The door creaked open with a groan, and in walked a man who made me blink twice just to be sure I wasn’t hallucinating.

  He was one head shorter than me, bald as an egg but sporting a thick, perfectly combed mustache that screamed 70's detective trying a little too hard. His white and gold suit gleamed under the soft light like some kind of holy disco ball, but it was the hands that really caught my eye—every finger weighed down with fat, gaudy rings that made him look like he'd mugged a jewelry store on the way here. Golden chains arround his neck and an ivory cane complete with a ruby the size of a baseball for grip.

  If someone had told me he was an undercover cop trying to play fake pimp, I would've nodded and ordered another drink.

  He moved with the kind of easy confidence that only came from years of getting his way — or being too stubborn to realize when he wasn't.

  "Lord Sam, I presume?" he said, his voice smooth and oiled like a carnival barker selling miracle tonics.

  I snuffed my cigarette against the stone fireplace and stood up, nodding. "Yeah, that’s me."

  He flashed a perfect, too-white smile.

  "Dean Cladius Krane. Welcome to the Grand Academy."

  He offered his hand, heavy with rings, and I shook it carefully, half-expecting to hear the clink of coins.

  Great, I thought. First day in town and I’m already dealing with a human chandelier.

  I offered him Father Mathias's letter of introduction, still not knowing exactly what it contained.The Dean didn't bother reading it out loud. Instead, his eyes scanned the parchment, and the longer he read, the more his expression shifted — from curious, to interested, to downright giddy.

  "Well my hooooo my!!!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together like he’d just found gold in his breakfast cereal. "We are thrilled—absolutely thrilled—to accept you as a full student with a complete scholarship. Congratulations!"

  He beamed at me, practically vibrating in place.

  "You’ll spend the afternoon with one of my instructors so we can properly place you. But I can assure you, you’ll have a marvelous time at our Academy. I see you're already well-equipped—"He gestured vaguely at my belt of weapons and gambeson."—so how about we start with your combat evaluation before showing you to your quarters?"

  I grinned wide enough to show some teeth. "Sounds perfect."

  Half-joking, I added, "You wouldn’t happen to have a left arm gathering dust somewhere, would you?"

  The Dean's eyes flicked down to my missing arm, his eager grin freezing for half a second before melting into an awkward, blank stare.

  "Apologies," he said stiffly. "I... didn't realize."

  I laughed, loud and fat. "No arm done. I was just asking. You never know."

  I slapped him on the shoulder with my good hand, nearly knocking him a step back.

  "No, a spar sounds just about right," I said. "Exactly what I need right now."

  That seemed to flip a switch in the Dean's head. His awkwardness vanished, replaced with a look of bright, almost childlike curiosity — like he couldn't wait to see what kind of wild animal had just walked into his school.

  The training arena was a sight by itself — an indoor colosseum easily comparable in size to the one in Rome. The massive field was divided into sections, each used by different classes.

  Students ran drills everywhere, dressed in matching uniforms distinguished only by colored accessories, reminding me a bit of Hogwarts, if Hogwarts had traded wands for warhammers.

  The Dean led me through the chaos, finally stopping beside a slender blond elf barking orders through a tin whistle clamped between his teeth. He was bare-chested, his skin sun-tanned and his expression perpetually annoyed as he shouted at students walking instead of running. His name, apparently, was Leo.

  The Dean interrupted him mid-yell to introduce me and ask if he could check my fighting skills.

  "Let's start with fencing and move through spear, axe, mace, shield, and finish with ranged stuff," Leo said, almost bored.

  Good. I didn’t argue — happy to get some exercise. I shrugged off my belt of weapons and dropped everything into a pile over my heavy bags. After a quick stretch, I picked up one of the wooden swords lined up against the wall and stepped into a white circle traced into the dirt.

  Leo whistled sharply."Try to stand inside the circle as long as you can while taking hits. Deliver as many strikes as possible. Time stops and starts at my whistle. Got it?"

  I nodded, muscles tensing.No clue what was about to hit me — but if my last opponent was anything to go by, I knew I'd need every scrap of speed I had.

  As soon as the whistle blew, I dashed forward to land a surprise hit.At the last second, I fake-punched with my left stump, and Leo staggered back, eyes widening as the realization hit him — I had no left arm., I pushed my wooden sword into his solar plexus, knocking the wind right out of him in a sharp fuuuuuuu that came out triough his whistle.

  For just a heartbeat, he blanked, but then he snapped back to reality.When he stepped back into the ring, he looked a hell of a lot meaner than before.The slender elf I'd first seen had transformed — now every muscle on his body popped like steel cables under his skin.

  I had a hard time blocking his blows.About half of them slammed into me with bone-rattling force — but hell, it wasn't like I wasn’t used to getting beaten.I grinned through the pain, slowly getting the rhythm of his swordplay, throwing counterattacks that, while never landing, started to make him sweat.Five grueling minutes later, Leo blew the whistle again, raked his wooden sword back into the rack, grabbed a spear, and marched straight back into the circle without a word.

  He was pissed.I would have been too if some half-recruit sucker-punched me in front of half the school.But hey, I don't negotiate with terrorists.

  I picked a spear too, giving it a little twirl with a grin, remembering that throw from that fateful morning.

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  Leo whistled.I dodged and weaved, moving with the spear just like my elf princess friend had shown me, matching Leo’s strikes one after the other, making him backpedal.

  Twice, I pushed him out of the ring.

  When he stepped in a third time, his patience finally snapped.

  I hurled the spear with everything I had, striking the same spot below his heart and robbing him of his breath again. Not gonna let you play by your own rules i tought to myself. While he staggered, I lunged forward, caught the spear before it hit the ground and swept his legs out from under him with a sharp spin, throwing him hard onto the dirt floor.

  The whole arena froze.Leo lay there blinking up at me, dust rising around him in a slow, smoky cloud.I planted the tip of the spear gently against his throat.

  The crowd of students, who had stopped their training to watch the fight, murmured in disbelief.

  Leo pushed himself up, raking the spear back without a word, his jaw tight.He grabbed the training axe next, muscles twitching under his skin.

  I picked up my own axe, giving it a twirl full of melancholy and anticipation, stepping back into the circle.If he thought a missing arm was going to slow me down, he had another thing coming.

  "If you think I'm gonna get shown up by half a man, think again, boy," Leo growled. "This was just the warm-up."

  "Good," I said, grinning cockily. "Because five minutes is barely enough to get me in the mood."

  The whistle blew.

  Leo exploded forward, the red veins in his arms standing out as he channeled his mana, a bloody light flickering around him.His axe strikes hammered against mine like cannon shots, the impacts echoing through the silent arena.I was barely dodging, weaving, gritting my teeth against the onslaught.

  One blow aimed straight for my head came too fast — too lethal.

  THUMP.

  Something inside me snapped open.My chest exploded with raw strength.

  I slammed the blade of my training axe into the shaft of Leo's weapon, a thin ray of light flashing along the edge —— and the teacher’s axe snapped clean in half, the broken half flying out of the ring.

  Gasps rippled through the students.

  Leo looked stunned for half a second—but his pride wouldn’t let him back down. He started to step forward again.

  So I ended it.

  Crack.

  I locked in and clocked him clean across the head with the back of my training axe.He dropped like a sack of potato, flat on his back in the dust.

  Silence.

  Dead silence.

  Dozens of students stared.Even the background noise of training had stopped, like the whole coliseum had frozen in place.

  Leo—teacher, elf, whistle-wielding drill demon—was out cold.

  The only sound was my heavy breathing as I stood over him, axe resting against my shoulder, trying to calm the pulse thundering in my ears.

  “…Huh,” I muttered. “Guess that answers the question about how hard I hit.”

  "I believe Sir Leo is… indisposed at the moment," the Dean said, stepping into the ring with a broad grin, his hands clasped behind his back. "But I think you've shown more than enough weapon mastery for melee combat. I already know exactly which class to place you in."

  He motioned for me to follow."How about we head to the range and see what you can do with ranged weapons?"

  The Dean led me around another section of the massive arena, this one facing a wall stacked with targets—hay bales, thick wooden planks, and even some sheets of steel. A few mechanical throwers were set up as well, ready to launch wood discs into the air like a medieval version of skeet shooting.

  "Dean, as you can see," I said, flexing my left stump with a half-smile, "I can't exactly use a bow anymore. However—" I patted the holster over my shoulder. "—thanks to this little special wand, I can still cast two ranged attacks per day. If you want, I can demonstrate."

  The Dean's face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. "By all means, my boy! By all means!"

  I picked up two wooden discs from the nearby pile, casually tossing them up one after the other with the ease of a kid tossing stones at a pond.Without missing a beat, I drew my double-barrel flintlock and let loose.

  Bang! Bang!

  Both targets shattered mid-air, sending splinters and shards raining down. A heartbeat later, not mine of course, the chunks of broken wood clattered to the ground.

  The Dean whistled, long and low, clearly impressed.

  I re-holstered the shorty with a practiced spin.A few students and instructors nearby were whispering, craning their necks to get a better look.Good. Let them think whatever they wanted.

  I had just hidden the technological revolution they didn't even realize they were gazing at.Most of them probably thought it was some sort of clean, fast, and loud spell—not a weapon system that could change the face of warfare itself.At least, I hoped they'd stay that ignorant for now.

  The Dean's eyes sparkled behind his thick mustache."Marvelous! Absolutely marvelous!" he boomed, clapping his hands with the joy of a child witnessing fireworks for the first time. "Precision, power, pacing—cleaner than most incantations I've ever seen. And no incantation required. Incredible."

  Then he turned to the growing crowd of gawking students."Alright! That’s enough spectating for one day! Back to your drills before I start assigning extra laps!"A collective groan rippled through the arena, and just like that, the buzz of whispers turned into the thud of boots and clatter of weapons returning to their routines.

  The Dean turned to me again, the corners of his mouth still twitching upward."Follow me, Lord Sam. You’ve more than earned your place into the elite of our academy. Let’s get you to your quarters—your roommate’s already settled in."

  We passed under a marble archway, through the stone halls of the academy’s residential wing, the air rich with the scent of parchment and incense. He stopped in front of a wide oak door reinforced with brass.

  "Here we are—Room 14. You’ll be sharing it with one of our top upper-year students. Try not to antagonize him too much." He gave me a wink and knocked once before opening the door.

  Inside, the room was surprisingly cozy. Two beds, two desks, a rack for weapons, and a small fireplace. At one end, sitting on a stool with a half-assembled lamelar armor on his lap, was a walking boulder of a man.

  One full head taller than me, and built like a tank wrapped in bubble wrap, the guy looked like someone had stuffed a bear into a doublet and taught it how to glare.Dark fur, a massive snout, arms thick enough to break tree trunks, and a single monocle perched on his muzzle with comical delicacy.

  He stood and offered a hand the size of a dinner plate."Wojtek Von Dike," he said in a voice that sounded like gravel in a barrel. "Don’t snore and we’ll get along fine."

  I shook it. Or rather, he engulfed my hand like it was a lost coin.

  "Sam. I’ll try to keep the existential nightmares to a minimum."

  Before taking his leave, Dean Claudius Krane clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder.

  "Come by my office tomorrow afternoon for your written placement exam and class selections," he said with a conspiratorial smile. "You’ve earned your spot, but let’s see what you can really do."

  Then he reached into his gilded coat and pulled out a golden card, handing it to me with a little flourish."This grants you full access to all campus facilities—dorms, baths, the library, armory, food halls, even the teleporters if you need them. All expenses covered under your... shall we say, special arrangement."

  He winked, turned on his heel, and vanished down the corridor humming a tune that sounded suspiciously smug.

  I looked down at the card.

  Wojtek, who'd been casually examining a war axe like it was a toothbrush, saw the flash of gold and froze."You just got a golden pass..." he muttered, blinking. "You know what that means?"

  I flipped the card once, eyeing the inscription."Free shits and giggles," I said. "But I’m starting to worry the dean’s gonna try and bring me straight to third base."

  Wojtek snorted, half-choked on his spit, then stared at me like I’d grown a second head."...You might survive here after all."

  By lunchtime the next day, the myth had taken full root in the academy’s fertile gossip soil.

  They said Sam—yes, that Sam—was attempting the impossible: a double breakthrough, jumping straight from Stage One to Stage Three like a lunatic with a death wish and a point to prove. No one had ever done it before. Most didn’t even believe it could be done. A few even swore they’d heard the pulse of divine rhythm in the air, like the gods themselves were holding their breath.

  Then came the other part.

  Apparently, he was the disgraced bastard son of an imperial prince—exiled for breaking some ancient taboo. He had allegedly fought a thousand battles with a single arm and felled a devil general by sheer force of will. The tale conveniently never clarified that “single arm” was all he had.

  Wojtek, of course, didn’t help. He kept retelling their conversation word for word, not understanding that when Sam joked about the Dean bringing him to third base, it wasn’t about martial progression. The cafeteria crowd ate it up.

  By the time the story got back to the Dean, Sam had supposedly refused ten noble marriage offers, survived an assassination attempt, and been blessed by a talking bear spirit in the northern mountains.

  All before breakfast.