System, please just shut up

Then, there was Traits, which still showed Unknown.

He did know what they were though.

They were passive abilities or conditions that passively influence how a character interacts with the world, their skills, and even their intrinsic growth.

They weren't chosen, they were earned or awakened through intense experiences, profound choices, or shifting psychological states.

You could think of them as the Archive's subtle way of recording and encoding a person's fundamental nature into their progression system, a permanent mark on their soul.

He knew he had a couple of them, hidden beneath that 'Unknown' tag, but had no idea what they did or how they might affect him.

Next was his Weapon Mastery.

"..."

4.3% Sword Mastery.

That might seem like a decent start considering he still had five months to go, but it was pretty obvious that it wasn't going to be that easy.

No one needed to tell him that mastery only grew more and more difficult to increase as the percentage climbed higher.

And there was still the pressing fact that he hadn't even made up his mind on the secondary weapon he was going to learn, let alone actually starting to practice it.

The thought of adding another weapon's demanding training on top of his current regimen made his stomach clench.

"..."

The last thing on his status was Titles. He still had no idea what exactly they were for, or what benefits they might bestow, but he had a vague idea that they signified some kind of achievement or reputation.

"Ughhhh."

He groaned, feeling totally exhausted despite just waking up from sleep.

The last month had been anything but easy for him, especially at the start, immediately after the exams.

The first year who managed to kill an Elderbeast?

Of course he was freaking popular. Even though no one knew exactly who he was behind the rumors, the legend of the anonymous first-year who'd felled a creature that rained carnage on thousands had spread like wildfire.

He still clearly remembered the day he got summoned.

To the Vice Headmaster's office.

**One Month Ago**

It wasn't just any office.

It sat at the highest point of the West Spire, wrapped in a curtain of cascading mana runes that shimmered like falling glass, distorting the light that touched them. The air itself felt dense up there, like the very atmosphere bent around the sheer power sitting behind that desk.

Vice Headmaster Revek.

His presence was like gravity, ancient and inescapable.

Not the kind you noticed immediately—but the kind that made your spine straighten involuntarily when you got too close, that demanded unspoken reverence.

He didn't wear a grand robe, or imposing armor, or some elaborate set of enchanted symbols that screamed authority.

Just a plain, jet-black coat that absorbed all light. And yet, Kael could feel something in the air, a silent hum of immense power. Like every molecule in the room was holding its breath, waiting for permission to breathe.

Revek hadn't even looked up when Kael entered.

"Sit," he said simply—his voice low, steady, and dry.

Kael sat. His heart thumped a nervous rhythm against his ribs.

They stayed in silence for a full ten seconds. Ten long seconds of Revek reading from a floating slate, his expression unmoving, utterly unreadable. The only sound was the soft hum of the office enchantments.

Then finally, he looked up.

His eyes were pale silver, devoid of any visible glow or power display.

Just… cold, piercing intelligence that seemed to strip Kael bare.

Kael felt like an open book, every secret laid bare in front of him.

"Kael Darven." The name was a statement, not a question.

Kael didn't respond, unsure if a reply was expected.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to remain still.

Revek's gaze sharpened, a faint, almost imperceptible shift. He slid the slate aside with a quiet click, folded his hands on the polished desk, and leaned forward slightly. "So tell me, how exactly you kill a beast which is technically two ranks above you?"

Kael tried to take a deep breath, but it felt like the air in the room had suddenly turned to glass—thin, fragile, and heavy with unspoken pressure.

He had already prepared what he was going to say, there was no point lying. Well... maybe half the truth would do.

"A skill," he said, the word coming out flatter than he intended.

Revek's brow rose a fraction, a subtle arch that somehow conveyed immense skepticism. "A skill?"

"Yes," Kael nodded, carefully keeping his tone flat, hoping to betray no emotion. "It was because of a skill I have."

Revek's pale silver gaze didn't flicker. He just stared—silent, unblinking eyes locked onto Kael's like he was trying to pry the truth out of his very bones, to dissect his soul.

"A skill, huh," he said slowly, the words measured. "I suppose a skill that could allow an individual to break the natural power chain must come at a terrible price?"

Kael stayed silent, his throat tight.

Revek wasn't wrong, though. If he could, he would prefer never to use the skill again.

Silence stretched again, even heavier than before.

Revek leaned back slightly, but Kael could feel the shift. It wasn't a release of tension. It felt like a reevaluation, a recalibration of an invisible threat assessment.

"And how long have you had this skill? You must just be seventeen, which means you've had the Archive for what, a year? So where exactly did you obtain something of that caliber?" The questions were delivered without accusation, yet they felt like iron clamps tightening around Kael's mind.

Kael took in another deep breath, his heart rate spiking.

What he was about to do next, if done wrong, was practically suicide. Every instinct screamed at him to explain, to appease, to lie. But another, stubborn part, fueled by his exasperation with the Archive's vague demands, pushed back.

With every ounce of strength he could muster, he opened his mouth and said, his voice surprisingly steady, "With all due respect, Vice Headmaster, I don't think that's any of your business. The instructions of the exams were clear: 'Kill the last guardian and pass,' and that's what I did. So I don't get why I'm being treated like a criminal."

"..."

Silence.

The silence stretched, cold and unyielding. Heavy. Frozen.

Kael could feel the phantom sensation of his breath frosting in his lungs.

'Theo, I swear if this doesn't work, I'm taking you with me!'

Kael was already panicking inside, a cold sweat breaking out on his back as the pressure in the room amplified, the walls feeling like they were physically closing in on him, the air thinning to nothing.

Just when he felt he was about to faint from lack of proper breathing, Revek did something Kael didn't expect.

He laughed.

Not loudly. Not mockingly.

Just a single, sharp breath—half-amused, half-something else entirely.

"Brave," he said at last, folding his hands again, his silver eyes gleaming faintly. "Or stupid. Possibly both."

Kael didn't move, didn't dare. His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs.

Revek's silver eyes narrowed just slightly, losing their mirth. "You're not wrong, by the way," he said calmly, his voice now a low, serious rumble. "The instructions were clear. You passed. But you have to understand, for the safety of the other students, we have to make sure we know exactly what we are admitting into our institution." He tilted his head, the amusement gone, replaced by a chilling clarity. "Because students who break the rules of school are a nuisance. But students who break the rules of the world?"

He leaned forward again, his voice dropping to an almost conspiratorial whisper that resonated with immense power. "They're dangerous."

Kael's throat tightened, but he forced himself to stay absolutely still, his gaze locked with Revek's.

"I'm not trying to scare you, Cadet," Revek said, his voice cool again, a flat statement of fact. "But you'd do well to remember something." He raised a hand and snapped his fingers once.

A pulse of raw mana ripped through the room like a flash freeze, palpable and immense. Kael felt his Archive shiver inside him—a profound, involuntary tremor, like it had just been pressed against a wall of ice.

Then, silence again, as sudden and absolute as the pulse.

Revek dropped his hand, his expression returning to that unnerving placidness. "Every skill has a source. Every source has a price. Whether you paid it up front, or whether it's still collecting... it doesn't matter. It will come due."

The words were delivered with the certainty of prophecy.

"And when that day comes," Revek added, his pale silver eyes locked on Kael's, his voice soft but weighted with profound warning, "you'll want to be surrounded by people who can help you carry it."

He let that hang in the air for a long, heavy moment, then gestured toward the door, a final, definitive dismissal. "You're dismissed."

Kael stood slowly.

No bow this time.

He turned without a word, pulse still racing, and stepped out into the hallway, the chill of Revek's presence clinging to him.

The door whispered shut behind him like a guillotine blade.

His shoulders sagged, the tension draining out of him, leaving him trembling slightly.

He didn't know if he'd just passed a test—or painted a target on his back.

Maybe both.

But one thing was clear, Revek wasn't just watching. He was waiting.