Ryan and David reached the towering gates of the West Wing Academy. The atmosphere was electric, thick with the nervous energy of hundreds of eighteen-year-olds waiting for their shot at a future.
"David, let's get our names on the ledger," Ryan said, his eyes scanning the crowd.
"Right away, sir."
The admission process was efficient. In this realm, technology hadn't evolved through electricity, but through the mastery of Inscribed Stones. Mana-powered devices handled everything—image stones for identification, recording stones for archives, and communication stones for long-distance orders.
Soon, it was David's turn. He stepped up to the massive Obelisk Stone at the center of the courtyard and placed his palm against its cold surface. The stone pulsed with a brilliant, piercing silver light. The display stone beside it flickered to life:
Level: Silver Stage (Early Phase)
Talent: 4.5 Stars
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Senior students leaning against the balcony railings straightened up, and the other applicants whispered in hushed, hurried tones. A 4.5-star talent paired with Silver-stage cultivation was a rarity in the Lower Realms.
The Professor in charge of admissions stroked his beard, his eyes gleaming. This year is becoming interesting, he thought. The highest talent in the academy is currently 5 stars. We already have a handful of Early Silver candidates... and then there are the monsters.
The Professor glanced toward the waiting grounds, where a young man sat surrounded by a flock of admirers. He radiated an air of effortless nobility—a Middle-Phase Silver cultivator.
Then, it was Ryan's turn.
Ryan stepped forward, his expression unreadable. As his hand touched the Obelisk, the silver glow that erupted was deeper, more concentrated than David's. The text manifested:
Level: Silver Stage (Middle Phase)
Talent: 4 Stars
BOOM.
The crowd erupted. "Another one?!" someone shouted. "Two Middle-Phase monsters in one batch? How are we supposed to compete?"
The noble boy in the distance finally looked up, his eyes locking onto Ryan. He offered a confident, sharp smile—the look of a predator acknowledging a worthy rival.
The Professor's eyebrows shot up. Only 4-star talent, yet he reached the Middle Phase by eighteen? This boy hasn't just practiced; he's bled for his strength. His foundation is terrifyingly dense.
Ryan walked calmly into the waiting area, David trailing half a step behind him. He did a quick mental audit of the competition. Out of roughly a thousand applicants:
50% were in the Stone Stage (the "filler" students).
45% were in the Bronze Stage.
10 individuals were in the Silver Stage.
1 individual—the noble boy—sat at the Middle-Phase Silver Stage, just like him.
"That arrogant noble," David muttered under his breath. "I feel like I could kick his ass, sir."
Ryan didn't turn his head. "If you caught him in a surprise shadow-strike, David, few at his level could survive. But in a head-on confrontation? He would break you."
David's breath hitched. He had trained under Ryan's brutal regime for years. He had lost every sparring match they ever had, but he knew Ryan didn't give praise lightly. If Ryan viewed this boy as a threat, then the boy was a monster.
David looked at Ryan's back with renewed ferocity. He remembered his life before Ryan—a city guard with a 4.5-star talent who was suppressed by jealous seniors and denied resources. He had been stuck with a trash-tier 1st-Grade technique, destined to die in a jungle as a Stone-stage nobody.
He remembered their first meeting. At the time, David had actually been a higher level (Stone Peak) than Ryan (Stone Middle). Yet, Ryan had navigated the dangers of the jungle and saved him with such cold, calculated efficiency that David had realized then: Talent is a gift, but Ryan is a force of nature.
He had followed the "the lord" ever since, and he wasn't about to stop now.