Arcane Heir: History's Strongest Mage

"Can I help you?" Michael asked, his emerald eyes sharpening as they locked on the youth sprawled at his feet — the same boy who had just tried to shoulder him aside.

The shift in the room was instant. Conversations faltered, and nearly every gaze turned toward them. A fight, it seemed, was about to break out.

"You must be Melody's fiancé," Braydon said as he stepped over the fallen youth, coming to stand face-to-face with Michael. His expression was serious, but his voice carried an edge of disdain. "I'm surprised you managed to pass. Are you sure the examiner didn't make a mistake?"

A ripple of chatter swept through the room.

Michael's jaw tightened, though his irritation wasn't from the poor attempt at provocation. It was that very first sentence.

So much for keeping a low profile.

If anyone had merely speculated about his identity when he'd arrived arm-in-arm with Melody earlier, now there was no doubt. His name — and his connection to her — was confirmed for all to hear. While exposure wasn't inherently dangerous this early on, it was a beacon for the sort of attention he'd rather avoid.

"And you must be the son of that lord… Blueberry, was it?" Michael replied with mock innocence, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

The air in the room seemed to thicken. Many of the youths here were nobles themselves, and every one of them knew exactly how much weight the Marbury name carried.

Braydon's face darkened, a flush creeping up his neck. Before he could retort, a velvety laugh drifted across the crowd. Heads turned sharply toward the sound, each person wondering who could possibly mock Lord Marbury's son so openly.

The onlookers parted, revealing a girl with long, silken blue hair. Melody covered her mouth with her hand, failing miserably to contain her laughter.

Her amusement rang clear in the otherwise silent room — until she realized her mistake. Composing herself, she cleared her throat and stepped through the gathering, coming to Michael's side. Without hesitation, she slipped her arm through his.

"I knew you'd pass," she said sweetly.

The effect was immediate and polarizing. Braydon—along with several others who had once looked to court her—looked as though they'd swallowed something bitter. Michael, on the other hand, felt the weight in his chest sink like a stone.

It was one thing for people to know they were engaged.

It was another for Melody to parade it in front of her former suitors.

"How unsightly," Braydon said, his voice sharp with restrained fury. "Is this how you conduct yourself in public, Melody?"

Melody's blue eyes turned glacial. "Speaking of conduct… should you be addressing another man's fiancée so familiarly in public?" she asked, arching a brow. "Or is the Marbury family above noble etiquette?"

"I do not recognize this engagement!" Braydon snapped. His anger flared bright in his eyes. "There has been no formal announcement, no joining of families, no observance of proper noble traditions—"

"Therefore—"

"You really are pitiful," Michael cut in, his voice calm but laced with scorn. "Clinging to outdated customs just to justify meddling in someone else's affairs."

"Y–You!"

Michael stepped forward. Though they were the same age, his height forced Braydon to tilt his chin up.

"Face it, Braydon…" Michael's voice dropped to a low, steady whisper. "Melody is mine. And mine alone. Stay away from her — or face the consequences."

He lifted a single finger, casual as a man brushing dust from his coat. At its tip, a small orb of deep crimson mana spun lazily in the air. Even in the warm lantern light, it glowed with a rich, hypnotic hue that demanded attention.

Braydon's eyes widened before he could mask the reaction—but Michael caught it. That flicker of shock was all he needed to know his intimidation had struck home.

"This isn't over…" Braydon huffed, though the words rang hollow, especially after his visible reaction to Michael's display. Crimson mages at their age were a rarity, and everyone here knew it.

Without another word, Braydon turned sharply on his heel. The curly-haired youth who had been hovering nearby scrambled to follow.

The silence they left behind cracked almost instantly into a swell of voices. Conversations broke out across the room, every whisper and murmur a thread of speculation.

Michael exhaled slowly. He hadn't planned on making a public spectacle, but Braydon had forced his hand. Backing down would have been worse—it would have painted him as easy prey. At least now, those present might think twice before testing him.

Might.

But this was only one room. The academy was likely full of people with longer histories with Melody, and Michael had no illusions about the kind of attention she drew.

"Why are you so damn popular?" he muttered under his breath to the girl still wrapped around his arm.

Melody's lips curved into a faint smile, though her voice was softer. "It's not just me. They also want the status and influence of my family."

Her family? The Winterbornes were nobles, yes — but merely the ruling family of Whitevalley Town. Surely that wasn't enough to draw this much obsession?

Michael's curiosity sharpened, but before he could press further, a slow, deliberate clap echoed from the front of the room. The murmurs died away.

"My little seedlings."

The speaker emerged from between the gathered students, crimson robes flowing like a spill of wine over the stone floor. His long red beard framed a face both sharp and warm, and his eyes crinkled with amusement.

Bartholomew. The headmaster of Arcadia Academy.

"Those of you in this room have passed the entrance examinations," he announced with an amiable smile, "and may now be considered full students of Arcadia Academy. Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on this achievement."

The tension in the air melted into a ripple of excitement. Yes, most here had done well in the exams, but doubt lingered until this moment. Now, the headmaster's confirmation brought a collective breath of relief.

"Now, now," Bartholomew chuckled, lifting a hand. "I know you're eager, but there are still a few matters to address before we conclude."

Michael's brow furrowed. A faint unease prickled at the back of his mind.

The entrance exam had been stressful enough — the constant fear of revealing his white birthright ring, the humiliation of his apparent lack of talent, and the long, wearying wait as hundreds of others were examined before him. Even the revelation of his unique soul hadn't erased the exhaustion that clung to him now.

Whatever this next step was, he wanted it over with.

Just make it quick, he thought with resignation.