CHAPTER 155: FOUR YEARS.

(A/N Big thanks to everyone for the Power stones and Golden tickets, they mean a lot. As usual, please don’t hesitate to comment or drop a review. ENJOY)

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Power stones people, Gimme it.

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Four years.

It didn’t feel like four years.

But as Orion sat in the far corner of the library—the same corner he had claimed since his first month at the academy—the truth pressed softly at the back of his mind.

23 full cycles.

23 exam seasons.

Dozens of competitions won.

Hundreds of decisions made.

Thousands of points earned and spent.

And still... he always ended up here.

The crystalline windows cast muted white light over the wooden tables, illuminating a familiar scene: rows of towering shelves, scrolls sealed in transparent cases, tomes from ancient eras stacked on reinforced stands. The library was as quiet as it always was—quiet enough that one could hear a page turn two aisles away.

He had grown. The world had grown with him.

Yet the library hadn’t changed at all.

Orion closed the book he was reading and rubbed the edge of the page with his thumb. He wasn’t even close to finishing the history section. Four years, and he had barely passed the halfway point.

And the thought of leaving it behind in a month—

Leaving this—

left something uneasy in the space just beneath his ribs.

A soft cough pulled his attention back.

Two students stood in front of him.

A boy and a girl.

Second-years.

A year ago, they wouldn’t have dared step foot in this section. Now they walked into it naturally, with the kind of unquestioned confidence that came from shadowing him for two years straight.

Not officially part of his enclave, not officially holding any position—just... his juniors. His shadows. The only two who managed to keep up with his habits, at least enough to share this particular one.

The boy cleared his throat again.

"Young master, I still don’t understand how the elves managed to win the battle at..." He glanced down at his notes, eyes narrowing. "Reim...dall? Or Reindall?"

"Raomdall," Orion corrected softly. "It’s elvish. Means ’Land of Fear’."

The girl blinked. "That’s what it means? That’s... intense."

"It was an intense war," Orion replied.

The boy leaned forward, eager. "But that’s exactly why I don’t understand. Their numbers were too small. Their formations weren’t suited for open terrain. And the humans had reinforcement waves prepared. How did the elves win with so few casualties?"

Orion exhaled, marking his page.

He looked at the two juniors—

one with ink stains on her fingertips,

the other with parchment tucked under his arm,

both trying so hard to match him simply because they admired him.

A year ago, they would have been expelled from the library for whispering too loudly.

A year ago, they didn’t even like reading.

But following him had changed them.

Orion wasn’t even sure when they started joining him in this place—but eventually, they became the only two who stayed.

And he didn’t mind their presence.

He leaned back slightly. "What do you know about Raomdall?"

The boy brightened. "Dense forests. Unpredictable terrain."

"And?" Orion asked.

"It was one of the few regions the Demons avoided expanding into," the girl added. "Because... the land resisted?"

"Precisely." Orion nodded. "Raomdall is alive. Not literally, but close enough. The elves didn’t win through brute force. They used the land."

The boy frowned. "How? The records say they were surrounded—"

"Because they wanted to be."

Both juniors froze.

Orion continued.

"The elves retreated intentionally, appearing disorganized. They made the humans believe they were cornered. But every step of that retreat was calculated. They were guiding the human army deeper into Raomdall—into a place the elves had prepared decades earlier."

"Decades?" the girl whispered.

"Elves don’t prepare for battles," Orion said, voice steady. "They prepare for eras, not just philosophically, literally."

He tapped the open illustration in the book—ancient sketches of the Raomdall forest, its twisting mana veins, its layered roots.

"Raomdall’s mana is thick enough to warp perception. To humans, it feels like fog. To elves, it’s a tool."

The boy leaned in. "So they used illusions?"

"No." Orion flipped to the next diagram. "They used paths."

He pointed at the twisting lines.

"Elven war druids spent generations shaping them. Veins of mana that flowed under the ground. If you don’t step precisely where they want you to, the land shifts. You lose your balance. Your formation breaks. Your visibility drops."

The girl inhaled sharply. "The human army walked into a trap without realizing it."

"Exactly." Orion closed the book gently. "By the time the Empire realized it wasn’t chasing a retreating force—but being led into a kill zone—it was too late."

"And the casualties?" the boy asked.

"Minimal for the elves," Orion replied. "Heavy for the humans. The war ended in three days."

The girl whispered, "That’s... terrifying."

"Crafty," Orion corrected. "Disguised as foolishness. That’s why they won."

The two juniors nodded slowly, absorbing every word.

The library clock chimed softly.

Break was over.

The boy glanced up. "Looks like we have to go."

The girl straightened her notes, hesitating for just a second. "Will you... be here later?"

Orion returned his gaze to his book. "Most likely."

It was enough for them.

They bowed—out of habit, out of respect—and walked off toward the exit, whispering excitedly to each other about Raomdall’s terrain traps.

When they disappeared into the hallway, Orion let the silence wash back over him.

Four years.

Four years of power struggles, competitions, negotiations, fights, victories, and failures.

Four years of carrying Ophelia’s legacy.

Four years of standing at the top of A1.

He hadn’t planned on becoming leader so early.

He hadn’t planned on taking Elysia’s position in his second year.

He hadn’t planned on shutting down every dissent with nothing but skill and certainty.

But he had.

And now the enclave—Ophelia’s enclave—was more than a group.

It was a small government.

An organization that dominated every competition, every arena, every academic score, every negotiation, every outer magnum confrontation.

They were unrivaled.

And he...

he had become something else entirely.

A dominant figure in the academy.

A name spoken with respect.

A presence that shifted entire rooms.

Yet despite all of that—

He turned the page softly—

He was still here.

Still in this aisle.

Still in this seat.

Still with the same half-finished section.

It grounded him.

It reminded him that some things didn’t move with time.

Some things stayed.

But he wouldn’t.

Not forever.

A month.

He had only a month left before he left the academy behind.

He brushed his thumb across the edge of the page, letting the thought settle quietly.

He didn’t dread the end.

He didn’t fear the next step—whatever it would be.

But he would miss this.

All of it.

(A/N, Tell me what you think about the timeskip. I’d like to hear your thoughts. Of course we’re still going to cover a lot before we leave the academy, but we’re moving to the next arc. )