A note from Coffeepen3
Lord Peter Wimsey- a sharp-witted, aristocratic detective created by Dorothy L. Sayers, known for his refined manners, love of literature, and razor-sharp intellect. Beneath his charm and wit lies a war-scarred man haunted by trauma, using deduction and justice as both hobby and healing.
Socrates- Socrates was a classical Greek philosopher known for his method of questioning to expose contradictions and stimulate critical thinking. Renowned for his wisdom and humility, he left no written works, yet his ideas—preserved through students like Plato—laid the foundation for Western philosophy.
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PREVIOUSLY-
The balconies seemed endless, stretching high into the air, a testament to the academy's power and history. From these lofty heights, the seniors eyed their juniors, some with the calm indifference of those who had already survived the crucible, while others watched with curiosity—or, in some cases, barely veiled judgment. Their faces were half-hidden by the soft light of the torches, creating an almost ethereal glow as they looked down upon the fresh crop of students.
Above it all, massive chandeliers hung like stars, their crystal lights illuminating the entire hall with a soft, golden glow, casting long, graceful shadows across the marble floor. The atmosphere was charged with a sense of anticipation and tradition, as if this moment had happened a thousand times before, and yet, to the first-years standing at the base, it felt as though they were standing on the precipice of something entirely new.
As the final bell rang, signaling the start of orientation, the quiet hum of voices stilled. All eyes were drawn to the podium, where the Headmaster stepped forward. His voice, amplified by magic, echoed across the hall, a steady, powerful tone that silenced the room in an instant.
"Welcome to Eldrin Academy."
--*---*-
The headmaster stroked his beard, fingers combing through the silver strands as his gaze swept over the sea of gathered students.
"I know many of you possess remarkable talents," he began, his voice calm yet authoritative. His eyes shifted upward, narrowing at a certain balcony, "But within the hallowed halls of Eldrin Academy, where I—Thalorin Eldrin—preside as headmaster, power dictates your place. Rank is not inherited here. It is seized."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face.
"Yes, your upperclassmen may include a few deranged lunatics. Fear not—they'll be graduating soon."
A ripple of laughter and nervous whispers passed through the crowd like a breeze stirring dry leaves.
High above, on the very balcony Thalorin had glanced at, a lone silhouette lounged casually. He sat on the windowsill, back reclined against the stone wall, one leg dangling over the edge like a child bored of ceremony.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips, half-shadowed beneath his hood.
"Old man Thalorin still needs another beating," he mused silently.
Behind him, seated around a circular table, were four distinct figures.
"Are they here boss?" One spoke.
"Who?" Another one asked.
"His brothers." The third one spoke, folding his arms.
"How do you know, Kael?" the second one asked.
"I have been with Vinnie my whole life, I know his family at least." Kael responded.
"Wouldn't that mean, they are VVIPs?" the second one exclaimed.
"Brother Marcus, let the boss decide," the first looked towards the man at the balcony, "After all he is known as 'Lord Peter Wimsey'."
Marcus leaned towards him, "Little Will, he may have used that alias in your country, but in our Ardellia Kingdom, he is revered as 'Socrates'," he took a sip from a goblet, "He is more famous that way."
The fourth figure walked up to the man on the balcony. She placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Sweetheart, why didn't you tell me your brothers are visiting. I would have prepared something for them."
The man turned towards her, his white hair brushing against her forearm.
"I am sorry, sweetheart." He looked down at the floor, gaze fixed on Raphael and Leon.
"You will meet them soon," his hand caressed her cheek as he brought his face closer to hers. Lips inches apart.
"Boss!" William rose from his seat, his face still hidden.
"Vinnie, take your lovey-dovey moments somewhere else." Kael snickered.
"At times like this, I just wish if Lysandra was here." Marcus looked at the ceiling.
"Sister-in-law, you shouldn't give him too much freedom," Kael continued.
William slumped back to his seat,
"Big Sis Aeloria, I agree with brother Kael on this."
Aeloria ruffled Vincent's hair affectionately,
"Don't say that," her pale cheeks flushed with color, "I like it."
"Here we go again!" the three sighed in unison.
At the podium a middle-aged lady rose from her seat. She grabbed a floating orb that emitted blue radiance.
She looked towards the first years,
"Students of Eldrin," she spoke, her tone equal parts steel and velvet, "I am Rosalia Hope, dean of Eldrin Academy."
Her sharp gaze travelled up to the balconies before returning to the first-years.
"Some of you may know me as The Witch. A few reckless souls prefer Old Lady Hope." She let the words linger before offering a faint, fox-like smile.
"Let me be clear—I will be as accommodating as possible to each of you. But break the rules," her smile sharpened, "and I promise, you will know fear."
A nervous shuffle swept the freshmen—some excited, some intimidated, many visibly lost.
The introductions continued as the department heads stepped forward.
A stout dwarf with a beard that brushed his stomach gave a formal nod.
"Ahem. Welcome, younglings. Name's Thorin Emberthane—H.O.D. for blacksmithing. If you can't take the heat, you don't belong in my forge."
Next came a tall woman in a flowing green robe, her hair streaked in vibrant hues—red, blue, green, and more, as if a prism had passed through her soul.
"Velirya Thalis," she said, voice lilting. "Head of Magical Studies. I look forward to… lighting up your minds."
She was followed by a rugged man who rose with a lazy grunt, scratching his scruffy beard.
"Garran Veldt," he said, cracking his neck. "Knight training. Survive my drills, and you might just earn a blade."
A slim lady rose next; she wore a white lab coat.
"Dr. Elowen Mir, your H.O.D. for medical studies."
Some students swooned over her soft voice as she gave them a warm smile.
Then came a man clad in a robe stitched with pockets. His expression was hard to read, buried behind thick bangs.
"Maelis Ovrin. Alchemy."
He stepped back without further explanation.
Finally, a sharply dressed man adjusted his spectacles before stepping up.
"Few of you will meet me," he said, voice clipped and efficient. "I am Professor Deren Holtgrave. Head of Civil Services. For those aspiring to administration, law, or diplomacy—try not to disappoint."
Dean Rosalia returned to the front, hands folded.
"Regrettably, our Heads of Culinary Arts and Fashion Design are absent today due to personal matters. And our head of the Sports Department is on a sick leave."
Garran leaned toward Velirya.
"Is it today?"
"What is?"
"Their baby?"
Velirya blinked, then nodded. "Yes. You forgot?"
Garran ran a hand through his hair. "Completely slipped my mind."
She rolled her eyes. "Unbelievable."
A gentle cough echoed from the front as Headmaster Thalorin once again stepped forward, smoothing his beard with purpose.
"Well then," he said with a grin, "shall we proceed to the most anticipated part—'System Installation'?"
A sharp crack split the air as an object materialized above the stage.
A cube, ancient and unnatural, flickered into existence.
It hovered silently, its surface alive with violent lightning that arced between its jagged, interlocking plates. Each face of the cube shimmered with a different hue—indigo, crimson, gold, void-black, and more—cycling unpredictably as if it couldn't decide which truth to show. Runes—not of any known magic or mortal tongue—shifted ceaselessly over its surface, forming patterns that seared themselves into the eyes of those who stared too long.
"This," Headmaster Thalorin spoke with a rare reverence, "is the Arkanode. An artifact older than our kingdom, older even than the Magic Towers. It was gifted to our founder by the Silent Seraph, the founding mage of humanity—and through it, we forge your connection to the System."
He gestured, and the cube rotated, glowing brighter. It cast lines of light—thin as thread—downward toward the floor, where small circular glyphs formed a lattice across the dais.
"Every student will receive a System Core, crafted and managed by the Academy. This Core records your stats, elemental affinities, and combat ratings. It's minimal but functional. A ledger of your growth."
A few students sighed, relieved.
But then Thalorin's tone darkened.
"However… on rare occasions, the Arkanode responds to something more."
The cube pulsed. Once. Deep and resonant.
"Some of you may be chosen by higher powers—by one of the Twelve Pantheons. In such cases, your System will not be a mere tracker. It will be a living covenant. A blessed bond with the divine."
Murmurs broke out.
"Pantheons…?"
"Like the gods of war, night, death?"
Dean Rosalia stepped forward. "These divine systems go by many names. Embervault, Ashen, Sable, Crystal and more. Each Pantheon names theirs differently. But to the world, they are known simply as—Blessed Systems."
She waved her hand, and a spectral image shimmered above the students: a boy kneeling, light from a golden crest enveloping him, his System interface more intricate and glowing than any basic model.
"These systems come with Quests—tasks divinely ordained. Rewards that surpass mortal forging. And… penalties. Severe ones."
She let that hang in the air.
"You may become avatars of your gods," she continued, "or pawns. But make no mistake. A Blessed System is not a gift freely given—it is a responsibility you cannot ignore."
At the balcony, Vincent's smile thinned as he watched the cube turn its radiant eye toward the gathered crowd.
"Still temperamental," he muttered. "Let's see who the gods play dice with today."
"Do you think one of your brothers will get chosen?" Aeloria asked softly.
He didn't answer, his eyes fixed on Raphael and Leon.
"The only God who can get them is me, the Mad God."
Thalorin raised his staff.
'What will you do Duskrane? It seems your brothers may fall in the hands of the very Gods you despise.'
His lips parted,
"First years—step forward into the circle. The Arkanode will now assess your soul."
The cube pulsed again—this time, waves of raw aether washing over the courtyard.
And then it began. One by one, the glyphs activated beneath each student. Most were met with a soft chime—a stable blue light—the mark of a standard academy-issued System. Their status windows opened like clean glass sheets before them: name, stats, class designation.
But occasionally… the cube paused.
Its lightning would shudder, change colour—then arc downward with force, carving divine symbols into the glyph. Students struck by this were engulfed in radiant light—some gold, some void-black, others crimson or emerald—each a mark of a different Pantheon.
Screams, awe, light.
And the installation continued.
A hand rose amid the sea of murmuring students.
Thalorin's gaze snapped to it. "Speak."
The boy stood tall, voice steady despite the weight in his chest.
"I am Leonatus Leonhart, heir of House Leonhart."
A pause.
Thalorin arched an eyebrow. "And?"
Leon hesitated—then glanced sideways at his friends: Raphael, arms crossed but lips tight with tension. Sigmund, still as stone. Theo, shifting nervously, holding something behind his back.
"We… we haven't received our systems."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Murmurs broke like thunder on water.
"Did he say Leonhart?"
"Tigranclaw's boy is with him!"
"Their guards… those are Ferros and Umbra, aren't they?"
"The Iron Hounds and the Wolves—"
"But why haven't they been given systems?"
"Why? Isn't it obvious? No god touches a heretic!"
The word heretic hissed through the hall like a curse.
Thalorin's brow twitched. He closed his eyes and muttered under his breath.
'This again.'
He tilted his head—his gaze locking onto the highest balcony.
"Duskrane!" His voice boomed, cutting through the chatter like a blade.
Dozens of heads turned. Up above, standing lazily against a beam, was a boy in silver-trimmed black. Sharp white hair swept back like wind-sculpted snow. He smirked.
FWISH—THUD!
Vincent Duskrane landed with a dancer's grace, cloak billowing, the wind from his descent stirring dust at his feet.
He flourished a deep bow. "Vincent Duskrane, at your service."
PINCH!
"Oww!" he yelped as Thalorin seized his ear mid-bow.
"How many times," the headmaster growled, "must I tell you to stop tampering with the Arkanode!"
Vincent winced, rubbing his ear, but grinned anyway. "All part of the process, old man."
Then, turning to the boys, his tone brightened. "How are you, my radiant disasters?"
Leon smiled. "Good, Vayren."
"I'm well, Vayren," Raphael added with a nod.
Sig bowed slightly. "It's an honor, Vayren."
Theo stepped forward, holding out a small cloth bundle. "I… brought cupcakes for you, Vayren."
"Cupcakes?" the crowd echoed, bewildered.
Vincent vanished in a blink—
FWUMP—CRUNCH
—and reappeared next to Theo, cheeks already puffed with sugar.
"Yumm… zey are too tasty!" he mumbled through a mouthful.
Thalorin sighed, long and deep. "Duskrane…"
Vincent gulped, licked icing from his thumb, and flashed a grin. "Right, right. Back to work."
FWISH!
In a blur of motion, he returned to the Arkanode's pedestal. He raised a single finger—
TAP.
The cube shimmered in response. Lightning crackled across its surface. A deep, resonant DING sounded, and purple runes blazed into being before Leon and the others.
DING!
A purple screen appeared before Leon and others.
[Installation complete]
-------[ ⟪ PRIMORDIAL SYSTEM ⟫]--------
─────────────── ◆ ───────────────
[Name]: Leonatus Leonhart
[Race]: Human
[Class]: ▒▒▒▒▒▒
[Health]: 100%
[Mana]: 500 / 500
[Strength]: 23
[Agility]: 17
[Endurance]: 20
[Intelligence]: 10
─────────────── ◆ ───────────────
[System Modules Unlocked]
– ▣ [TITLES]
– ▣ [SKILL TREE]
– ▣ [INBOX]
– ▣ [QUEST]
─────────────── ◆ ───────────────
Duration Remaining: 2 Years
⚠ Note: This system is not recognized by Imperial Standard Protocols. Classification: EXOGENOUS
-------[ ⟪⨉⟫]--------
"Primordial System?" A murmur rose among the first years,
"Never heard of it?"
"It only has a duration of two years?"
"That's half on a normal system lifespan?"
"Why do they not have a class like other blessed systems?"
But the whispers among the senior students were something else.
"It's the 'Primordial System'"
They looked towards Vincent's balcony.
"It's those lunatics' system, isn't it?"
"Only those in the 'Order of Lunatics' have it."
"F*ck! We can't handle five, now four more came in!"
"As if Duskrane wasn't enough himself!"
"What can we expect from the kin of that psychopath!"
While the first years were filled with curiosity, caution and frustration rose among the senior students. Some clutched their heads, some cursed their luck and some started devising plans.