Chapter 25: Unexpected Meeting

Chapter 25: Chapter 25: Unexpected Meeting

Aegon turned his gaze toward the window, and even knowing the setting from his own writing, the sheer scale of the sight made his breath catch.

Rising from the vast basin ahead stood the Imperial Capital, a sprawling metropolis encircled by three concentric rings of towering white walls that seemed to scrape the winter sky.

At its very center, bathed in the glow of floating mana towers, stood the spire of the Imperial Academy, where a hundred thousand youths were already gathering to fight for their futures.

Passing through the colossal outer gates of the Imperial Capital felt like crossing into an entirely different civilization. As their rented carriage rolled onto the broad boulevard of polished white stone, the biting winter chill of the outside plains vanished instantly. It was now much warmer.

?Aegon pressed closer to the window, looking at the spectacle unfolding along the avenues.

On both sides of the street, towering brass pillars rose up, their tips crowned with floating, softball-sized spheres of condensed flame that radiated steady heat across the walkways, melting the falling snow before it could even touch the ground.

?Unlike the Kingdom of Anos, where anyone who awakened a Grimoire immediately considered themselves above manual labor, sorcery here had been blended into the very fabric of everyday life.

?To their left, a burly baker stood behind a glass counter while a bronze-covered F-Rank Grimoire hovered lazily above his shoulder. With a rhythmic flick of his flour-dusted fingers, tiny wisps of wind mana kneaded dozens of dough loaves simultaneously, while a controlled sheet of ember magic underneath the stone oven baked pastries to golden perfection in seconds.

Across the plaza, a team of municipal workers wearing leather aprons pointed their palms toward a half-finished marble facade; glowing earthen runes pulsed beneath their boots as massive stone blocks floated smoothly into place without a single pulley or crane in sight.

Even the street sweepers were using minor water and gust spells to wash the cobblestones clean, leaving the air smelling fresh and crisp.

?Clara leaned across the carriage aisle, staring out in disbelief.

?"I knew the Empire was prosperous, but seeing it with my own eyes is almost unsettling. Back home in our territory, anyone who awakens even an F-Rank Grimoire is immediately recruited into the town guard or treated like a minor lord by the villagers. Yet here, people are using precious mana spells just to bake bread, haul bricks, and clean the gutters. Have the sorcerers of the Imperial Capital lost all their pride as practitioners of the arcane?"

?From the front seat, Cardigan turned his head back, offering his younger cousin a sobering look.

?"You are looking at it backward, Clara, and you would do well to shed that narrow mindset before the examination begins tomorrow. In the subordinate kingdoms, mana veins are thin and awakening rates are pitifully low, which allows mediocre talents to act like kings among the blind. Here in the heart of the Beliath Empire, over sixty percent of the citizenry awakens a Grimoire by the age of twelve. When everyone is a sorcerer, basic magic ceases to be a status symbol and becomes a tool for survival and industry. Look closely at that mason over there levitating those stones; his mana control is so refined from ten years of daily labor that he could probably outcast half the C-Rank knights in our kingdom without breaking a sweat."

?Zane swallowed hard. He watched a young courier who was practically skating through the crowded street on boots enveloped by spinning currents of wind, delivering parcels to third-story balconies with effortless leaps.

?"If even the street laborers and delivery boys have that kind of control over their spells, then what kind of monsters are we going to face at the Imperial Academy?" Zane muttered nervously.

"We have been trained by the best tutors House Noiré could afford, and we carry high-ranking Grimoires, yet I suddenly feel like a country bumpkin walking into a den of dragons."

?Aegon noted an elderly seamstress across the street use threads of solidified light mana to stitch intricate silver patterns into a winter coat at blinding speed.

?"Brother Cardigan is right, Zane, and that is precisely why the Beliath Empire rules over 33 kingdoms without anyone daring to rebel," Argon paused before continuing,

"A nation that only uses sorcery for war will eventually exhaust itself, whereas a civilization that integrates magic into its roads, its workshops, and its kitchens builds a foundation that can never be toppled from the outside. They do not view their Grimoires as sacred relics to be worshiped on a pedestal; they treat them as extensions of their own hands. If we want to claim a seat among the top one thousand tomorrow, we cannot just rely on the rank of our books."

?Cardigan nodded in quiet approval at Aegon’s assessment as the carriage turned onto a quieter, tree-lined avenue situated at the base of the central spire.

?After another twenty minutes of winding through the inner district, the carriage pulled to a halt before a grand.five-story establishment built from dark redwood and illuminated by floating lanterns of soft azure light.

Above the double doors hung a gilded sign reading The Starlight Pavilion.

Cardigan opened the carriage, then instructed;

?"Gather your belongings and make sure you leave nothing behind in the cab. This inn is only three blocks away from the eastern testing gates of the Imperial Academy. Half the applicants from the noble houses of the outer kingdoms are already lodged inside, so keep your heads down, guard your tongues, and save your energy for sunrise."

Hoisting his leather trunk, Aegon followed Cardigan through the gilded double doors of The Starlight Pavilion.

?The lobby was a sea of velvet banners and proud young nobles, yet an eerie, suffocating hush had fallen over the crowd. At the center of the marble floor stood a ragged ten-year-old boy with ash-stained hair and eyes burning with bottomless hatred. Clutched tightly against his bleeding chest was a pitch-black book radiating a sinister miasma.

?Aegon froze in his tracks, his blood turning to ice.

?It was Veera, the protagonist of his novel.