Silvena returned to her place beside the pillar, resting one shoulder against the cold stone.

The entire exchange had been nothing more than an idle conversation to her. Ruvian watched her with a smirk, studying the angles of her words more than her movements.

‘Silvena, she hadn’t just refused but even stolen authority from Delila and exposed the scaffolding behind the stage. She's better than I thought.’

The quietness that followed Delila’s question hung there, pressing lightly against the backs of the Class E scholars as they stood rigid and uncertain.

Delila’s expression, though technically unchanged, began to shimmer beneath the surface of professional courtesy.

A sharper tense crept in behind her smile, the muscles in her jaw setting into the shape of a woman trying very hard not to appear annoyed in front of the scholars.

Her voice, when it came, was bright and airy again.

“I believe we’ve waited long enough,” she said sweetly.

A few Class E scholars flinched. Some leaned back or glanced toward their peers in terror and desperation. No one wanted to be the first, to volunteer for humiliation dressed in the language of opportunity.

And still, no one moved.

Until a single voice, clear and poised, sliced neatly through the silence.

“I’ll participate.”

It wasn't a loud voice and it didn’t need to be.

Heads turned, almost all at once.

From the opposite end of the hall, where the Class A scholars stood in varying degrees of disinterest, a girl stepped forward with grace, not nervousness or bravado, but with conviction.

Her red hair was tied in a high, disciplined ponytail that swayed gently as she walked, each step placed with a soldier’s purpose.

Without hesitation, she simply moved, as if the choice had always been inevitable and her decision required no one’s permission.

Delila’s entire demeanor shifted the moment she recognized her.

The tension in her shoulders melted as if the entire moment had been worth enduring just to arrive at this result, she allowed a triumphant smile.

“Oh, Lady Rosalin, of course. I should have guessed. At least someone among your peers understands what pride and responsibility look like.”

It wasn’t a compliment so much as a finely crafted blade, aimed sideways at the rest of Class A, especially at those who had remained silent from Calyra and Silvena’s passive command.

Delila didn’t look at them when she said it, but her words landed all the same.

Rosalin made no comment. She simply placed her name onto the projection with calm assurance and then stepped back without a glance at anyone. Google seaʀᴄh noveⅼfire.net

Ruvian’s eyes followed her movement.

‘I had expected that she would step forward. Rosalin Varion is many things. Obedient to her House’s rigid standards, built from discipline more than charm, but above all, she is incapable of wasting an opportunity to prove her competence in public view. That's very like her.’

With her addition, the number on the board shifted again, blinking softly as it adjusted itself.

9 participants from Class A.

‘Which means 27 scholars are needed from Class E.’

Ruvian watched the screen settle with disinterest, even as a murmur began to spread down his side of the hall, the panic sinking deeper now.

‘27 out of 40. And with no one stepping forward, the pressure would soon stop being gentle.’

Still, Ruvian decided not to make his move yet.

There were too many unknowns. The volunteers from Class A weren’t just strong… they were trained, connected, sharpened by years of private instruction and familial expectation.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

These were not scholars simply seeking improvement. They were heirs of bloodlines that prided themselves on excellence.

To go against them wasn’t just a simple challenge.

Some scholars around him were already whispering, as they tried to determine how many names would need to be forced before the random selection began.

Then, the system arrived with a new light sapphire page.

The faint glow of familiar runes unfurled at the periphery of his vision.

[—NEW QUEST TRIGGERED—]

[Quest Name: Participate In The Joint-Session]

[Classification: Relevance Integration Subtask]

[Objective: Step into the active plotline by participating in the cross-class combat session. Make your name known!]

[Requirement: Join the Class E volunteer group]

[Reward: +250 Plot Points]

——————————

The letters faded slowly, as if giving him time to think, though the command beneath them was clear enough. The system had dropped its usual ambiguity this time.

Ruvian didn’t react outwardly, but the system was maneuvering him into the space left vacant by the protagonist’s absence. This is not the first time the system urged him to be relevant.

He casually sighed.

“Well, I suppose this is my cue,” he murmured with a mocking edge in his tone, reserved for the author who had embedded all of this.

Finally, across the hall, Class E had begun to move. They marched reluctantly, submitting their names.

The logic of survival overrode the fear of embarrassment, and so, one by one, they stepped forward.

Ruvian watched them with his usual calmness, tracking each expression, each one of his classmates wore fear differently.

He waited for another beat, as if measuring the cadence of the air, then shifted his body forward, ready to blend in the crowd.

[You have received +250 Plot Points]

But then… he stopped, a half-step halted, a slow pivot of thought mid-motion. But in the low-humming silence of the hall, his action stood out clearly.

Everyone noticed it, even Delila, who had already returned to her console, looked up sharply at the interruption.

A slight frown ghosted her lips, and for a moment, she seemed more curious than annoyed. The moment stretched longer than it should have.

“Is there a problem, scholar?” she asked Ruvian, her tone clipped with impatience masquerading as concern.

Ruvian lips curled faintly, then let the thought slip, as though amused by his own lateness in arriving at it.

‘Haha. Why didn’t I think of it?’

The other scholars, who had already submitted their names, glanced back toward him, confused.

Delila’s brow twitched.

“Please submit your name if you intend to participate.”

She said, voice firmer now.

“Instructor. Before I do that…”

Ruvian began, his voice even and controlled.

“May I ask something first?”

[You have received +30 Plot Points]

Delila’s fingers paused above the console.

“If it is relevant. Yes, you may.”

Ruvian tilted his head.

“Any training session at the academy, especially one involving practical combat, should have outlined parameters. Merits and demerits—scoring structures. Am I correct?”

The hall became quieter.

Class E, previously too absorbed in anxiety to notice anything beyond their own place in line, had started to lift their heads at the question. Even some from Class A turned slightly, the rhythm of tension bending toward the dark-haired boy.

Ruvian’s gaze remained on Delila.

“I just find it strange…” he continued, calmly.

“That we’ve been asked to volunteer for a live combat trial, but no mention has been made of what’s actually at stake. Surely there must be some form of reward for participation. Some tangible benefit? Am I right, Instructor?”

Delila’s smile did not return but her gaze was piercing deep at Ruvian with blazing irritation.

“Yes, you're correct. There will be merit points for participating,” she said, briskly, as though that ought to be enough.

And for a moment, the room relaxed. Some even looked relieved, but Ruvian watched her closely, eyes narrowing.

His voice dropped more.

“And… Is that all you have to say? What about the outcome?”

Delila blinked again.

“Outcome?” she echoed.

“Yes,” Ruvian said.

“Participation is one thing. But in a duel, someone wins. Someone loses. What happens to those who lose?”

That's when all the attention moved to him.

Everyone knew the Velthia Academy was built on a meritocratic system. Points were everything. Currency, power, status. Gaining them advanced you. Losing them… well, that depended on how many you could afford to lose.

Delila’s lips tightened. Then she offered a measured polished shrug.

“There may be minor deductions based on performance. But that is a standard part of the curriculum. Nothing unexpected.”

Ruvian pushed further.

“So, you mean to say that those selected from Class E, many of whom have never even cast a proper spell in live conditions, will not only be pitted against seasoned Class A combatants… but also risk losing merit points if they fail?”

[You have received +30 Plot Points]

The air in the room pulled tighter.

Someone in Class E muttered something under their breath. Another straightened up, suddenly pale.

From the edge of the room, Calyra, tilted her head. She was calm as ever, neither impressed nor disapproving. But her attention, at least, had turned.

Rosalin, arms crossed behind her back, gave the barest flick of an eyebrow and widened her eyes. While Silvena only smiled, slightly amused.

Delila’s composure fractured for a second.

Barely visible, but Ruvian saw it.

“…These decisions,” she finally said, voice weakened than before, “are part of the broader curriculum structure, which you, as a first-year, do not have clearance to question.”

It was a clean deflection, but not a good one.

A quiet chuckle escaped him, low and humorless, as if amused by the absurdity of her answer.

“No, Instructor Delila—”

Finally, Ruvian’s voice broke through the tension, heavy with concreted certainty.

“...I believe we do.”

[You have been rewarded +150 Plot Points]

Because it contradicted itself. If the rules were fair, she could state them plainly. Hiding behind “curriculum clearance” revealed fragility, not authority. No one wants to enter a battlefield blindly. Survival demands clarity of risk. Calling for transparency isn’t rebellion but it’s an instinct. And “Minor deductions” are no small thing.

Especially in Velthia Academy, where points are life.

PP = 710

ME = 180