Spring was fading.
Warm breezes thickened into heavy air, and the academy grounds slowly surrendered to the rising heat of summer. It was another ordinary Hardwork day. However, this time, it was raining endlessly the whole day.
While the freshman, juniors, and seniors attending their sessions in their respective halls, the sophomores trained rigorously in the training hall.
There were thirty-one scholars in the sophomore class. And overseeing them was their scriptor: Helga. An elite-rank Knight-Paladin as her first jobclass, and a scriptor as her second.
Helga was a human woman in her mid-thirties, tall and broad-shouldered, clad in polished training armor that reflected the sunlight in harsh glints. Her posture was impeccable, her voice sharp as steel. She carried herself with rigid discipline—yet there was an undeniable charisma in the way she commanded the field. The kind of presence that demanded respect without asking for it.
She tolerated no excuses.
"Again!" she barked.
The sophomores obeyed, muscles trembling as they repeated their drills.
"Your bodies will fail before your will does!" Helga shouted. "And if your will fails first, you do not belong here!"
Most endured in silence.
But one did not.
A young noble scholar collapsed onto his knees, chest heaving violently. Sweat dripped from his chin onto the dust below. His arms refused to rise again.
Helga strode toward him.
"On your feet!" she ordered coldly.
He did not move.
"Laziness!" she said sharply. "You disgrace your potential."
Something inside him cracked.
"I'm not lazy!" he shouted suddenly, voice breaking in the open field.
The other sophomores froze. His fists dug into the floor as years of resentment boiled to the surface. He remembered the long dining tables of his noble estate—how every meal became a comparison. Every conversation a judgment.
"Why can't you be like your cousin?"
"You are weak."
"Stop hiding in your room."
"You will inherit the family name—act like it."
He had never been enough. Never strong enough. Never disciplined enough. Never proud enough to carry the legacy his parents demanded. All he ever wanted was simplicity. A normal life. To wake up without expectations crushing his chest. To live as a commoner—free from titles, free from the suffocating weight of nobility.
But that choice was never his. His parents had already decided. He would become the family's next Knight-Paladin. Whether he wanted it— Or not.
"What's the freaking point to all of this? This exhausting shits! What am I doing here wasting my time when I have this?!" He thought with rage consuming his heart and mind.
Unexpectedly, the noble scholar's trembling hands lifted a small vial from his pocket.
Helga saw it too late.
He drank. "Gulp!" He drank something—like a potion with the color of crimson-blood.
For a split second—nothing.
Then his body convulsed.
His fair skin darkened into a brownish-red hue, veins bulging violently beneath the surface. His once slender frame expanded grotesquely, muscles swelling until his uniform tore apart. He grew taller—broader—transforming into something that no longer resembled a student.
His eyes burned crimson.
Fangs pushed past his lips.
His fingernails lengthened into curved claws.
And from his back—two enormous, leathery wings burst forth, ripping through fabric and flesh alike.
Gasps filled the training hall.
He stood there—a monstrous hybrid, something between an orc and a humanoid bat. A grotesque pawn one might expect to see in the army of a demonlord.
Yet behind those blood-red eyes, fragments of human awareness still lingered.
Rage consumed him.
He roared—and charged at Helga. The impact shook the ground.
His morningstar came down in brutal arcs, heavy blow after heavy blow, forcing Helga's shield to groan under the strain. Even she—an elite-rank Knight-Paladin—staggered at the force.
Panic erupted among the sophomores. Several fled, especially the girls, screaming, stumbling over one another in terror. But Ulfzar and Caspi remained.
"Big bro Caspi!" Ulfzar shouted. "Call for help! We'll hold him here—go!"
Caspi nodded and sprinted, his speed cutting through the corridors like a blade.
They could feel it. Their classmate's aura had spiked beyond reason. Like an Elite rank monster.
Moments earlier, rain poured over the academy grounds. Danir, delayed by the storm, arrived late to the Freshmen's Hall—just as Leopoldo had planned.
The brawler blocked his path with a smirk.
Before Danir could react, Leopoldo's group surrounded him, dragged him out into the rain, and shoved him into a muddy puddle near the lobby steps.
Cold filth soaked through his clothes. Laughter echoed.
Danir struggled upright—only to see Caspi rushing toward him at full speed. "Brother! You're a lifesaver—"
But Caspi ran straight past him. Didn't stop. Didn't look. He disappeared down the corridor.
Danir blinked in confusion as Leopoldo and his gang re-entered the hall, satisfied. Leaving Danir wet, dirty, and humiliated.
Danir followed them inside anyway. Just as when he reached the doorway, he overheard Caspi speaking urgently to Mr. Cerulean.
"Mr. Cerulean, Ms. Helga needs your help—right now. One of the scholars turned into a monster!"
Danir's heart skipped.
Cerulean turned to his class.
"Read the fundamentals of leveling and rank hierarchy. Tomorrow, I will question each of you." His eyes flicked to Danir. "And you—get inside and read your book!"
Then he rushed off.
Danir hesitated. "Alone with Leopoldo? Bad idea."
Instead, he quietly slipped away and followed at a distance, hiding behind the outer wall of the training hall. Through a shattered window, he peeked inside.
The roof was partially destroyed. Inside, chaos reigned. Ulfzar lay bruised and exhausted on the ground—likely having used his bear-form already.
"Rest." Cerulean ordered him.
The elites took formation.
Helga at the frontline—sword and shield raised. Cerulean and Hilda behind her as ranged attackers. Saen at the rear—support.
Helga buffed herself and endured monstrous strikes, her shield barely holding. Saen enhanced her endurance further.
With a precise slash, Helga crippled one of the creature's wings.
"Now!" she shouted.
Cerulean unleashed a roaring tornado spell, Whirlwind, that lifted the monster and slammed him violently into the ground.
Before he could rise—Hilda stepped forward.
Her rifle thundered along with her gunslinger's magic ability, a passive ability the effect her hands to withstand the recoil of her gun, she fired relentlessly. Bullets tore into the damaged wings until they separated completely from his back.
Saen attempted exorcism—believing possession might be the cause, hoping to turn him back to his human form again. But, nothing happened.
The creature roared in agony.
Together, they subdued him with enchanted chains and transported him to the dungeon prison beneath the Scalebound Citadel.
Silence followed.
Danir stared in awe.
"Whoa… they're incredibly strong." he whispered.
Then— "Granger!" Cerulean shouted, that made Danir stiffened. Cerulean had seen him.
Danir bolted back toward the Freshmen's Hall, nearly slipping on the wet stone.
"You will suffer consequences tomorrow, you lousy Granger!" Cerulean's voice thundered after him.
Ulfzar, being carried past on a stretcher, caught sight of Danir and laughed weakly. "Hahaha… stupid little brother."
What was supposed to be a normal session day had become something else entirely. Terrifying! Traumatic!
By evening, the academy buzzed with rumors. Scholars whispered in corridors, in dining halls, in their quarters. And as the rain continued to fall outside—a new fear settled over the Adventurer's Academy.
Danir did not return to his quarters immediately. Instead, he made his way to the Healingward—the city's infirmary, where injured people were treated and restored through a blend of potions and magic.
The air inside smelled faintly of herbs, potions, and mana residue, soft golden light drifting from enchanted lamps along the ceiling.
Ulfzar lay on one of the crystal-lined beds, bandaged but grinning despite the bruises decorating his face and arms.
"You look terrible." Danir said flatly as he approached.
"Still more handsome than you." Ulfzar shot back without hesitation.
The rest of their brothers soon arrived, carrying trays of food and extra portions they had shamelessly taken from the cafeteria. They gathered around Ulfzar's bed as if it were just another dining table.
For a while, the tension of the day faded. They ate together. They argued over who finished the meat first. They teased Ulfzar for getting beaten up. They mocked Danir for getting drenched and dragged through mud.
"Hero of the puddles!" Alec declared dramatically.
"At least I didn't need to turn into a bear and still lose." Danir replied.
Ulfzar threw a pillow at him.
Laughter filled the Healingward, drawing mild disapproval from a passing healer—but even she seemed relieved to hear something light after such a grim incident.
Beneath the jokes, though, relief was palpable. Ulfzar was alive. That was enough.
By the next morning, an official announcement spread across the academy: Classes were suspended for one week.
The training hall had suffered extensive structural damage during the battle, and reconstruction was already underway. Scholars were ordered to remain within designated areas while investigations continued.
A rare pause. A forced silence after chaos. For many, it was a week of rest. For others, it was a week of rumors and speculation. But for the Grangers, it was just an ordinary Tuesday.
Three days after the incident, the academy had settled into an uneasy calm.
Then—here comes an unexpected visitor.
"Knock! Knock! Knock!"
It was early in the summer morning when Danir, still half-awake, walked to the door of their quarter and opened it.
Standing outside was a young girl about Ulfzar's age. She had warm tan skin and adorably round blushing cheeks. Her expression was naturally bright and cheerful—but today, worry clouded her eyes. She clasped her hands together nervously.
"Is this Ulfzar's quarter?" she asked softly.
Danir blinked.
"Yes. What do you want from him?"
"I'm Maji… his—uhm—his friend." she replied, her blush deepening. "I came to visit him."
Danir froze.
Maji.
His brain replayed Ulfzar's proud declaration from the cafeteria. "I'm loyal to my only Maji."
Danir nearly fainted.
"This is the Maji big bro was talking about! This is her!" Danir got carried away.
Instead of calmly calling Ulfzar— He ran. Not just to fetch Ulfzar—but to summon every single brother from the Junior and Senior quarters.
"You guys need to see this!" he whisper-yelled dramatically.
Within minutes, they were rushing back like gossip-starved spectators. And what greeted them— Was a scene straight out of a romance tale.
Maji had already rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Ulfzar, burying her face in his chest. Ulfzar, the usually proud and loud bear-kin warrior, stood frozen—then slowly returned the embrace.
She was crying.
"You made me worried!" she sobbed, lightly slapping his chest between tears. "I heard what happened! You idiot!"
Behind them—a chorus erupted.
"AYYIIIIEEE—KISS! KISS! KISS!" All the brothers chanted shamelessly in unison.
Ulfzar turned red. Maji's face burned brighter than summer.
"Shut up!" Ulfzar roared, flustered beyond measure.
But the teasing only intensified. Overwhelmed by embarrassment—and still teary-eyed—Maji pulled away abruptly.
"I—I'm going back!" she muttered, unable to face the entire audience.
And just like that, she left. Returning to the Middle Continent, to their homeland—Eldercomb Kingdom, the kingdom of the Ursaine race.
The door closed.
Silence lingered.
Then— Ulfzar slowly turned toward his brothers. The look in his eyes promised violence.
Danir stepped back carefully.
And the quarter once again exploded into chaos—shouting, chasing, laughter, and brotherly threats filling the hallway.
On the other more serious scenario, the matter did not end within the academy walls. When news of the incident reached the capital, it spread like wildfire. Upon hearing the report, King Radomir Drogonovich wasted no time. Known for his decisive rule, the king immediately dispatched a team of licensed adventurers to investigate the true cause behind the chaos.
An ordinary training accident did not leave ruins that large. Something deeper was stirring.
That same night, peace settled over the academy once more.
Danir, Ulfzar, and Caspi lay in their beds. The lanterns were dim, and the corridor outside was silent. Well—almost silent.
Ulfzar's snoring echoed like a war drum.
Danir stared at the ceiling in frustration."How am I supposed to sleep like this? Classes resume tomorrow…"
Then, as if struck by lightning, he remembered. Mr. Cerulean and the punishment he had ominously promised.
Danir sat upright. He lit the oil lamp and pulled out the books: Rank Hierarchy and Fundamentals of Leveling.
He thought, that if he couldn't sleep, he might as well prepare.
Then he began to read: The Rank Hierarchy...
The book explained that the ranking system used for commoners, monsters, and adventurers followed the same tier structure.
For example in commoners and adventurers: to be called as "An elite cook."
or "A grandmaster cook."
While in monsters: it is to be called as "an elite-level Ice Vulture." or "A grandmaster-level demonlord."
Power, regardless of profession or species, was categorized under one universal ladder.
To determine one's rank, an individual must place their hands upon a relic known as the Sphere of Power.
The Sphere of Power was described as a sacred relic—believed to have descended from heaven, bestowed by the Mother-Goddess herself. It resembled a luminous pearl and was said to be so rare that only a few existed, recovered from the deepest trenches of the eastern seas.
When touched, the Sphere would emit a colored light. Each color corresponded to a rank. That same color was woven into the collars worn by official adventurers.
Only those who bore a collar were recognized by the Guildhouse and permitted to accept quests and receive payment upon completion.
And those without collars? They were called as the Unknowns. Unregistered. Unrecognized. That even if they risked their lives to complete a quest, the Guildhouse would not pay them.
The collars themselves could not be counterfeited. They were crafted from special silk enchanted with obscure magical fragments—a technique known only to the master craftsmen entrusted with their creation.
The rank hierarchy are the following, starting from the bottom rank up to the highest:
Starts here from the lowest: the White Collar, called as the Novice.
Green Collar, called as the Intermediate.
Blue Collar, called as the Elite.
Red Collar, called as the Ascendant.
Purple Collar, called as the Prime.
Bronze Collar, called as the Trancendent.
Silver Collar, called as the Master.
Golden Collar, the highest rank as an adventurer, called as the Grandmaster
Danir ran his fingers across the page thoughtfully.
Power had color. Identity had color. Worth had color.
Then he proceeded to the next book...
The Fundamentals of Leveling
Where one section particularly caught his attention...
Written with, when a person leveled up, their Primary Job Class received priority in growth. Their attributes and abilities would increase according to its distribution.
However, any Secondary Job Class would only receive fifty percent of those attribute gains.
Which meant— Choosing one's primary path was everything.
According to the rules inscribed in the Blessing, the Grimoire of Power governed these laws without exception.
Danir leaned back in his chair.
Primary.
Secondary.
Ranks.
Collars.
Unknowns.
He didn't even know where he stood. The lamp flickered softly. His eyelids grew heavy.
And eventually, Danir fell asleep at his desk, cheek resting against the open pages of knowledge he barely understood.
Elsewhere—In a cold prison cell beneath the Scalebound Citadel, the scholar who had rampaged days ago met his end.
When the effects wore off and his monstrous transformation receded, his body could not endure the damage he had sustained. Bones shattered. Organs ruptured. He died before sunrise.
The scientists examined the corpse. What they discovered sent chills through the chamber. A potion, something like a drug. A substance capable of granting overwhelming strength—at the cost of turning a human into a monster. The first of its kind ever recorded. And if one existed— how many more were out there?
For the first time, fear did not just belong to the academy alone. It belonged to the whole kingdom.