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{Chapter: 104: Sparks of Resolve}
"By the way, I have to go to class later... I just hope these big guys can behave themselves."
Charles let out a soft sigh, standing at the edge of the courtyard. His gaze wandered across the chaotic encampment of ancient wizards that had recently been awakened. Bizarre sights were everywhere—brawls over bread, sex and philosophical debates about the validity of kingdoms long turned to dust, and increasingly frequent challenges involving arcane duels, body-enhancement spells, and, in one case, a magical pie-eating contest that threatened to rupture time-space.
These ancient beings, revered as legends in textbooks, now resembled rowdy festival drunks. They were dangerous and immensely powerful, yes, but also eccentric beyond reason.
Charles lowered his gaze and hugged the leather-bound book under his arm tightly, its embossed sigil of his academy shining dimly under the waning afternoon sun. His thoughts drifted elsewhere, to a more personal worry.
'It's said that tens of thousands of colleges across the wizarding world will hold a unified competition this year…' he thought, a crease forming between his brows. 'A continent-wide evaluation. A centralized training of the best and brightest of our generation to cultivate elites—champions to lead in future wars. I wonder if Saya will participate...'
He bit his lip, hesitant even in thought. 'I hope I can have a chance too… But maybe that's asking too much. Saya's the real genius, not me.'
He exhaled sharply, as if trying to blow away the weight of his self-doubt. In his heart, Charles held deep admiration for his friend. Saya was everything Charles wasn't—confident, gifted, and seemingly born for greatness. Next to him, Charles always felt like a shadow, lucky just to be standing close to the light.
Just as he was about to turn toward the main corridor leading to class, a voice—dry, hoarse, and oddly mechanical—cut through the air beside him.
"You seem to be worried about something?"
The words crept down his spine like cold fingers. He flinched and turned quickly.
Standing before him was a towering figure draped in a tattered black robe, its edges moving ever so slightly, even though there was no wind. The man—or perhaps the creature—was a blend of flesh and machine. Half of his face was aged human skin, marked with deep wrinkles and a jagged scar across his cheek. The other half was made of dull brown metal, with rotating brass gears and the faint hum of arcane energy. One glowing mechanical eye focused on Charles with eerie precision.
The young apprentice stiffened. For a moment, it felt like time slowed down. There was something ancient in this being—older than most books in the academy, older than most nations still standing. Something that had seen centuries pass like mere days.
"Nothing to worry about..." Charles mumbled, his voice betraying his nerves. He instinctively took a step back.
The old man's gaze scanned the courtyard, watching the chaos unfold with unblinking calm. Then he turned back to Charles, speaking with a certainty that pierced the young man's heart.
"Really? Perhaps. But as one of the elders of this world, I feel obligated to say this to you. Worrying accomplishes little. Our vision, our strength—both are finite. And because of that, every plan we make, every dream we cling to, has limits."
He took a step closer. "There is no such thing as a perfect plan, Charles. Only imperfect beings trying to prepare for uncertain outcomes. That is why... the only real solution to fear is strength. When you are strong enough, problems become opportunities."
Charles looked away, feeling the words echo in his chest like a bell.
"But…" he began, unsure if he should argue or explain himself.
The old man interrupted without mercy. "You doubt your abilities. That alone is the problem. Doubt is a disease that eats your future before you even begin to reach for it."
The world around them quieted. Even the shouting of the ancient wizards seemed to fade as the mechanical half of the old man's face whirred faintly, his eye glowing brighter.
"You must not hesitate. Not yet. Not when the future hasn't even arrived. Move forward, Charles. Whether you succeed or fail, you won't know until the very end. Until then—believe."
And with that, the elder turned and walked away, his black robes trailing behind him like a memory.
Charles stood frozen, his mouth half open, his thoughts swirling. The message had been clear. Brutal, even. But also… honest.
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Later that evening, the academy grounds buzzed with unusual intensity. In preparation for the upcoming war, the free-spirited, self-driven training style of the past had been completely abolished. Now, the students were ushered into an era of strict discipline and intensive training under the direct supervision of high-ranking instructors.
There were whispers that even retired wizards, hermit sages, and war veterans who had long refused to teach were being called back into duty.
And among those forcibly brought back into the fold… was Todd.
Todd—Charles's mentor—was infamous in the lower halls of the academy. Unkempt, lazy, and fond of wine that smelled like fermented goat's hair, he was known more for skipping lectures than giving them. But now, under the firm hand of the reformed curriculum, he found himself in a classroom again—only this time, as a student.
He sat slumped in a wooden chair that was clearly too small for his bulk, groaning as a more powerful archmage lectured at the front of the hall.
"At over four hundred years of age and I'm back to being scolded like a first-year…" he muttered, drawing strange symbols with a piece of dried fruit on the desk. "What happened to freedom? To naps? To two-hour lunches?!"
Back in the student ranks, Charles sat quietly near the front of the class, his eyes half-lidded. The lecture filtered in and out of his thoughts like mist. He wasn't fully present. Not after what the cyborg-elder had told him.
Improve yourself. Trust your own path. Do not doubt.
He clenched the book in his lap tighter.
Was he really meant for something more? Or was he just a flicker in the grand storm of stars like Saya?
From beside him, a gentle poke in his ribs brought him back to reality.
He turned his head quickly.
Saya was there, smiling wide, a gleam of mischief in her eyes. Her long hair was tied in a braid today, and his uniform—unlike most students'—had several added magical trinkets attached, all of them glowing faintly.
In his hand was a small, golden pastry wrapped in enchanted parchment. Its surface shimmered with magic.
"Hey, Charles," He whispered, holding it out. "This thing tastes amazing. It's a new alchemy-baked snack from the northern tower. You've got to try it!"
Charles blinked, hesitated—then took it with both hands, surprised by the warmth of the treat.
"Thanks..." he said quietly, the weight on his shoulders lightening just a bit.
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