Chapter 1
“Wysteria Academy. One of the most prestigious magic academies where young adults from all over the continent gather. Each student here has their own goals and ambitions. They attend Wysteria to make their dreams a reality. But, just like the real world, this academy is misleading. Those who don’t meet the criteria are mercilessly dismissed.”
A young boy with black hair and golden eyes rested on a nearby hill. The silvergrass flows with the wind. He rose from the field and started walking through a forest.
“My name is Revan Blackwood. I’ve been at Wysteria Academy for just over two years. I enrolled with my now-former fiancée, Lisa, and a childhood friend. Luthor. They were bright stars. Me? Not so much.”
At the entrance of the academy, students in white and black uniforms walked through. Throughout the academy, word began to spread.
Male student: Look at his guy. Why is he still here?
Female student: I’m a bit surprised. I thought weaklings like him would’ve dropped out by now. I guess he’s clinging to what little strand of hope he has left. Like that’ll be enough.
Male student: And he’s the one with the dark magic attribute. He’ll bring nothing but death with him.
“Yeah. This is my life. Belittled. I was never a top student. However, due to my bastard background and magic attribute, I was treated as an outsider. I started to fall behind in the scores. Even the teachers I relied upon refused to help me. This academy operates on a social standing. Everything is based on your grades here. And if it isn't grades, it's your strength. Despite everything, I’ve ended up with the lowest rank. Each rank has a certain colored tag that displays its rank. As the lowest rank, I have the honor of bearing the black tag. I’m the only student with such a tag.”
His black tag, held by small chain pieces, shifts with his every movement. Everywhere he went, students spoke to him condescendingly. Revan stood in front of his desk, which was slightly damaged. From one of the corners, a group of male students burst out laughing. Revan shrugged as he pulled his chair out and sat down. He began reading a book from his desk as he put his feet up.
Marx: Well, if it isn’t the bottom of the barrel trash. Coming to class again? What for? A useless bastard like you would be best if he left. This academy is out of your league.
A young man with a greatsword on his back stepped forward. Marx Dickson. A student who’s been held back because of his bad temper. He picks fights with anyone he can rile up. Being a black tag, he’s been targeting Revan for a while.
Male student: It seems the baby doesn’t want to talk.
Male student: Makes sense. Someone of his rank would be too scared to talk back.
Revan: Ganging up on someone minding his own business isn’t a show of strength. Who's the scared one here?
Male student: What did you say?!
The student slams his fist on his desk, which Revan grips tightly. The student attempted to pull back, but his arm didn’t budge. He falls onto his classmate as Revan uses the same hand he held and slaps the student. He glances over at Marx with a smirk.
Revan: Your lackeys don’t seem all that.
Marx: Why you...
He goes to punch Revan, but is interrupted.
???: What is going on here?
A teacher wearing a dark robe enters the classroom.
Male student: N-nothing, Mr. Hanrivar. We were just giving a fellow student some pointers so he could improve. But he couldn’t handle the criticism.
The student had said, hoping to get a reaction out of Revan. But all he got was Revan’s smug smirk.
Hanrivar: Whatever. Just take your seats.
The students take their seats. Marx gives Revan one last look. Revan’s smirk was on display. To add insult to injury, Revan slightly shook his head.
Hanrivar: Marx, I said, back to your seat, if you couldn’t hear me.
Marx: How about you shut the fuck up, you weed of a teacher. You don’t get to tell me what I get to hear.
Hanrivar: A weed, huh? If that’s the case, then what do you call yourself learning under me? Must be hard.
Marx: Hmm? I guess being a black ranked teacher for so long made a few screws loose.
He bumps shoulders with Revan as he takes his seat in the back of the class.
Hanrivar: Now that his little tantrum’s out of the way, let’s start with the lesson.
Mr. Hanrivar began his lecture, discussing the world of magic and various types of magic. How magic can be used to amplify one’s body and the world around. If a certain level of magic is reached, one may even be able to summon a familiar.
Hanrivar: The final lesson of the day will be a lesson in martial arts. I want everyone to be prepared for that later today. Revan Blackwood, you’re excused from participating.
Revan: Allowing me an extended break? How generous.
Hanrivar: As for the rest of you, I expect to see you at the arena.
He catches a few students snickering in the back and is quick to call it out.
Hanrivar: Shut up! I don’t wanna hear it from the rest of the class. The difference between Revan and the rest of you lot is minimal at best. I don’t care what your ranks are now. As long as you are under my guidance, you’re all useless black tags. Class dismissed. I want everyone in that arena.
One by one, the students began to leave the classroom. Revan and Marx exchanged glances as they parted ways.
Revan: (For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been a target for Marx the moment I attended this academy. He chases every impulse that runs down his spine. Hm?)
Revan stops walking in the hallway to see a small group of students pinning up another student against the wall.
Male student: You’re nothing in here. Just like that dark magic user. Only he refuses to leave. While your family gets to act all high and mighty in their mansions, they moved families like us to the outer parts of the capital. How’s that fair, huh?
Revan: It’s not. Just like it’s not fair that you’re ugly. But hey, there’s always someone who gets dealt a shitty hand in life.
Male student: Speak of the devil. Look who it is. What do you want?
Revan: I just happened to be walking by. Is there a reason you’re pummeling a defenseless student?
Male student: What’s it to you? Are you gonna do something about it?
He shoves the student into the wall.
Revan: Not only are you ugly, but you’re also stupid. You have a real shitty hand.
The male student goes to punch Revan. His arm gets caught, and Revan delivers a headbutt, making the student stumble back. His other students rush in, but Revan beats them with ease. The last student left standing grabs a nearby branch near a tree and swings at Revan. He dodges and twists the branch out of the student’s hands. He quickly snaps it over his leg and delivers a strong gut punch. He grabs the student by the back of his head and smashes his head into a nearby window, breaking it.
Revan: Just because I'm a 'black tag', doesn't mean I'm as weak as you all think I am. This dude’s a friend of mine. Next time you see him, look the other way! Or you're all gonna end up worse.
He tosses the student away and walks to the one they were bullying.
Revan: You okay?
???: Y-yeah. I’m fine. Are you Revan Blackwood?
Revan: I am.
???: I’m Duncan Walpole. I heard the rumors about you.
Revan: That so? If that’s the case, best you stand clear of me.
Duncan: Why? From your display, you don’t seem to be anything like the rumors say.
Revan: Why weren’t you fighting back? I understand that you were outnumbered, but people will keep targeting you if you don’t show some spine.
Duncan: I know. And I’m sorry. It’s because I’m a coward.
Revan: I can’t judge a man I just met. But I can judge based on what I’ve seen. And what I’ve seen from you just now is that you have no confidence, you can’t fight, and you’re scared. What are you doing here, Duncan?
Duncan: On the morning of my 16th name day, my father came to me. “You’re almost a man now,” He said. “But you’re not worthy of my land and title. Tomorrow, you’re going to take the uniform, forsake all inheritance, and attend Wysteria. You will not return unless you’ve become fit in my name. If you refuse, we’ll have a hunt. And somewhere in the woods, your horse will stumble. You’ll be thrown from your saddle to die.” He also said he’d tell my mother. Nothing would please him more.
Revan: Your father's a real cunt. To say something like that to his own son.
Duncan: You're not exactly wrong.
Looking to the side, Duncan sees the bullies who held him against the wall walk away from the area while tending to their wounds.
Duncan: Those bullies will come back for me again, won't they?
Revan: Yes. And they'll keep coming if you don't fight back. Do you want strength, Duncan?
Duncan: Yes. Can you teach me? How to wield a sword?
Revan: There are experts here for that.
Duncan: Yes, but I’m not given chances. You took out those students with your own hands like it was nothing. I won’t get any better with their methods.
Revan: Well, you can’t get any worse.
They look at each other silently before giving off small laughs.
Revan: If this is what you want, then who am I to turn down a fellow student?
Duncan: So you’ll teach me?
Revan: Yes. Although I will warn you. My training methods are a bit... Unorthodox. And tiring. I’m no trainer. But at least I can help try to improve your skill in swordsmanship.
Duncan: Great or not, improvement is a change.
Revan: Good man. Follow me.
He leads Duncan through the academy, ignoring the whispers and talk about him. They arrive at one of the training grounds as he grabs a sparring sword from the rack.
Revan: You ever trained with swords before?
Duncan: Not very much. Father and the other instructors would just tell me to improve my swings. After I was beaten mercilessly.
Revan: That’s a major problem. They’re throwing you in the deep end when you can’t even swim. But before we get into swordplay, I want to work on your foundation. Take your stance.
Duncan separates his feet and holds his sword at the waist.
Revan: Your stance isn’t terrible, but it’s not decent. Your footwork can use some improvement. See how your feet are about a yard apart?
As Duncan looks down to check his feet, his vision veers to the right. Revan delivered a quick slap to Duncan’s face. Not enough to cause lasting pain, but enough for a visible sting.
Revan: Rule number 1. Assume that everyone wants to hit you. Cause they do. Be it with limbs or weapons, everyone wants to hit someone weaker than themselves.
Duncan: Okay.
Revan: Next, about your stance, is your height. A good bend in the knees and a little arch in the back. Enough to make it feel natural. Remember how the instructors told you to hold weapons a certain way for the best use?
Duncan: Yeah.
Revan: It’s all bullshit. Everyone’s different. Best to start holding a weapon comfortably before anything else. Also, try to stand sideways. Don’t just stand straight.
Duncan: Why?
His chest is lightly tapped by the dull training sword.
Revan: Now, stand sideways.
Duncan follows, and Revan thrusts in the same place. He misses Duncan’s arms by a few inches, but still strikes the same spot.
Revan: I thrust in the same area, but hit nothing. If you were standing face-to-face, I would’ve wounded you. The thinner the target, the harder they are to hit. The smallest inch can determine whether you live or die.
Duncan: Right.
The lesson continues as Revan continues to teach Duncan the basics of swordsmanship. Everything ranges from footwork to hand-eye coordination.
Eventually, Revan began teaching Duncan a little bit more. However, before the actual swordsmanship began, Revan had worked on Duncan’s body. Explaining how the body’s core is the source of the foundation. By the time the lesson was over, Duncan had light bruises on his hands and was covered in sweat.
Revan: You did well. Even if it’s just the basics, you caught on quickly. That does it for today. Go get yourself cleaned up. We’ll continue when you’re ready.
Duncan: Got it. Thanks for this, again. I feel like this was the wake-up call I needed.
He grabs his sparring sword from the ground and stands up. His grip instantly loosens as Duncan has little to no strength in his fingers. Revan walks up and grabs his hand to examine the bruises.
Revan: I know it may not seem like much now, but your body’s thankful for this. It hurts now because you’re not used to training in this manner. Your body needs time to adapt to this. It’s gonna hurt at first. Everything does. The pain appears in everything. The pain may last for a minute, it may last for an hour, but the pain won’t last forever. Pain is a teacher. All you need to do is listen.
Duncan: Got it. Thanks again for this training. For listening to my story and giving me an opportunity.
Revan: One hand washing the other. Go get yourself cleaned up. If you eat and sleep plenty while constantly training, you’ll notice a drastic change.
He says as he lets go of Duncan’s hand and grabs his sparring sword from the ground.
Duncan: One more thing.
Revan: What?
Duncan: You’re a dark magic user, right? Do you think I can get a small demonstration?
Revan: You want to see me using dark magic?
Duncan: It doesn’t have to be huge. Just something small.
Revan: Considering you took this first lesson well, I suppose you’ve earned yourself a look.
He activates his magic as a pitch-black aura with red outlines covers his arm. The aura travels down his arm and onto his blade. The darkness moves like flames as fragments float and vanish. Duncan brushes his fingers through his darkness and thinks it feels heavy. Yet he moved his fingers through it with ease. Just as he’s about to go for another touch, Revan deactivates his magic.
Revan: That’s a rather surprising look. Was that your first time seeing darkness magic?
Duncan: It is.
Revan: And?
Duncan: It felt warm and heavy. Yet... Weightless. I don’t know how to describe it. And how you can make it move from your body to a weapon, that’s awesome.
Revan: You’re one of the few who’ve said that about my darkness magic. We’ll continue our lessons. Each will be harder than the last.
The days turned into weeks. Duncan was starting to understand just how difficult Revan’s lessons were. Everything from exercise to sword play. Time and time again, Duncan was hit and fell to his feet. But, despite the pain, he always got back up. It was enough to know that Revan was doing his job right.
Even if it was small, Duncan began to see a physical change in his physique. His arms have gotten bigger, his muscles harder, and more toned. As well as his swordsmanship. But the biggest difference wasn’t his body. It was his confidence. His confidence grew in nearly everything he did. However, even after his change, one factor refused to change. After numerous duels, Duncan has yet to win against Revan.
Revan: Anchor that rear hand, Duncan.
He says as he avoids a head strike from Duncan’s sparring sword.
Revan: Come on.
Duncan: Okay.
They trade blows back and forth. Every strike Duncan threw at Revan, Revan either blocked or parried. As Duncan went for a thrust attack, Revan side-stepped and hit Duncan across the chin with the side of the blade.
Revan: Variable acceleration. Fighters work at the same pace. You switch it up and throw your opponent off their game.
Duncan: *Grunts* That was nice. Where’d you learn that?
Revan: A swordsman named Eddard.
Duncan: He taught you how to use a sword?
Revan: A little bit.
Duncan: One of these days, you’re gonna be straight with me on how you learned to fight like this.
Revan: Absolutely.
They return to their combat as they clash their sparring swords against one another. Duncan moved forward with every strike. Revan noticed this as Duncan began to do a horizontal slash. Revan ducked and spun around to Duncan’s backside, slashing at his knees. Duncan fell over and planted his sword in the ground.
Revan: Today is not that day.
Duncan: I guess not.
The sound of their swords clashing was soon overwhelmed by the sound of rapid footsteps and the voices of the students around them.
Duncan: Is it just me, or do the students feel more lively than usual?
Revan: Can’t blame them. With the start of the fresh school year, the most important event in the academy is about to take place.
They set aside their equipment and walk up to the bulletin board. Surprised to see names listed on the roster.
Revan: The Seven Star Sword Art Festival. I didn’t expect it to be launched this early in the year.
Duncan: So many names. But they’re all separated. Why?
Revan: Students are reserved by slots. Slots are reserved for students within their respective year. So you can only fight those in your same year. Meaning a first-year can only duel a first-year, and so on. But there have been exceptions where students have fought in leagues above their years.
Duncan: Why do they have them separated then?
Revan: Magic power difference. The more years you spend at the academy, the more your magic power grows. It’s like a tier list. As a first-year student, you could fight in duels against other first-years and some second-years. But against third-years, forget it, you’d get overwhelmed. Prevents students from killing each other. Partly.
Duncan: Partly?
Revan: These battles aren’t mock battles. As unfortunate as it is, there have been students who have passed away while fighting in these events.
Duncan: Then what’s the point of fighting then?
Revan: Should you become the champion in your division, you receive a great honor from the headmaster, and if you’ve shown great talents, you could get recognized by the king. You know how important honor is for these nobles. But it’s also more than recognition. Should you win, you will also receive a high grade count. That’s why it’s a sacred event that’s open to everyone in the academy. But that’s only if you become champion.
Duncan: The higher the risk, the greater the rewards.
Revan: That’s right. Excuse me! How many participants are in the third-year bracket?
Postman: There are currently 33 participants. We’re trying to get another to make the roster have an even number of fighters.
The list of every participant is listed with their names, year, magic type, and rank. As Revan eyes the third-year slot, he spots Marx’s name near the midline. He turns his head to see Marx lounging on a railing ledge, talking with a few of his buddies.
Revan: Add my name to the list.
Postman: Certainly, sir. Please tell me your name, year, magic type, and rank.
Revan: Revan Blackwood. Third-year. Darkness magic and a black tag rank.
Postman: You’re a what?
Revan: Black tag.
Postman: That’s the weakest of the ranks. You do understand the dangers you’re getting into, don’t you? These duels are-
Revan: Dangerous, as students have lost their lives. I know. Just add my name to the list.
Postman: If you understand the risk, then there’s no stopping you. Once the roster is complete, the listings will be presented in the main hall.
Revan: Do you have an estimate?
Postman: At the moment... 2-3 days max. Maybe 4.
Revan: Plenty of time.
He walks away and back onto the training ground. Duncan soon follows after.
Duncan: I didn’t take you for a competitionist.
Revan: There are a lot of things about me that you’ll find surprising.
Duncan: Why do you spar so much? Even without me? I’ve seen it. You’re all alone, working on your swordsmanship. Be it here or out in the forest?
Revan: What’s my name?
Duncan: Is this a trick?
Revan: What you see is a man with a certain surname. Why is my surname Blackwood?
Duncan: Because you’re a bastard.
Revan: Indeed. Lady Serina Courtlay is my mother, but Lord Vincent Courtlay is not my father. Making me... A bastard. When I was born, my mother could’ve tossed me out to sea, left me to die in the woods, or sold me off. But she didn’t. Even as a bastard, there are certain expectations I must meet for the most powerful noble family in the Midline region. My siblings, all well-trained in the arts of swordsmanship and magic, refused to come here. Being the last choice, I was selected. I must do my part for the honor of my house, wouldn’t you agree? But how? My brother, Tyler, has his sword. My sister, Cecilia, has her wits about her. I seem to have a bit of both. A mind needs books as much as a sword needs a whetstone. That’s why I spar so much, Duncan.
Duncan: I see...
Revan: Quit sulking. Ready for another round?
Duncan: I suppose I am.
Revan: Good.
He tosses a sparring sword to Duncan. Upon catching the sword’s handle, Duncan and Revan take their stance. They lunge at each other as their steel collides. Small sparks fly as their training resumes.
Within Wysteria, moonlight pierced through a slim window, making it the only source of light in the room. Sitting on the edge, a silhouette of a man with a glass in his hand sat.
???: So Revan Blackwood has entered the festival, has he? Well, no matter. A black tag such as his won’t get far.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
TO BE CONTINUED...
