By the time Arthur reached the academy gates, his ankle had stopped hurting.
His pride hadn’t.
The fortress looked even worse up close.
From the road, Gallows Edge had seemed enormous.
From beneath it, it looked impossible.
The entire academy floated above the valley, supported by several enormous chains that disappeared into the clouds.
Black stone walls surrounded the outer platforms.
Towers rose from the fortress like broken teeth.
Arthur stopped at the foot of the entrance bridge.
Students were crossing it.
Hundreds of them.
Some wore expensive robes beneath their academy coats.
Some carried swords.
Others had staffs, bows, shields, or weapons Arthur couldn’t identify.
Nobody looked particularly friendly.
Arthur looked down at himself.
His coat was torn.
His shirt was stained with blood.
One sleeve had been sliced open.
He probably looked like he’d lost a fight with a wild animal.
Which, technically, he had.
A pair of students walked past.
One glanced at him.
Then stopped.
“Wait.”
His companion turned.
The boy stared at Arthur for a moment.
Then he laughed.
“No way.”
Arthur continued walking.
“Is that Arthur Vale?”
The second student looked more carefully.
“It is.”
Their voices weren’t quiet.
Arthur heard every word.
“Didn’t he get expelled?”
“Almost.”
“Thought his family lost their title.”
“They did.”
“Then why is he here?”
Arthur kept walking.
He had learned something useful.
Nobody was looking at him with sympathy.
They were looking at him like a dead man who had made the mistake of showing up to his own funeral.
Interesting.
Arthur stepped onto the bridge.
A girl coming from the opposite direction moved aside.
Not politely.
Quickly.
Arthur noticed.
So did the others.
Nobody wanted to walk too close to him.
That told him more than their whispers did.
He reached the gates.
Two armored guards stood beside them.
One looked at the silver academy badge in Arthur’s hand.
Then at Arthur.
Then back at the badge.
“Name.”
“Arthur Vale.”
The guard’s expression changed.
Not surprise.
Disgust.
Arthur almost asked why.
Then decided against it.
The guard held out a hand.
“Admission token.”
Arthur checked his pockets.
Nothing.
The guard’s expression hardened.
“Token.”
“I don’t appear to have one.”
“Everyone has one.”
Arthur considered pointing out that he’d just been attacked on the road and had spent the last hour fighting monsters.
Instead, he said:
“I seem to be having an unusual morning.”
The guard didn’t smile.
“Step aside.”
Arthur stepped aside.
Students passed through.
A minute later, a carriage arrived behind him.
A young man stepped down.
He wore a dark red coat beneath his academy uniform.
Two attendants followed him.
The guards immediately straightened.
“Cadet Hawke.”
Arthur noticed the difference.
The first guard had spoken to him like an inconvenience.
This man received something closer to respect.
The young noble didn’t acknowledge either guard.
He walked toward the gate.
Arthur moved aside.
As Hawke passed, he glanced at Arthur.
His eyes stopped on the torn coat.
Then the blood.
Then Arthur’s face.
Something flickered across his expression.
Recognition.
Hawke stopped.
“You’re supposed to be dead.”
Arthur sighed.
Apparently, that sentence was becoming popular.
“I’ve heard that today.”
Hawke studied him.
“Where’s your escort?”
“I don’t have one.”
“And your carriage?”
“Damaged.”
“Your family?”
Arthur hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
Hawke’s mouth curved slightly.
Not a smile.
Something colder.
“How convenient.”
He continued through the gates.
Arthur watched him go.
One of the guards quietly muttered:
“Don’t make trouble with Cadet Hawke.”
Arthur looked at him.
“I hadn’t planned to.”
The guard laughed.
It wasn’t friendly.
“Nobody plans to.”
The gates opened.
Arthur stepped through.
The first thing he noticed was the noise.
The academy wasn’t quiet.
It was loud.
Students argued in the courtyard.
Weapons clashed in distant training grounds.
Someone was shouting from an upper balcony.
A bell rang somewhere beneath the fortress.
There were no banners welcoming new students.
No smiling instructors.
No grand ceremony.
Instead, a giant black board stood in the middle of the courtyard.
Names covered it.
Some were written in white.
Others in red.
Arthur approached.
At the top were three words.
WEEKLY SURVIVAL RANKING
Below them were names and numbers.
He scanned the list.
The highest-ranked students had scores in the hundreds.
Then he saw his own name.
Arthur Vale — Rank 312
Beside it:
Survival Score: 4
Arthur stared.
“Four?”
A student nearby laughed.
“You should be grateful.”
Arthur turned.
The boy looked about eighteen.
He had a broken nose and a sword hanging from his waist.
“Most people with four don’t make it through the month.”
Arthur looked at the board.
“Why?”
The boy’s smile disappeared.
“You really don’t remember?”
Arthur studied him.
There it was again.
That strange reaction.
Everyone assumed Arthur knew things he didn’t.
“Apparently not.”
The boy took a step closer.
His voice lowered.
“Then you’re in trouble.”
“That has become increasingly clear.”
The boy looked around.
“Don’t say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because people are listening.”
Arthur glanced around.
Several students were indeed watching them.
The boy stepped away.
“You’re on your own.”
He disappeared into the crowd.
Arthur watched him leave.
Not fear.
Concern.
There was a difference.
Arthur turned back toward the board.
Four.
He wondered what the original Arthur had done.
A bell rang.
The courtyard immediately changed.
Students stopped talking.
An instructor stepped onto the raised platform near the board.
She was tall, with silver hair tied behind her head.
Her academy coat was spotless.
A long scar ran from her left ear to her jaw.
She looked at the students.
“First-year cadets.”
The courtyard went silent.
“If you are here because your family expects you to become a hero, leave.”
Nobody moved.
“If you are here because you believe your title will protect you, leave.”
Still nobody moved.
“If you are here because you believe the academy owes you anything…”
The instructor looked toward Arthur.
Her eyes paused on him.
“…you are already dead.”
A few students laughed nervously.
The instructor didn’t.
“My name is Instructor Seraphine Voss.”
She pointed toward the board.
“You will train.”
She pointed toward the distant walls.
“You will fight.”
Then toward the sky.
“And when the outer rift opens, some of you will die.”
Nobody laughed this time.
“Your grades determine your food, room, training access and equipment.”
Seraphine’s gaze swept over the crowd.
“Your survival determines whether you remain enrolled.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
Reasonable.
Then the instructor continued.
“One more thing.”
Her eyes landed on him again.
“Cadet Arthur Vale.”
The courtyard turned.
Hundreds of faces looked at Arthur.
He didn’t like it.
“Step forward.”
Arthur did.
Seraphine studied him.
“You were absent from the academy for seventeen days.”
Arthur blinked.
“I was?”
A few students laughed.
Seraphine’s expression didn’t change.
“You don’t remember?”
“No.”
The laughter stopped.
The instructor stepped closer.
“Interesting.”
She reached into her coat and pulled out a small black crystal.
“Touch this.”
Arthur looked at it.
“What does it do?”
“It tells me whether you’re lying.”
Arthur stared at the crystal.
That was inconvenient.
He touched it.
Nothing happened.
Seraphine frowned.
The crystal remained black.
A murmur spread through the students.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
Arthur looked at her.
“I suppose that’s good.”
“It isn’t.”
Seraphine’s eyes narrowed.
She turned to the other students.
“Training hall.”
The crowd began moving.
Arthur followed.
A boy brushed past him.
His shoulder hit Arthur’s.
Hard.
Arthur stopped.
The boy didn’t apologize.
He looked back.
“Watch where you’re going, Vale.”
Arthur looked at him.
The boy had two friends.
Both were smiling.
Arthur didn’t know them.
But judging by the way everyone else moved around them, they mattered.
The boy stepped closer.
“You’ve got nerve coming back.”
Arthur said nothing.
The boy poked him in the chest.
“Do you remember what happened last time?”
“No.”
The boy laughed.
“Of course you don’t.”
He shoved Arthur.
Arthur stumbled backward.
A few students laughed.
Arthur steadied himself.
He could hit the boy.
Probably.
Not well.
But enough.
His hand tightened.
Then the interface appeared.
[Conduct Warning.]
[Hostile retaliation detected.]
[Immediate response may negatively affect Conduct.]
Arthur stared at the message.
The boy shoved him again.
Arthur’s jaw tightened.
The system disappeared.
He understood.
It wasn’t telling him he couldn’t defend himself.
It was telling him that how he defended himself mattered.
That was different.
The boy raised his hand.
Arthur caught his wrist.
The boy’s smile vanished.
Arthur leaned closer.
“I don’t know what happened between us.”
His voice was quiet.
“But if you hit me again, I’m going to assume you have something against me.”
The boy sneered.
“I do.”
“I suspected as much.”
Arthur released him.
Then he straightened his torn collar.
The boy looked confused.
Arthur walked away.
Behind him, someone whispered:
“He’s acting strange.”
Another voice answered:
“He always acted strange.”
Arthur kept walking.
Good.
He had just learned something important.
The original Arthur Vale had enemies.
A lot of them.
And apparently, he had been arrogant enough to make sure those enemies remembered him.
That was going to be inconvenient.
Inside the training hall, the students gathered around a circular arena.
Weapons lined the walls.
Targets hung from chains.
Several instructors watched from above.
Arthur found an empty place near the back.
He wanted information before attention.
Unfortunately, the academy seemed determined to give him the opposite.
Instructor Seraphine walked to the center.
“Today’s assessment is simple.”
A metal gate opened.
Something stepped into the arena.
A creature.
Four legs.
Gray hide.
A mouth full of small teeth.
The students around Arthur shifted.
Someone whispered:
“Fang hound.”
Seraphine raised her hand.
“The lowest-ranked cadets will enter one at a time.”
Arthur looked at the creature.
Then at the board.
Rank 312.
Survival Score: 4.
He suddenly understood.
This academy didn’t care about reputation.
It cared about results.
A student entered the arena.
The beast attacked.
The fight lasted seventeen seconds.
The student survived.
Barely.
The next student lasted twelve.
The third lasted twenty-nine.
Then Seraphine called:
“Arthur Vale.”
The hall went silent.
Arthur looked around.
Hundreds of students watched him.
Someone laughed.
Someone else whispered:
“He’s dead.”
Arthur stepped into the arena.
The gate closed behind him.
The fang hound growled.
Arthur looked at it.
Then at his sword.
Then at the creature again.
He had never been trained to fight monsters.
He had no idea what Arthur Vale had known.
And his strange system was apparently going to punish him if he behaved badly.
Arthur sighed.
The creature lowered itself.
Ready to spring.
Arthur adjusted his cuffs.
They were already ruined.
“All right.”
He raised the sword.
“Let’s try to be civilized.”
The bell rang.
The fang hound charged.
And Arthur realized, perhaps a little too late, that he had no idea what the original Arthur Vale’s fighting style was.
Which meant he was about to find out whether cleverness could compensate for experience.