant against mortal, mage, monster, Titan, or god." Shaya felt the power flow into her spirit, like unwanted aether.

"I give my blood to seal this oath under the eyes of the Seven and of my own free will." The crystal's power flooded through her, scouring her spirit.

"I give my life for the Archon, the Empire, and its people," she said, gritting her teeth against the pain, but feeling all the stronger for it.

"I am a Warmage! I serve!" With a snap of power, she felt the crystal's magic bind her.

"Good," Chancellor Zaal said as they finished the oath, his eyes meeting Shaya's for a long moment before sweeping across the rest of the crowd, "it is done. You are all dismissed. Work hard and grow strong." Shaya's eyes drifted down the blood-red crystal she held in her hand, no blood having escaped from her wound. She knew enough about thaumaturgy from her brother to know that blood was a powerful conduit to its owner.

As the crystal slowly winked out of physical reality and elsewhere, she knew that as long as the Empire had that crystal, she would never be truly free. This is the cost of coming here, she told herself, of becoming strong enough to help my people. I just hope it's worth it.