Low-Rank Knight

Megiltor Academy was living its usual life.

Down in the front row, Seris Indrat—Princess of Freeman, a mage of light, the very embodiment of perfection—was smoothing her long silver hair, coldly whispering something to her neighbor. She didn't look at the newcomer. To her, he didn't even exist.

Zeur Rainbold, a hulking man with a lightning bolt tattoo on his neck, lazily twirled a metal sphere in his hands, sparks flying from it every few seconds. He caught sight of the person entering for a brief moment—assessed them. Then looked away. Not a target.

Elier Khanaam—that same elven beauty—sat a little further off. Her brown eyes drifted softly across the lecture hall, brushing against the newcomer—and she offered a faint smile. Nothing more. Just a nod.

Mike Taylor, a fire mage with an expressionless face, sat with his arms crossed, staring out the window. He wasn't looking at anyone—he was staring into the void. You knew: he simply didn't want to talk to anyone.

Kyle Morgan, a count's son and an ice mage, was openly burning holes into the newcomer with his gaze. His contempt felt as palpable as the heat from a bonfire. He made no effort to hide that he considered the newcomer nothing more than filth.

The lecture hall door swung open. Professor Kaera entered—a young woman with multicolored red-and-blue hair, a dangerous smile, and heterochromatic eyes: crimson on the right and azure on the left, eyes that saw everything. She placed a stack of papers on the lectern and swept her gaze across the room.

— Well then, kiddos, — she sighed. — We have a newcomer today.

She turned her head toward the doorway:

— What are you standing there for? Get in here!