CHAPTER 212: CHAPTER 212: ANNOUNCEMENT

The underground training grounds of Class S, usually filled with the echo of spells and the clash of weapons, were unusually quiet that morning. Instead of drills or combat, all forty students had been gathered into the waiting hall—a large, stone-lined room lit by floating crystal lanterns. Whispers filled the air as students waited for whatever announcement the professors had prepared.

Noel leaned back against the wall with arms crossed. Standing next to him was Roberto, fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve.

"So," Roberto began, glancing around, "what do you think they’ll tell us?"

"I imagine they’ll give us information about the event," Noel replied, keeping his voice low, "and when we’re supposed to leave."

"Event, huh?" Roberto smirked. "Maybe I’ll finally meet my soulmate. These big events usually bring students from everywhere... romance can bloom, you know?"

Noel raised an eyebrow. "Are you that desperate? Did you know Laziel might be leaving the singles club soon? You’d be the last one standing."

"Hmph. Don’t worry about me," Roberto said, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder. "Coaches don’t play, remember? But maybe this coach is tired of watching."

"Don’t start praising yourself now. You didn’t help any of us."

"Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that," Roberto said with a grin.

Before Noel could answer, the large doors opened with a dull groan. All chatter ceased as Daemar entered the room, his long silver hair swaying with each step. His violet eyes scanned the students calmly. Beside him walked Rauk, silent as always.

Daemar stopped at the center and addressed them, his voice smooth but commanding.

"As you might have seen last night on the Class S dormitory bulletin, today was set for an important announcement."

A scroll appeared in his hand with a flick of mana. He unraveled it, then began to read.

Daemar’s voice echoed clearly through the chamber as he read from the scroll.

"The Imperial Academy of Valor, along with three other prestigious institutions, has been formally invited by the Tharvaldur Institute of Arcane Might to participate in this year’s Grand Exchange Event."

He paused for a moment, letting the words settle.

"This is an annual gathering hosted by the dwarven kingdom’s finest academy. You may think of it as a combination of cultural exchange and tournament," he continued, rolling the scroll closed and tucking it under his arm. "You’ll have the chance to meet students from other kingdoms, build connections, and—more importantly—fight."

A spark of excitement ran through the students. Some exchanged glances. Others straightened up slightly, already imagining the battles ahead.

Daemar went on, "The main event will be a tournament. There will be brackets. One hundred and sixty students in total—forty from each of the four academies. It will be long, and it will be difficult. You’ll face multiple opponents, and each fight will test your limits."

He raised a hand, gesturing with his fingers.

"There will be two rankings. First, the individual ranking—where your personal placement is all that matters. Where you finish is where you’ll be remembered. Second, the academy ranking—a collective score based on how well each school performs as a whole. In short, both your personal skill and your unity as a class matter."

A low hum of reactions filled the room. Whispers of "brackets," "four academies," and "public tournament" floated among the students.

"And yes," Daemar added, his voice firm, "this tournament will be public. Citizens from the dwarven kingdom—and even tourists—will be watching. It’s not just a test. It’s a stage. You’ll be fighting in front of an audience eager to witness the rise of future legends."

Some of the more confident students straightened their backs. Others suddenly looked nervous.

"You have two days to prepare. We depart soon after, by ship—it will take ten days to reach Tharvaldur. Pack accordingly. This isn’t just a trip. It’s an opportunity."

Daemar stepped back slightly, letting his words hang.

"That’s all for now. You’ve all trained hard these past months, and it shows. Take the next two days to rest, recover, and ready yourselves."

He nodded once.

"You’re dismissed."

The crowd of students began to disperse, their voices rising in a wave of chatter. Some looked eager, others anxious. Noel and Roberto walked side by side through the wide corridor leading back toward the dormitories.

"So," Roberto said, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "what are you planning to bring?"

"The basics, I guess," Noel replied. "Clothes. A brush. Just treating it like any normal trip."

Roberto chuckled. "Makes sense. I’m glad we’ll be gone for a while. If I find the time, maybe I can visit my family over there."

Noel glanced at him. "You have family in the dwarven kingdom?"

"Oh yeah. Just regular folks," Roberto said with a shrug. "I’m not a noble like you, remember? They run a restaurant in one of the smaller cities."

"I see. Never told me that before."

"Guess it never came up," Roberto smiled. "Anyway, I should go pack. Gotta figure out what to wear if I end up meeting my soulmate after all."

"Right," Noel said dryly. "Good luck with that."

"Thanks. You’ll see—someone’s gotta carry the torch of romance in this group."

Noel gave him a half-smile as they reached the dormitory hall. Roberto waved over his shoulder.

"See you later."

"Yeah. See you."

Instead of heading back to his room, Noel turned away from the dormitory path and made his way toward the outer gates of the academy. The guards recognized him and didn’t ask questions—at this point, he came and went often enough.

The sky above Valon was tinged with gold and soft gray, the late afternoon sun brushing against the rooftops. The air carried the scent of distant food stalls, metal, and a faint tang of magic. Noel pulled his cloak tighter as he descended the winding stone road leading into the lower district.

He didn’t have much time before their departure, and he had no intention of leaving without a final visit.

’Ten days on a ship, and then straight into a tournament,’ he thought. ’No room for distractions once we’re there.’

The wooden sign of the Drunken Hammer came into view—slightly crooked, swaying in the breeze.