In the hallowed halls of the Grand Imperial Academy, where destinies clashed and futures were forged, a distinguished guest arrived. Renald Dragonheart, Grand Duke of the Rafelia Kingdom, cousin to Principal Xavier Dragonheart, stepped through the academy's towering gates. His appearance was regal—a middle-aged man with neatly combed brown hair, navy blue eyes that bore centuries of heritage, and a violet coat embroidered in gold that shimmered with every step.
"Principal," he greeted with a rare, warm smile, "it's been a while, hasn't it?"
"It has indeed, Grand Duke," Xavier replied with a slight bow of respect. "To what do we owe the honor of your visit?"
"I've been seeking promising students from low noble houses to sponsor," Renald said, his voice calm and composed. "That's why I've decided to stop by today."
"I see," the principal said thoughtfully. "There are some extraordinary talents among our lower-ranked noble students. I'll have Professor Camila Giovani assist you. She can show you both the newly enrolled and senior classes."
"I would appreciate that greatly."
—
Elsewhere on the academy grounds, in the sparring yard, Ansel Nighthawk stood in the middle of Professor Karl Matic's swordsmanship class. The air crackled with energy as the professor explained the two primary paths of a swordsman.
"There are two main kinds," Karl barked. "Aura swordsmen, who channel their spirit through the blade, and elemental swordsmen—also called magic swordsmen—who imbue their swords with fire, water, lightning, or ice."
He raised a gleaming sword above his head. "Now focus! Push your mana into the blade."
Students raised their swords, closing their eyes in concentration. Sparks flew. A few swords glowed faintly.
Ansel clutched his sword tightly. He focused, straining, willing something—anything—to happen. Nothing. The blade remained dull.
Laughter erupted.
"Still manaless, huh?" one student jeered.
"Shouldn't even be here," another muttered.
Only Reena, standing at the edge, remained silent, her gaze warm with quiet support.
At that moment, Professor Camila Giovani appeared, accompanied by the Grand Duke. The class fell silent, all eyes on the elegantly dressed nobleman beside her.
"This is Class F," Giovani said. "Most here are from low noble houses, but some have potential."
Renald scanned the field, his gaze sharp. "That girl there," he said, pointing to Reena, "her technique was astonishing."
Giovani nodded, but her voice turned cautious. "Her name is Reena, but she cannot be sponsored."
"And why not?"
"She was once a servant of the third princess of the Valoria Empire."
"A shame," Renald murmured. "Such talent."
He continued observing. "And that boy over there—what's his name? The one with the purple eyes."
Giovani hesitated. "That is Ansel Nighthawk. He's eight years old, from Eldoria."
"Nighthawk?" Renald frowned. "Never heard the name."
"His father is Veron Greenal."
Renald blinked. "The Veron Greenal? One of the five noble pillars of the continent? A legendary magic swordsman?"
Giovani nodded slowly. "Yes, but Ansel is... different. His mother was a musician. A commoner. Ansel has no mana—none. He uses his mother's surname, not Greenal."
"No mana?" Renald repeated in disbelief.
"He was only enrolled because Count Veron wanted to give him a chance. But... well, as you can see, he struggles."
Renald turned his gaze back to Ansel. The boy was still trying, still failing. But there was something else. A weight in his stance. A glint in his eyes. A presence.
A chill ran down the Duke's spine.
What is this feeling? As if I'm staring at a dormant beast.
He leaned toward Camila. "May I speak with that boy?"
Camila blinked. "With Ansel? But why?"
"Curiosity," the Duke said, hiding the storm in his voice. "Nothing more."
Camila nodded and walked over. "Ansel Nighthawk. The Grand Duke wishes to speak with you."
"W-With me?" Ansel asked, surprised.
"Yes. Come."
The class broke into stunned whispers.
"Why him?"
"Did the Duke lose his mind?"
Even Reena seemed caught off guard.
—
In a quiet chamber overlooking the academy gardens, the Grand Duke stood facing a window. When Ansel entered, the Duke didn't turn.
"I brought him, Grand Duke," said Camila.
"Thank you. Leave us."
She nodded and exited.
The Duke turned. "So, you're Ansel Nighthawk."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Tell me. What are you trying to accomplish?"
"I don't understand, sir."
"You have no mana. You bear your mother's name. Why are you here, bringing shame to the Greenal name and wasting your time in a place that was never meant for you?"
Ansel took a breath. "I may not have mana. I may not belong. But I have a reason to stand here. I want to prove that even without the gifts of birth or magic, I can still be more. I can fight. I can learn. And I can rise. Maybe I don't belong to their world... but I'll make a world where I do."
Silence.
Renald blinked.
What kind of eight-year-old speaks like that?
The Duke exhaled slowly, amused. "Huh. Interesting."
Then, with the calmness of a man asking about the weather, he said, "Would you marry my daughter?"
Ansel's eyes widened. "What?!"
"She's beautiful. You'd like her."
"B-But... I'm manaless. A nobody."
"And I'm the Grand Duke. That settles it. I'll begin arranging it. I'll contact your family."
"Wait—I never agreed—"
"You may go."
"But—"
"You may go."
Ansel stepped back, utterly confused.
The Duke turned back to the window, a strange smile on his face.
Ansel Nighthawk... what exactly are you?