CHAPTER 128: FIRST-YEAR FLAME!

A tall figure stepped onto the raised platform at the front of the field. The moment he appeared, silence swept across the crowd.

It was Principal Aldric.

There was something commanding about him—his every step was calm and purposeful, as if each one had weight. His long coat, a deep shade of navy blue, trailed behind him like a shadow.

Silver embroidery shimmered faintly on the cuffs whenever he moved his hands, catching the sunlight in brief flashes.

His hair, tied neatly behind his head, was streaked with gray—marking both his age and the years of experience he carried.

His face was lined, not just with age, but with the marks of battles fought and lessons learned.

He looked like someone who had seen real war... and lived through it.

When he reached the center of the platform, he paused. His eyes slowly scanned the massive gathering of students—first years, second years, and third years.

Even without a word, his gaze alone made people stand straighter. Some students who had been whispering or fidgeting suddenly stood stiff, their mouths shut tight.

Then, he spoke.

"Students of Arcadia," he said, his voice firm, clear, and deep—carrying all the way across the massive training field without needing to shout, "the midterm season has concluded."

A faint ripple moved through the crowd—students quietly exhaling or shifting their weight, as if a small burden had lifted.

The first years especially looked relieved, but under Principal Aldric’s sharp gaze, no one dared to speak out loud.

He continued.

"This gathering is not meant to speak of failures, nor to dwell on hardships." His tone remained calm, but there was power behind it.

"It is to recognize your efforts—whether they have already borne fruit... or are still growing."

He turned his head slightly, and his eyes paused on the first-year section. There was a brief silence—he let it linger just long enough to build tension.

"In particular," he said, "I wish to commend the first-year students. Against all expectations... your overall performance has exceeded that of the second and third years."

"But that doesn’t mean to downlook those second and third year"

That single sentence hit like a gust of wind.

The first years looked at each other in surprise, some blinking, some barely hiding their smiles.

Meanwhile, across the field, second and third years stiffened. Confused murmurs began to rise.

A few students scoffed or rolled their eyes. Pride and disbelief clashed silently in the air.

From within the red-uniformed crowd of third years, someone muttered just loud enough to be heard:

"Yeah, but they couldn’t even find the relic cores. Doesn’t sound like much of a victory to me. Hah."

A few snickers followed from nearby students—quiet, but clearly mocking. The condescension in their voices was obvious.

Still, Principal Aldric didn’t react to the remark. His eyes remained calm, his expression unchanged—as if he had heard it, but chose to let silence speak louder than scolding.

The tension between the years was rising—but the principal had more to say.

Kael heard the words from the crowd—mocking the first years—and almost smiled to himself.

None of the years had managed to retrieve the relic cores. And yet, only the first years were being mocked for it—as if the failure was theirs alone to carry.

Just then, Principal Aldric’s voice rose again, calm but full of strength.

"Strength," he said, slowly and clearly, "is not measured only by what you carry back in your hands..."

He paused, letting that opening sink in.

"...but by the resolve you carry in your heart."

The students grew still again. The murmuring died down.

"It is measured in how you adapt, how you survive. In your ability to stay calm under pressure, to think clearly when you are pushed to your limits. The first-year students demonstrated those qualities—and that is something to be recognized."

A new kind of silence settled over the field. It wasn’t just respectful this time—it was thoughtful.

Heavy.

Even those who had scoffed earlier didn’t say a word now.

Principal Aldric stood tall, letting his words hang in the air like iron weights. Then he continued, his voice even but firm:

"That said, there is still much to learn. For all of you."

His eyes moved slowly over the three groups of students, making it clear no one was exempt.

"The relic cores remain in the field. They are still out there. Perhaps next term, someone will finally retrieve them. Perhaps not the same hands will try.

That’s the nature of our work—you face the unknown, take the challenges that lie ahead... and adapt."

He straightened slightly, his voice lowering—but somehow growing even stronger.

"The results of your midterms will be released after the break. For now, rest. Heal. Enjoy your brief pause. But do not let comfort make you weak. The second half of the year will not be easy.

It will be harder. And it will demand more from each of you."

Then, with a final nod, Principal Aldric stepped back from the center of the platform.

There was a pause.

Then all the students, in perfect unity, bowed in silence—first years, second years, and third years alike.

As the principal turned and exited the platform, the teachers began giving instructions, and slowly, the great assembly started to break apart.

Students began to talk again, some quietly reflecting, others whispering about what they had just heard.

After the Speech

As Principal Aldric stepped off the platform and the assembly was dismissed, the field slowly began to stir with movement again.

Groups quickly began to form.

Friends naturally found each other—laughing, whispering, and making light jokes. Some excitedly talked about their plans for the midterm break: trips home, quiet study sessions, or just sleeping in for days.

A few were already discussing training schedules to stay ahead.

Elsewhere, rivals met eyes across the field—their gazes sharp, silent nods exchanged like unspoken challenges.

The heavy silence from earlier was gone, replaced by the hum of fresh energy. It wasn’t loud, but it was alive. There was a shift in the atmosphere—like the spark of a new beginning.

Among the first-year ranks, students began to scatter, heading off in different directions, their postures a little taller than usual. For once, they felt noticed—recognized.

But the moment didn’t last long.