The dawn was barely brushing the gilded rooftops of Ilvandor Palace when Kaelian awoke, his mind already racing ahead. The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, but his gaze was distant, fixed not on the palace gardens or the awakening city below, but on a single goal: entry into the Royal Academy.
For the nobles of the empire, the Academy was more than an institution; it was the crucible where future power was forged. The place where alliances were formed, rivalries ignited, and destinies decided.
For Kaelian, bastard prince of a scorned lineage, the Academy was a battleground. To survive the ceaseless venom of court politics, to outwit the scheming nobles, and ultimately to claim a place worthy of his mind and ambition, he had to get inside its walls. But the path was littered with obstacles — bloodline, influence, magic, and tradition.
Understanding the Unbreakable Rules
Admission to the Academy was ruthlessly exclusive. The requirements were etched in stone: noble birth, a patron's recommendation, and a proven aptitude in magic or strategy.
Kaeian had none of these, at least officially.
His royal blood was illegitimate, a mark that made him an outcast in the eyes of the Queen and the court. His only advantage lay in the memories of a past life — a strategist from a modern world, equipped with tactics and knowledge centuries ahead of Ilvandor's feudal politics.
He sat at a small wooden desk in his chamber, quill in hand, outlining the barriers:
Prince Théor, his merciless half-brother, was already pressing his claim to the Academy's favor.Queen Virella's iron grip over the Council of Admission would deny him any chance.Without a noble sponsor, no recommendation would come.His magical powers remained a secret, untested, and unpredictable.
But Kaelian did not despair. Instead, he smiled faintly — for he knew every rule had a loophole, every fortress a secret entrance.
Gathering Intel: The First Move
With Lyssa's help — the healer of low birth who alone trusted him — Kaelian slipped into the servants' quarters to whisper a request.
"Find me the list of last year's admitted students. Their houses, patrons, and rankings. I need everything."
Lyssa nodded silently, a shadow among shadows. Within days, she returned with a worn parchment, carefully copied by a servant's hand.
Kaeian settled in a quiet corner of the palace library, poring over the names and connections. He traced lines between noble families, mentors, and rising stars. And then his eyes locked onto a footnote — a loophole so rare it was almost a myth:
Each year, the Academy admitted three "exceptional candidates" outside the usual criteria — selected through a public duel of strategy and magic. It was a spectacle few nobles dared attend, considering it beneath their dignity.
But to Kaelian, it was a lifeline.
He would force his way in through this backdoor. The trial was his chance to upend expectations and announce his arrival.
Provoking the Duelist
His choice was immediate: Sir Elven Maeric, young scion of House Kaer — arrogant, brash, and infamous for his disdain of those "not of pure blood."
During a ceremonial drill in the palace's outer gardens, Kaelian approached Elven under the guise of clumsiness.
"Forgive me, your grace," he said with a mocking bow, "but your cloak was in my path."
Elven's glare was icy. "The paths of nobles are not for the likes of you. Step aside, bastard."
Kaeian's voice dropped, calm but sharp as a blade.
"Then perhaps you'd care to test not only my steps, but my mind? A duel of wits and will. If you win, I bow before you for seven days. If I win, you recommend me for the exceptional admission trial."
A hush fell over the spectators.
Elven laughed, cruel and sharp. "Bold words from a bastard. Very well — I accept."
The Duel of Minds
The council chamber was hastily cleared, transformed into an arena. The nobles gathered, thirsty for entertainment — a bastard challenging a scion of House Kaer was exactly the scandalous drama they craved.
Kaeian dressed simply in white linen, while Elven's crimson cloak glowed with arrogance. But the real battle was in the silence before the first move.
Kaeian's strategies were alien to the court — openings and gambits from a world of chess, battlefield tactics of sacrifice and maneuver he had long mastered.
He placed his pieces with precise calculation. Elven attacked with brute force, underestimating the cunning behind every move.
Minutes passed. The crowd leaned in as Elven's knight found itself trapped, forced into a losing fork.
Elven erupted in fury, toppling his chair and storming out, humiliated.
Murmurs rippled through the chamber.
Kaeian bowed with measured grace.
"I accept my victory humbly. I seek not homage, but a chance."
The Threat in the Shadows
That night, a message slipped beneath Kaelian's door, written on rough parchment:
"Stars that shine too soon invite lightning. Stay in the shadows, little prince without a throne."
Kaeian burned it in the flickering candlelight, unmoved.
The duel had painted a target on his back — eyes now watched him with a mix of fear and curiosity. But the gamble was worth it. To rise, he must shine brighter than all others — and weather the storm it brought.
The Magic Prerequisite
There was one final hurdle — proving magical ability.
Kaeian's powers were fledgling, volatile, untrained. To fail this test meant exclusion.
He devised a subtle deception.
From a forbidden tome he had smuggled from the palace archives, he prepared an ancient fire ritual — simple but impressive. Instead of channeling magic himself, he enlisted Lyssa to activate it remotely, using a drop of her blood and a catalytic stone.
As the ritual ignited, blue flames danced in a circle around him in the palace gardens. A mage from the Academy watched closely, intrigued and cautious.
"Is this blood magic?" the mage asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Not exactly," Kaelian replied smoothly. "A rare elemental technique, but sanctioned."
The mage's quill scribbled a note: Unusual magical potential detected. Candidate worthy of close observation.
The Archmage's Interest
The next day, Kaelian found himself summoned to a dim chamber deep within the palace.
There stood Maître Elgorn, Archmage of the Academy — a towering figure cloaked in black, eyes sharp as a blade.
"I have been observing you," Elgorn said, voice low and grave. "You are not what you appear to be."
"I am what the world has shaped me into," Kaelian replied evenly.
Elgorn's lips curved in a hint of a smile.
"You cheat, you hide, you defy. Dangerous — but potentially useful."
Kaeian met the gaze, unwavering.
"The game is always about who controls whom, Master."
Elgorn's laughter echoed softly.
"I have signed your recommendation personally. You will compete in the trial. If you survive, I will oversee your instruction. Consider this the opening gambit in a greater game."
Kaeian's heart quickened. His path had changed — from pawn to piece of interest.
The Trial Is Announced
Three days later, the royal decree was posted across the palace:
Exceptional Admission Trial: Three candidates will face off in a public contest of magic and strategy. The victor will earn a place in the Academy as a special student.
His opponents were named:
Anver Grell, fiery son of a provincial governor, known for volatile rage.Mirah Cirell, a minor noble skilled in illusion and poison.
The trial was no mere test — it was a crucible meant to burn away threats, or brand the winners as tools to wield.
The Night Before
In the silence of his chamber, Kaelian traced the edges of a wooden chess knight, the flickering candle casting shadows.
He was no longer the man he had been in his previous life, but he had yet to become the master he dreamed of.
Tomorrow was no mere contest. It was a declaration of war.
He wrote in his hidden journal beneath the floor:
"If they let me enter, I will turn the Academy inside out. If they bar my way, I will bring it crashing down from within."
The dawn would bring battle, intrigue, and the first true test of his genius.
End of Chapter 7
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