The kingdom of Elarion was one of the most powerful in all of Altaria, ruled by the eight Founding Houses and the Royal Family.
Each house controlled an essential pillar of the kingdom: maritime trade, border security, justice, agriculture, diplomatic negotiation, and the other foundations that had maintained the balance of the entire territory for three hundred years.
At the heart of the capital stood the Grand Academy of Magic and Knights. It wasn't just a place to learn swordsmanship or channel mana. It was where the people who would govern the kingdom tomorrow were forged. The institution was divided into eight classes, ranked without mercy by power, talent, and status.
No one argued with the order. No one questioned it.
The highest, most feared, and most prestigious of all was Class Eight. Only the direct heirs of noble houses were admitted — prodigies who appeared once a generation, people the kingdom had already decided mattered. Everyone else could only look up from below and dream.
But today would be different.
Standing before the great dark oak door of the Class Eight hall was a boy.
He wasn't an heir. He carried no noble crest. He had no name anyone in the kingdom would recognize.
No one knew he existed. For ten years, Kael had kept him hidden in the forgotten corridors of the Academy, away from prying eyes, away from nobles, away from the world. Only three people besides the Headmaster knew the boy was alive.
His name was Zero Viremont. The Headmaster's adopted son. The ghost who never should have set foot in that room.
The murmur behind the doors of Class Eight was deafening.
Arrogant laughter, whispered bets, and ancient bloodline names spoken with pride. The kingdom's elite, gathered in a single room.
Children of nobles, prodigies trained from the cradle, and young people who carried centuries of tradition on their shoulders.
And standing before that door was Zero Viremont.
Still and unmoving, he stared at the wood like it was an enemy.
"Seriously… what was that old man thinking, sending me here…?" he muttered, his voice rough from disuse.
He'd spent ten years speaking to no one but Kael and three elderly librarians. He didn't know how to smile. He didn't know how to be polite. He didn't know any of the rules the rest of the world took for granted.
He only knew how to read. He only knew how to fight. He only knew how to be alone.
Zero opened the door.
The moment he stepped inside, every sound died.
Every gaze landed on him like a pack of predators that had just found prey. They judged him, analyzed him, and dismissed him in silence.
—Who is he? —He doesn't have any noble crests… —Is he a commoner? —Disgusting…
The murmurs continued, thick with contempt and curiosity toward this intruder who, to them, seemed less like a student and more like a trespasser.
Zero ignored all of it.
He moved forward without changing his expression, as if none of those voices held any weight. He didn't greet anyone. He didn't apologize. He didn't make eye contact. He walked like someone who had spent his entire life crossing empty rooms.
His uniform was disheveled, his boots worn down, and his gray eyes stayed flat — expressionless, almost dead.
Without sparing anyone a glance, he walked to the back of the classroom. When he got there, he sat down, propped his face on one hand, and stared forward with the exhaustion of someone who considered being here the biggest waste of his time.
But there was one person sitting near him.
Angela Shirogane, direct heir to one of the eight Founding Houses. With her silver hair, crimson eyes, and flawless composure, she was known as the Ice Princess for her cold, firm, and unyielding demeanor.
And right now, her eyes were on Zero.
Angela Shirogane watched him in silence. Her red eyes were cold and calculating — a hawk sizing up its prey.
But something about him didn't fit. Not his clothes, not his posture, not the way he completely ignored the unspoken hierarchy of Class Eight.
"Welcome to Class Eight," she said, calm and composed.
Zero barely shifted his gaze toward her.
"The seat next to me is open. You'll have a better view of the board from there."
Zero looked back to the front.
"I'm fine here."
Silence fell for a moment. The entire room held its breath. No one had ever answered Angela Shirogane like that in the history of the Academy.
She didn't respond right away. She simply pressed her pen slightly tighter and turned back to her book.
"As you wish. It was only a courtesy."
But now she was watching him more carefully.
Class began. The topic was advanced magical fields — complex concepts, high-level theory, and formulas that even some of the nobles struggled to follow.
Zero didn't take notes. He didn't ask questions. He didn't even seem to be listening. His head rested on his hand, his gaze drifting toward the window.
*I already know all of this. And more.*
He had read every book in the Academy. All of them. Three times. While other children played and learned how to greet people properly, he had been in the basement memorizing formulas and throwing punches at stone walls.
The professor — an older man — stopped abruptly and fixed his gaze on him.
"You. The new one. Answer."
Several heads snapped up immediately, eager to watch him fail. The topic was the mechanics of double magic circles. Difficult for most.
Zero didn't sit up straighter. He didn't change his posture. He just spoke in the same tired, flat voice he always used — walking through every principle, every exception, every common mistake that the professor hadn't even mentioned in his lesson.
The room went quiet all at once.
No one laughed. No one whispered. There was only stunned silence and a faint undercurrent of envy.
The professor nodded, satisfied.
"Finally. Someone who actually understands what we're talking about in this class."
Angela stopped her pen. For the first time since Zero had walked in, her expression showed a flicker of surprise.
The end of class came with a new lesson and a new instructor.
"Combat session. To the outer field."
The training field stretched out under the midday sun. Zero stood there, hands in his pockets, wearing the same dead-eyed look as always.
The murmurs came right back.
—Is he serious? —He doesn't even have a weapon… —He's smart, but he looks useless in a fight.
Zero didn't respond. He didn't defend himself. He didn't say a word. He just stood there, still, as if none of it mattered.
Angela approached him with a steady stride.
"You're not carrying a weapon. Are you planning to use your fists?"
Zero didn't look up from the ground.
"Showing your weapon before a fight gives too much away."
Angela studied him in silence. Then she frowned slightly, irritated by his indifference.
Before she could respond, the instructor's voice rang out across the field.
"Zero! By order of the Headmaster, you will face five members of Class Eight — alone."
Silence crashed down. Then the shouting erupted.
Zero closed his eyes for a second.
*That old bastard.*
Then he sighed, and a tight, bitter smile crossed his face — the only kind he knew how to make.
"Great."
The combat circle formed.
The first opponent stepped forward with arrogance. It was Valerius, heir to a ducal house, carrying a longsword built to crush everything in front of him head-on.
Zero lowered his gaze slightly. The ground beneath his feet darkened. A shadow split open slowly. A hilt rose from it.
Zero took it without hurrying, and as he did, the weapon finished taking shape. Slender. Elegant. Lethal. A rapier thin as a needle, with a guard shaped like a metal rose wrapped around the blade.
"Silver Crescent Rosse."
Zero didn't take a combat stance. He simply stood there, holding the weapon with absolute calm.
It wasn't arrogance. It was the confidence of someone who had practiced that exact motion ten thousand times — alone, in the dark, with no one watching.
Valerius tightened his grip on his sword with fury.
"Die!"
He charged without thinking. Too confident. Too straightforward.
Zero sighed.
"Slow."
The world seemed to decelerate. The heavy sword swept past. Zero slipped to the side with the ease of a dancer. Not a drop of effort.
"You're leaving your defense wide open."
Valerius spun around, furious. Too late.
"Rain."
The rapier vanished. Or seemed to. In reality, Zero had struck seven times in a single instant. Precise hits. Exact points. Joints. Balance points.
Valerius's sword hit the ground. Then he dropped to his knees, unable to hold himself up. He didn't even understand what had happened.
Silence ruled the field.
One by one, they fell. The baron with the axe. The noble girl with the spear. The count with the mace. Each one carrying a different weapon. Each one defeated in under thirty seconds.
Nothing stopped him. No strategy. No weapon. No rank.
Then Angela stepped forward. In one clean motion, she drew her katana — black as midnight.
"Enough. I'll fight you."
Zero watched her without moving.
"Don't switch weapons," she said firmly, leveling the katana at him.
Zero smiled faintly. That same bitter, broken smile — the only one he had.
"We'll see."
And so the fight began.
Precision against chaos. A firm, refined style forged through years of discipline, against someone who had learned to fight alone, in the dark, without rules, without honor, without anyone to teach him anything beyond how to survive.
They attacked. They blocked. They countered. Neither gave ground.
"You're good," Zero said, deflecting another slash.
"And you're unpredictable."
The pace climbed. Angela, in one swift and precise movement, went for Zero's footing. But as if he'd already seen it coming, he slipped aside with impossible ease.
"How—" She recovered and leveled her katana at him. "What are you hiding?"
Zero didn't answer right away. He just stood there, watching her. Then he spoke, calm.
"Can you hear it?"
Angela's brow furrowed slightly.
"Hear what?"
"Your katana."
A brief silence.
"It's a tool. Nothing more."
Zero shook his head slowly.
"That's a shame."
Without warning, nine figures rose from the shadows and began circling him. Ten weapons. All his. All perfectly familiar.
"Choose."
Angela said nothing. Her eyes moved across each weapon, analyzing them carefully. But one in particular caught her attention. The scythe.
Something told her not to choose it. And at the same time, a strange pull urged her toward it.
Angela raised her katana and pointed at it.
"I choose that one."
Zero didn't respond immediately. He stood still, watching her in silence. Then the rest of the weapons sank back into the shadows. Only the scythe remained, floating before him.
A smile — slightly darker than before — crossed his face.
"Bad choice."
The scythe revealed itself slowly. Its blade was black, so dark it seemed to swallow the light around it. At the base of the edge was a demonic face, mouth open in a silent scream, and from that mouth the blade itself grew.
"Soul Eater."
Angela felt a chill run down her spine. The presence of that weapon was overwhelming. It was like standing before death itself, given the shape of a scythe.
But she held her ground. She breathed deep and prepared her attack. One strike. Decisive.
She launched forward at blinding speed. Her attack was direct, precise, and lethal.
But it wasn't enough.
**Clank.**
Soul Eater stopped the blow without effort. As if it had only blocked a gust of wind.
Angela's eyes opened just slightly. And a second later, Zero was already in front of her. His face was just as empty as before. His dead eyes showed nothing.
"Goodbye."
Darkness fell all at once. And Angela lost consciousness.
When Angela woke up, she was in the infirmary. The injury wasn't serious. Zero hadn't attacked to kill.
But her pride and her bloodline had hit the floor right alongside her.
To make it worse, Zero was sitting beside her, watching over her. That embarrassed her more than she wanted to admit.
"You're awake." He stood up. "I'm leaving."
Zero walked toward the exit, but before he could go, Angela stopped him.
"Who are you? You don't belong here."
Zero paused. For a few seconds, he seemed to think about what to say. It was the first time in ten years anyone had asked him that question.
"I don't know." He sighed and turned to look at her, those gray eyes as empty as ever. "I'm just looking for some peace."
Zero walked out of the infirmary without another word.
Angela sat alone, turning everything over in her mind. The defeat. The weapons. The way he fought. How easily he had beaten her.
And then a thought crossed her mind.
*I'm in trouble.*
Because she hadn't seen a prodigy.
She had seen someone who had nothing left to lose.