Dante sat inside a hall so enormous that he couldn't even be bothered trying to estimate its size. He had long since given up questioning why an academy needed to be this massive. It simply didn't make sense.
The students were arranged into three distinct columns.
The first column, where Dante sat, consisted entirely of Mythical Tier skill holders.
To his left were the Legendary Tier students.
Beyond them sat the Epic Tier students.
He barely spared either group another glance. If he found anyone worthwhile, he intended to recruit them for Emerald. Preferably a woman. The thought of finding some overly enthusiastic young man to follow his sister made him strangely uncomfortable. Whether a first-year would willingly serve someone technically a year below them remained uncertain, but Emerald herself wasn't weak in the slightest. Showing them a glimpse of his own strength—and, by extension, what his sister was capable of—would make convincing them considerably easier.
Vexion and Lexa had been placed among the Legendary Tier students.
Vexion, unsurprisingly, was miserable. She looked as though she were caught somewhere between heartbreak and outright fury after being separated from him. Dante merely chuckled as Lexa dragged her away.
His attention soon shifted elsewhere. A faint irritation lingered in his mind. Second Mind had reached an unexpected bottleneck.
It refused to advance beyond Level 24.
Without it, appraising Mythical being's true strength became significantly more difficult. Instead of certainty, he'd have to rely on instinct—a method he disliked immensely.
Soon, an elderly elf dressed in immaculate ceremonial robes stepped onto the podium. His posture was elegant, his movements measured. Age had done nothing to diminish him; if anything, it had only deepened the dignity he carried.
He cleared his throat.
"Welcome, first-years, to Midvest Academy."
His calm voice spread effortlessly throughout the hall.
"This is one of the world's premier institutions. Some place us among the top five academies. Others argue we stand among the top three."
A faint smile crossed his face. "I see no reason to boast further. History has already spoken on our behalf."
Silence filled the hall. "My purpose today is merely to explain what awaits you."
He paused before continuing. "Many of you are likely wondering why you have not yet undergone the final entrance examination."
His eyes swept across the thousands of students. "The answer is simple. The final selection takes place three weeks after your arrival."
Murmurs immediately spread through the crowd. "Only after witnessing this academy with your own eyes—its opportunities, its resources, its competitors—will your desire to remain here truly awaken."
"You will train alongside fellow geniuses. You'll meet second-year students. You'll learn from their successes... and their failures. This year, however, your entrance was delayed. We understand what five years represent to cultivators acranists."
"For some, five years means advancing five levels. For others, blessed with exceptional talent or fortune, it may mean fifteen. This arrangement is our apology for that lost time."
Dante nodded to himself. 'Fair enough'. The old elf continued. "I am one of the academy's five Deputy Masters. My name is Oblivion."
Dante blinked once. 'Cold name Bro'.
"There is little need for you to remember us. We are not your caretakers. We are instructors. We guide and educate."
"We do not raise children."
His hands remained folded neatly behind his back.
"If you enrolled here expecting knowledge to be spoon-fed to you...then you have chosen the wrong academy. Our purpose is not to produce students. It is to produce individuals capable of standing among the strongest figures in history."
"Power. Wealth. Influence and Legacy. People who possess such things are not created through lectures. They are forged through independent thought."
"They solve problems. They adapt and they overcome. Our role is only to point the direction." Before he could continue, a hand rose from the Mythical Tier section.
Oblivion gave a small nod. "You may speak."
The young man stood. He wore a simple martial robe and appeared to be human, though Dante couldn't quite place him. Something about him reminded him of Jurian.
"Sir," the young man asked respectfully, "if the academy emphasizes self-learning over direct instruction... then in what sense are we truly being educated?"
Dante resisted the urge to sigh. 'Mythical Beings... yet they're still just kids.'
Oblivion answered without the slightest annoyance. "Knowledge can be given. Understanding cannot. We can teach you theories. We cannot hand you experience. We can answer questions. but we cannot fight your battles. True mastery is earned only when knowledge is tested."
Another hand rose. This time it belonged to a dwarf. Or at least... something close enough. He barely reached Dante's waist and looked more like a young boy than the sturdy dwarves Dante had imagined.
"To put it simply," the dwarf said, "I believe the Deputy Master means that a person learns faster with a blade at their throat than with a sword in their hand inside a classroom."
Dante nodded. Much simpler. Oblivion smiled faintly. "Precisely."
"There has never been anything mysterious about becoming stronger. The principle has remained unchanged for countless millennia."
"When confronted by fear...When pushed to your limits...When failure carries genuine consequences...Only then does true growth begin."
He looked across the hall. "It surprises me that so many of you have yet to understand such a fundamental truth."