Diana had severely undersold her parting gifts.
Sitting back down in the grass after she left, Tristan opened the heavy leather covers. They weren’t just rulebooks or basic pointers, they were actual, honest-to-god skill manuals.
The first was a comprehensive guide to Basic Dagger Proficiency. In this world, manuals had strict hierarchies based on what they taught. General weapon proficiency manuals like this one were relatively common; anyone with a decent handful of silver coins could buy one in a major city. Usually, newly Awakened fighters started with these broad, foundational texts to grasp the basics before their clans gifted them specialized, high-tier techniques, or before they found rarer drops somewhere in the wild.
The second manual, however, was significantly rarer: Essence Threads.
It detailed an extremely versatile form that essence could take, it required pinpoint control to manifest one’s essence into physical, tensile strings. It was incredibly useful for combat binding, setting traps, or even mobility, allowing the user to swing through like spiderman if their threads were anchored properly.
Tristan stared at the books, genuinely touched by the gesture, but before he started using them he narrowed his eyes, suspecting a catch.
In Flamecrest Legacy, obtaining a manual was the best feeling in the world. You simply clicked on it in your inventory, hit ’Absorb,’ and your character magically unlocked the ability in a shower of golden pixels. Sometimes there were limits or quests to unlock its full potential, but the initial learning phase was instantaneous and easy.
Tristan placed the dagger manual flat against his chest, closed his eyes, and willed his core to absorb the knowledge.
Nothing happened.
He frowned, took the book, and pressed it flat against his forehead, channeling a tiny bit of essence into the leather just to be sure.
"What in the world are you doing?"
Tristan’s eyes snapped open. Diana had stopped halfway to the balcony doors and was staring down at him with an expression of profound, baffled judgment.
"Nothing," Tristan said quickly, lowering the book. "Checking the binding. Good quality leather."
Diana stared at him for a second longer before shaking her head and walking inside.
Tristan sighed, dropping the book onto his lap. Right. Reality. He was actually going to have to read the damn things.
’Feel like I’m back at school... Wait, aren’t I doing this all to go to school?? This is a nightmare’
By the end of the seven days Tristan’s stamina and understanding of his skills improved. His mind was also filled with theoretical dagger stances. His great memory and quick processing skills allowed him to start implementing basic techniques in combat. The essence thread was still a work in progress. His essence control was still lacking causing the essence to dissipate constantly. From his harrowing journey in the cave, he had already mastered pulling [Restrain] from iron shackles, [Slice] from his dagger’s edge, [Hardness] from the stone walls, and [Light] from ambient flames.
But he needed versatility for the exams. Through rigorous, painful trial and error, he added two new concepts to his repertoire. The first was [Burn], pulled directly from a lighter. It was a miserable experience to learn; since his essence control was still amateurish, the concept bled into his physical hands during the extraction, leaving his palms covered in angry, red blisters.
The second was [Swiftness]. He had roped Diana into helping him, standing dangerously close to a target dummy while she fired practice arrows past his head. It had taken a dozen terrifying attempts, but he had managed to reach out with his essence and Reave the pure kinetic velocity right out of the arrow mid-flight, dropping the projectile harmlessly to the grass while banking its speed.
Because of how his power worked, Tristan had put together a strange, highly specific toolkit. When he finally packed his bags for the Academy, he slung a small leather satchel over his shoulder containing his essential catalysts: a pair of heavy iron handcuffs, a pouch of jagged rocks, and a brass lighter.
’I really hope no one looks in my bag, people might think I’m... actually I won’t finish that thought’
His weapon, Prowler’s Claw was safely kept in his essence core.
’Time to go’
The journey to the Academy took two days via one of the Verneuil clan’s private aeronautical vessels, a sleek, essence-powered airship trimmed in the family’s crimson and gold.
’A bit too gaudy if you ask me, but can’t complain this thing is awesome’
Flamecrest Academy wasn’t just a school; it was an autonomous, heavily fortified city-state located deep within the Western Empire, geographically isolated from most major hubs of civilization to prevent any kind of tampering whether it be political or whatever.
When the airship finally docked at the sprawling, stone-paved port just outside the Academy’s colossal iron gates, Tristan disembarked with a heavy sigh.
He was dragging two massive, cumbersome suitcases packed to the brim with clothes and survival essentials. Despite the Verneuil family’s absolute abundance of wealth, Liam had strictly refused to grant him a spatial storage artifact. The elders had argued that until Tristan officially passed the exams, giving a priceless pocket-dimension ring to the family disappointment was a waste of resources.
Considering how rich the Verneuil family is, just a loser move honestly.
’I swear one day I’ll wring those elder’s necks myself’ thought Tristan.
So, he had to lug his luggage like a peasant.
The family chauffeur, a grizzled old retainer who had worked for the Verneuils for decades, carried the second suitcase down the boarding ramp and dropped it unceremoniously onto the cobblestones.
"Alright, Young Master. Here we are," the chauffeur grunted, leaning back against the airship’s polished hull and pulling out a cigar.
Tristan grabbed the handle of his bag. "Thanks, Marcus. Have a safe flight back to the estate."
"Oh, I’m not flying back yet," Marcus replied, casually lighting his cigar. He blew a plume of smoke into the crisp western air. "Family head told me to just wait here on the tarmac."
Tristan paused, staring at the old man. Even the chauffeur thought he was going to fail.
"Your faith in me is truly inspiring, Marcus," Tristan deadpanned.
Marcus coughed awkwardly and meekly said "Good luck."
Tristan just shook his head, grabbed his heavy suitcases, and turned toward the towering gates of Flamecrest Academy. Hundreds of prospective students were already swarming the courtyard, their voices carrying a mix of arrogant confidence and sheer terror.
Before joining the crowd, Tristan closed his eyes and mentally pulled up his interface to check his loadout one last time.
***
Name: Tristan Verneuil
Rank: Awakened
Essence Core Absorption: 3/100
Unique Skill:
[Reave] Mastery: 67%
Abilities
[Dagger Skill (Basic)] Mastery: 73%
[Essence thread] Mastery: Mastery: 13%
[Restrain (Basic)][1 Use(s)]
[Swiftness (Basic)][2 Use(s)]
Equipment
[Prowler’s Claw (Low-Grade)]
***
His core had barely grown, and his mastery had only ticked up slightly after a week of practice, but his queue was perfectly primed.
He adjusted his grip on his bags and walked through the gates.