The days passed with a steady rhythm, like the slow ticking of an ancient clock echoing through the halls of the academy. Though subtle, a shift had taken root among the students—whispers that once followed Elias's absence had now been replaced by new tensions, personal ambitions, and the relentless pursuit of advancement.
The academy lived and breathed through its students. From sunrise to the blue twilight that marked the end of the day, it pulsed with energy—routines carved into stone by discipline and expectation.
Every morning, the metallic chime of the inscription bells rang out across the dormitory courtyard, signaling the beginning of the day's sessions. Students streamed from their quarters, clothed in robes bearing their personal emblem or family crest, many with half-drawn sequences still glowing faintly on their sleeves where they had practiced late into the night.
Ryn was among the first to rise, his diligence unshaken. He made his way toward the central pavilion, where introductory inscription lectures were held for lower-rank students. A group of youths from various provinces were already seated, chattering in small groups. Some recognized Ryn and offered greetings, while others remained focused on their own worries—failed inscriptions, bottlenecked spiritual seas, or the lingering pressure of competition.
Today's session was led by Elder Jun, an old man with a long, angular face and deep violet robes whose stitching glittered faintly with high-tier sequences. His voice, though soft, carried weight.
"You think the world begins and ends within the bounds of this academy," he began, his gaze sweeping across the assembled students. "But this island is but a mote of dust, clinging to the edge of one of the five known continents of our world."
A map unfurled behind him, drawn not with ink but with living lines of light. It depicted a vast sphere, five sprawling landmasses separated by a dark ocean that coiled like a sleeping beast.
"Our world is one of divisions," Elder Jun continued, pointing with a finger that glowed with focused energy. "Five continents: Southern continent, Northern continent, Western Continent, Eastern continent and Central continent. Each separated by the Great Abyssal Sea—an ocean so deep and monstrous that even Rank Six Masters dare not cross it carelessly."
Murmurs filled the room.
"But beyond that," the elder said, turning to a magnified section of the map, "each continent is broken into archipelagos. Rivers and lesser seas fracture the land, making traversal difficult for those below Rank Three. Monstrous beasts roam these wilds—remnants of the ancient calamity that once tore the heavens."
He gave a pause, letting the weight of his words settle. "We are currently on a small island at the southern continent . The academy stands here as both sanctuary and crucible."
One student raised their hand. "Elder, are there inscriptions strong enough to repel those beasts?"
Elder Jun smiled thinly. "There are. But such knowledge is not yet for your hands. What you must understand now is this—your progression is not merely academic. To walk between cities, to reach the deeper ruins, to access ancient legacies—you must become Rank Three or be swallowed by the world itself."
The class fell into a respectful silence.
Meanwhile, in another wing of the academy, students practiced formation-based inscriptions under the stern gaze of a bronze-masked instructor. Ryn's name was whispered here too—many admired his consistent effort, his knack for absorbing theories quickly, and his unyielding focus.
"Ryn's not from one of the noble houses, right?" a student muttered to another as they watched him construct a rotating circle of runes. "Yet he's already better than half the class."
"It's always the quiet ones," the other replied.
In the mess hall later that day, long wooden tables stretched under crystal-lit chandeliers. Food was provided by academy alchemists—simple yet invigorating dishes imbued with low-tier restorative engravings. Students exchanged news and gossip between bites. Some discussed their chosen inscription paths, others traded theories or results from experimentation.
Seraphina sat quietly at a distant table, eyes occasionally drifting toward the entrance, thoughts still haunted by the absence of that girl—the one who had asked her about Elias. Her doubts hadn't waned.
Elsewhere, Elias moved like a shadow across the academy's grounds. Few noticed him, fewer dared approach. Yet his presence lingered—silent and sharp.
The academy's rhythm was constant, yet beneath the surface, ambition, suspicion, and secrets brewed. Every student here carried their own burden. Every day brought them one step closer—to advancement… or to destruction.
* * *
The sun dipped behind the clouds, casting a dim gray light across the academy's spires and courtyards. Most students were either returning from afternoon sessions or gathering in study groups. But in the farthest wing of the male dormitories, behind a locked door, Elias sat motionless in his room, cloaked in shadows and silence.
A single oil lamp burned on the table beside him, its flame trembling gently—mirroring the tension in the air. His eyes were closed, brows furrowed in deep concentration, as fine beads of sweat gathered along his temples.
He had been sitting like this for hours.
Cross-legged on the floor, his body formed the anchoring point of a subtle spiritual storm. Invisible strands of inscription energy circled him, faint as mist, drawn from the refined essence of several spiritual cores he'd acquired during his missions. He had spent days purifying the remnants, separating their impurities with cold efficiency.
Now, he was ready.
His right hand hovered above a shallow basin of ink infused with spiritual sand. Engravings shimmered along his forearm, activated through pure will, guiding the rhythm of refinement inward.
"Slow. Steady. Cut through. Don't rush." He repeated these thoughts like mantras.
Within the sea of his consciousness, his spiritual sea churned—a dark-blue expanse streaked with silver threads. It was small, fractured at the edges, constantly resisting collapse. Yet it pulsed with stubborn life.
This was his flaw. His curse. The inherited weakness from his previous life.
"Back then, I failed because I relied too much on shortcuts… pills, external forces, unearned insights." Elias's breath slowed as he focused. "Not this time."
He gathered the accumulated essence of refinement from within his dantian and began to guide it through his meridians, directing it with near-painful precision toward the core of his spiritual sea.
A sharp pain lanced through him.
"Now."
He bit down on the edge of his sleeve, muffling a growl. Inside, his spiritual sea reacted violently. Like thunder rolling through water, waves surged, crashing against the barrier that had long resisted his ascension. The refinement energy pierced deeper, splitting apart decaying fragments and infusing the center with clarity.
His body trembled, but he endured.
"A crack… It's breaking."
Yes. In the heart of the spiritual sea, something ancient stirred—like a door creaking open in a long-forgotten temple. Light poured through. Not bright. Not holy. But clear.
Elias's entire being locked onto that moment.
Shudder
The spiritual sea rippled. A thin golden strand extended from its depths, coiling upward, marking his first step toward stabilizing the next layer. It wasn't a full transformation—but it was enough.
He had broken through the first internal lock of his spiritual sea.
Rank Two. Now, the foundation was firm. His refinement would no longer collapse under pressure.
Elias opened his eyes.
The room was silent, yet it felt as if the world had shifted.
He could feel more now—finer fluctuations in energy, distant movements, the hidden instability in his own runes. He extended a hand and activated a low-tier engraving with barely a thought. It came faster. Cleaner.
He allowed himself a small, breathless laugh.
"It's working."
The door remained locked. The lamp still burned. Outside, the world continued unaware.
But within this sealed space, Elias had taken a step few others could match without guidance, without family, without the luxury of time.
Alone.