Chapter 27: A New Day at Ragandarok Academy.
The morning sun cast its golden rays over Ragandarok Academy, its warm light filtering through the tall windows and illuminating the wooden corridors and classrooms. A gentle breeze swept across the campus, rustling the leaves of the trees and carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers. For the teachers and upperclassmen, it was just another ordinary day. But for the first-year students, it was a day filled with anticipation and excitement—a day that marked the beginning of their journey at the most prestigious academy in the world.
The academy's halls buzzed with activity as students and teachers prepared for their classes. The classrooms varied in size, some capable of accommodating over a hundred students, while others were smaller, designed for more intimate groups. In one such small wooden classroom, ten wooden desks were neatly arranged, each spaced at least a meter apart. This was the classroom for the first-year Knights, Fulan's class.
The classroom was a simple yet well-crafted structure, built entirely from light-colored wood with a smooth, polished finish. The walls, floor, and ceiling carried the natural warmth of honeyed oak, their gentle grain patterns adding a sense of quiet elegance. The faint scent of timber still lingered in the air, blending with the subtle chalky aroma from the blackboard at the front of the room.
The blackboard stood tall, its deep, matte surface a stark contrast to the pale wood surrounding it. Faint streaks of past lessons ghosted its surface, and on the narrow wooden ledge below, several sticks of chalk lay scattered—some pristine, others worn down to nubs. A dust-laden eraser rested beside them, evidence of countless wiped-away formulas and sentences.
Sunlight streamed through the large glass windows, their wooden frames painted a muted, earthy tone. The bright daylight spilled across the floor, casting soft, shifting patterns as the breeze rustled the trees outside. Hanging from the ceiling by sturdy chains, several lanterns flickered with a steady, almost electric glow. Their mysterious energy, generated by the movement of Menma particles within the lanterns, but this glow was nearly swallowed by the abundance of natural illumination.
Each desk, carved from the same light wood as the walls, bore a neatly written name in bold black ink, ensuring every student knew their designated seat. The writing was precise and well-maintained, refreshed when necessary to keep it from fading. The desks themselves, though showing signs of years of use, remained in good condition—smooth surfaces free from deep scratches or careless carvings. They stood as quiet testaments to discipline and order, reflecting the structured nature of the classroom.
The students, dressed in the academy's uniform of black and white, sat quietly, their expressions a mix of curiosity and focus. The atmosphere was serene, the only sound being the soft creak of wooden floors as the teacher entered the room. Fayrouz, Lazaria, and Fulan sat in separate seats, their names were elegantly written in black ink on the wooden desks. These three had been the last to pass the exam, while the other seven had succeeded in shorter times—a testament to their talent and worthiness of their seats in the academy.
Fulan was acutely aware of this fact. As he sat quietly, his dark eyes observing the teacher who had just entered, his thoughts were already racing. 'All these people will accompany me to meet the King on graduation day. I need to spend every second analyzing and understanding their abilities to ensure they don't interfere with my plan.'
The teacher, a man with gray hair, green eyes, and a matching gray suit, exuded an air of calm authority. His pale skin and natural build gave him an approachable yet commanding presence. He placed a stack of papers on his desk near the chalkboard and addressed the class without sitting down.
"I am Makoto Shura," he began, his voice steady and clear. "Starting today, I will be responsible for you, future Knights. It's rare for teachers to change in the second and third years, so it's likely I'll be with you for all three years. This is ideal, as it's enough time to extract and polish the rare metal within each of you."
He was referring to the students' latent abilities, emphasizing the importance of understanding and refining them. Makoto continued, his tone calm but firm, "We cannot use our abilities effectively without truly understanding them. What you've done so far has been instinctual, perhaps aided by personal training. But effort alone isn't enough for self-improvement. We must first identify the problem, propose solutions, and choose the right one. Trying to fix yourself without knowing the root issue is like searching for a fruit that doesn't exist in the market. That's why the first lesson you must learn at this academy is..."
He turned to the chalkboard and picked up a piece of chalk, its rough texture pressing against his fingertips. As he brought it to the board, a sharp click echoed through the quiet classroom, followed by the steady, rhythmic scratching of chalk against slate. With deliberate strokes, he wrote the question in bold letters, the sound of each line filling the still air. Finally, he circled it for emphasis, the faint squeak of chalk lingering as the words stood out against the dark surface:
"Where do Menma cells come from, and what exactly are they?"
Only a few minutes had passed since Makoto entered the room, yet he had already captured the students' full attention. His method of teaching—direct, insightful, and engaging—was unlike anything they had experienced before. Fulan, in particular, found himself drawn to the man's demeanor, which reminded him of his former mentor. 'Even his way of speaking is similar. This is the correct way to use Menma particles—without understanding, talent is useless. That's what my mentor told me during our first meeting, and his words changed everything...'
As Fulan reminisced, Makoto began to explain. "The famous story you all know tells of a virus that spread 1,601 years ago, nearly wiping out humanity. Doctors failed to create a cure, but a madman devised an antidote made from the virus itself. 93% of people died from the virus, and some died immediately after being injected with the antidote. The 7% who survived didn't regain full health; their immune systems were severely weakened, leading to a gradual decline over the century. However, when the survivors had children, their offspring were healthy, and the Menma genes evolved from generation to generation, leading to the abilities we have today."
He paused, letting the information sink in before continuing. "Knowing history is good, but this isn't even the first step. The first step to developing your abilities is letting me see them directly. Stand up and follow me to the Knights' training grounds. It's time to analyze and understand your abilities."
Less than ten minutes had passed since Makoto entered the classroom, and already he was leading the students to their first practical lesson. Teachers at Ragandarok Academy were given the freedom to teach as they saw fit, a testament to their expertise and the trust placed in them by the institution.
The students stood and followed Makoto out of the classroom, their footsteps echoing through the wooden corridors. The silence among them was palpable, broken only by the occasional whisper between Lazaria and Fayrouz. Fulan, walking at the back, remained quiet, his thoughts focused on the task ahead. Lazaria, glancing between Fayrouz and Fulan, couldn't help but wonder about the nature of their relationship. *'What kind of bond do they share? What would Fulan do if he knew someone confessed to her yesterday?'*
As they stepped outside, the cool breeze tousled their hair, and the overcast sky allowed occasional beams of sunlight to break through. The training grounds for the Knights were similar to the exam arena—earthy and surrounded by a circular arrangement of trees. Makoto stood before the students, pulling out a small notebook from his pocket. Each page was dedicated to a student, their names written as titles. This was where he would record his observations, a testament to his dedication to their growth.
Makoto flipped to the first page and looked up, his gray hair swaying in the wind. "Knights are the guardians of justice, and as such, they deserve a training regimen superior to that of adventurers and the Exploration Corps. That's what I intend to provide. The first person is Hikari Noiya. According to my records, you were the first to pass the exam, succeeding in less than two minutes. Whether it was luck or talent, show me your skill. Step forward, take the space you need, and demonstrate your ability."
Hikari, a boy with messy gray hair and sharp gray eyes, stepped forward confidently. The other students murmured among themselves, curious about the abilities of the one who had finished the exam the fastest. Fulan's dark eyes narrowed as he watched, his mind already calculating. *'What kind of ability does he hide...?'*
The training had begun, and with it, the first steps toward uncovering the potential within each student. The path ahead was long, but for Fulan, every second counted. The fate of the kingdom—and his clan—depended on it.
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