CHAPTER 8: ARRIVAL AT THE ACADEMY

Getting out of the train, Amon stood on the railway platform of Elarith.

With excited steps, he left the station and stepped into the heart of the city.

Elarith was a place where ancient stone met modern steel—a rare marvel standing proudly between tradition and progress. Known as the "City of Balance," it was where knights in enchanted plate armor strolled the same streets as mages wearing crystal-imbued monocles.

Commoners rode mana-carts past horse-drawn carriages adorned with golden crests. There were even mana-powered cars here and there.

Surrounded by towering stone walls etched with glowing protective runes, the city stretched wide and high, nestled at the base of the silver-fogged Eldrath Mountains.

The streets of Elarith were paved with polished gray cobblestone, enchanted to self-clean every morning at dawn.

Along the main avenues, iron street lamps powered by mana crystals flickered on at dusk, casting a bluish-white glow over merchants selling spell scrolls and cafés offering steam-brewed mana coffee.

Markets buzzed with life—blacksmiths forged swords beside vendors selling pocket-sized golems, while fruit sellers shouted over bards playing through lute-powered speakers.

Artificers and alchemists had their own district, where the air always smelled of lavender and explosive potions.

You could still hear the rhythmic clop of horses in the older quarters.

Noble manors sat on elevated grounds like fortresses, overlooking the bustling commoner quarters below.

These estates had modern plumbing enchanted by water mages, floating gardens, and servants with magical wristbands for communication.

Despite all the advancements, the soul of Elarith remained medieval—guards in enchanted armor patrolled the streets, and court mages held trials in magic towers.

"Wow... this is so amazing," Amon said with a wide smile, eyes darting in every direction.

The city was far more beautiful and developed than Valerion.

He walked deeper into the city, smiling happily as he admired everything around him. Slowly, he made his way toward the road leading to the academy.

Even from a distance, he could see the majestic campus.

Perched atop a lush, emerald-green hill at the northern edge of Elarith, Arcadia Academy looked less like a school and more like a sanctuary of arcane beauty—a masterpiece carved from magic, stone, and dreams.

The first sight of it stole his breath.

Soaring towers of white marble and enchanted obsidian reached toward the sky, their smooth surfaces glowing faintly with magical sigils that shimmered in daylight and pulsed softly at night.

Between them, arched skybridges made of translucent mana-glass connected the towers, glowing like moonlight as students strolled across them—some reading spellbooks mid-step, others casually practicing incantations.

After a while, Amon arrived at the front gate.

The main entrance was a massive archway shaped like a crescent moon, guarded not by knights but by two living statues carved from sapphire and jade—silent sentinels that only moved when needed.

As students passed through, a sensation of warmth and calm swept over them—a protective enchantment welcoming all who entered.

Amon approached a silver-armored guard near the gate.

"Hello, sir knight... uh, anyway, I’ve come here for admission."

The knight looked at Amon’s cheap clothes for a moment and replied, "Entrance exams are already over. If you passed, show me the letter from the academy confirming your admission."

Amon scratched the back of his head and smiled awkwardly. "Yes, sir. I’ll show you."

With a confident grin, he pulled out the golden admission pass and held it up.

Even though the guard wore a helmet, his surprise was obvious.

"A... golden pass? Wait here, boy."

He walked over to the side and pulled out a mana-powered communication device. After making a brief call, he returned.

"I’ve contacted a professor. He’ll be coming to receive you and explain the admission process."

Amon nodded, waiting patiently.

Soon, a middle-aged man with striking brown hair and sharp green eyes walked out through the gate.

He wore a white robe with green accents—radiating the unmistakable air of a seasoned magician.

He looked at Amon with an unreadable expression. "You’re Amon Vale, right? Come. Follow me."

He turned and walked through the academy gates. Amon followed.

As he passed through, he felt a warm, tingling sensation run across his body—like being scanned by something.

Inside, the central courtyard was stunning. Lush trees shaped by wind magic flowed like natural sculptures.

Flowers shifted colors with the seasons, and a crystal-clear fountain at the center danced in patterns shaped like ancient runes. Stone benches lined the paths.

As they walked, Amon spoke up. "Professor, may I know your name?"

Without turning around, the man replied, "Davern Valmont. I teach Alchemy to first, second, and third years."

Amon nodded, quietly taking everything in. Professor Davern led him through wide corridors until they reached the middle spire. He opened a glass-panelled lift and stepped inside. Amon followed.

As they ascended, Amon looked out the glass walls of the lift, taking in the view of the academy grounds and the entire city beyond. It was breathtaking.

Eventually, they reached the top floor and stepped out. At the end of the hallway stood a single large door.

Professor Davern knocked.

"Come in," said a beautiful but firm voice from inside.

They entered a grand room adorned with ancient weapons, magical artifacts, and elegant furnishings.

At the center was a desk filled with documents and sat there an elderly woman with snow-white hair, her beauty only amplified by the years and the aura of authority around her.She look in her late 40s.

Amon stared.

’Damn... Talk about a GILF. Wait—stop. Stop thinking things that might get you incinerated.’

He straightened up, silently hoping she couldn’t read minds.

Professor Davern bowed slightly.Not knowing what’s going inside the young man’s head."Headmistress, this is Amon Vale. He possesses a golden ticket pass."

The elegant woman looked up from her papers. Her silver eyes pierced through Amon, and a cold shiver ran down his spine.

She was strong. Inhumanly so.

Her name, if Amon remembered right, was Isabel Dawnheart—a Mythborn, one of the few humans who had reached the seventh stage of mana mastery.A Mythborn rank.

"Hmm. A golden ticket?" she said, raising a brow. "Who gave it to you?"

Amon scratched his cheek. "Honestly, I don’t know her name. She was... drunk. Orange hair, acted all clingy and sweet."

Amon look at her then at Darven and started to tell them how he get it from the start.

---------------

After telling everything to them.

Headmistress Isabel sighed. "No doubt. Elizabeth Ashbourne."

Hearing that, Amon’s eyes widened in shock

Hearing that, Amon’s eyes widened in shock. The woman who had leaned on him, speaking sweetly like a true drunkard, was none other than Elizabeth Ashbourne.

Amon’s eyes widened. "Wait—that Elizabeth?! Duchess of Astron? The youngest Mythborn?!"

Isabel nodded. "Yes. And as reckless as ever."

Amon’s jaw nearly hit the floor. The drunk woman who hugged him like a schoolgirl was one of the strongest people in the world?

"Well," the Headmistress said after a moment, her expression softening just slightly, "even if it’s through luck and Elizabeth’s whims, you possess a legitimate pass."

She smiled faintly.

"Amon Vale, welcome to Arcadia Academy."