How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game

Inside Killian Hall's center, the prestigious dormitory reserved for the top ten students of the academy, lay a vast public training ground that seemed almost forgotten.

Despite its grandeur, the space was rarely used, as each dormitory room was equipped with personalized training chambers tailored to its occupant's unique abilities.

Tonight, however, the training ground was anything but dormant.

It was alight with activity, illuminated by flashes of radiant light and resonating with the sharp clangs of metal against metal.

Explosions of energy rippled across the area, sending shockwaves through the air, though none penetrated the surrounding dormitory.

Normally, such commotion would wake the entire hall, disrupting the peaceful slumber of its elite residents.

However, the training ground's sophisticated protection magic—an intricate blend of soundproof barriers and spatial isolation spells—ensured that the chaos remained confined within its bounds.

For most, the sight of activity in this public space, particularly at such a late hour, would be perplexing.

Access to the training ground was strictly regulated under the watchful eye of the dormitory master, who enforced the rules with unwavering discipline.

And yet, here it was—alive with energy in the dead of night.

Within the arena, a lone figure moved with precision and grace.

The blade in their hand glinted under the artificial light, its movements sharp and calculated.

Sparks flew as it clashed against another weapon, the sound ringing out like a melody of war.

Sonic booms followed each exchange, the force of their strikes splitting the air itself.

Despite the intensity of the battle, the figure remained composed, their breath even and movements fluid.

Each step they took left a faint, shimmering trace of mana in their wake

For any onlooker, it would be clear that this was no ordinary student.

To be here at this hour, breaking rules with such audacity, spoke of a confidence—or perhaps desperation—that set them apart.

"Haah!!!"

A blinding flash of white light erupted, illuminating the dim training ground in an intense glow.

The searing sound of destruction followed, accompanied by the crackling hiss of superheated air.

[Sunstrike!]

Lucas's voice rang out as his most powerful skill tore through the space before him. Steam billowed from his lips as he exhaled, the heat from his attack lingering in the air.

His golden eyes gleamed in the faintly lit training ground, reflecting both determination and frustration.

Before him lay a molten trail, a testament to the devastating power of his skill.

The beam had carved a scorched path three meters wide, extending nearly fifty meters ahead.

The large metallic training golem, designed to endure even the most powerful strikes, had been reduced to a heap of warped and liquefied metal, its once-imposing form now unrecognizable.

Yet despite the overwhelming display of strength...

"Tsk!"

Lucas clicked his tongue, annoyance flickering across his face as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

"It's still lacking," he muttered, his voice tinged with dissatisfaction.

He had been at this for hours—since the early hours of the previous morning, pushing himself to the brink.

Now, with the second dawn approaching, his frustration grew. Despite all his effort, the power he sought still eluded him.

The refinement of his technique, the raw strength he craved—it all fell short of the perfection he demanded.

With a heavy sigh, Lucas trudged back toward the bench at the side of the training hall.

Grabbing his canteen, he drained the last remnants of water before pouring some over his face, the cool liquid a brief respite against his overheated skin.

"At this rate, I'll never be able to use this…"

Lucas stared down at the holy sword resting on the bench beside him, its pristine white blade gleaming faintly under the subdued lights of the training ground.

He knew what it was—a legendary-ranked weapon, an ego item with its own will and persona.

The fact that he could wield it meant he had been chosen by the sword, but that recognition only deepened his unease.

A part of him, buried under layers of frustration and self-doubt, whispered that what he had achieved with the blade so far wasn't enough.

Sure, the sword amplified his aura attacks, its edge sharper and more durable than anything he'd wielded before.

But Lucas could feel it—an untapped potential lying dormant within the blade. Something sealed away, locked behind layers of conditions or barriers that only he, as its wielder, could uncover.

"Am I still lacking…?"

He muttered the question to himself, though the answer eluded him.

Rationally, he didn't know.

But in his heart, he felt the weight of his inadequacy. Explore more at empire

The problem wasn't just the sword; it was him.

Something inside him was missing—a key he had yet to find, a strength he had yet to grasp.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. "The dorm master is probably going to kill me… Well, what's done is done."

Lucas glanced over his shoulder at the molten destruction he'd left in his wake.

The training ground, meant to endure intense battles, now bore the scars of his relentless attempts at progress.

The ground was scorched, the metallic golem reduced to slag, and the once-pristine space looked more like a battlefield than a practice area.

For reference, Lucas had asked the dorm master beforehand for permission to train here.

He had even secured approval to use the space as long as he needed, given how rarely anyone trained in the public grounds these days.

The dorm master, eager to accommodate such a promising student, had been happy to oblige.

But destroying school property? That wasn't part of the deal.

"The training grounds alone will be a hassle to repair," he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair. "But the combat golem… That's a whole other problem."

The golem, a costly and advanced piece of academy equipment, was specifically designed to withstand high-level assaults.

The fact that Lucas had reduced it to a smoldering heap was both a testament to his growing strength and a looming financial nightmare.

"Am I going to have to beg Janica for money again?" he wondered aloud, the thought making him grimace. "Or maybe I'll end up working as a slave for the academy to pay it off."

The mental image of himself scrubbing floors or fetching supplies for professors for the rest of his life almost made him laugh.

The thought of Janica punching him to death sent an involuntary shudder down Lucas's spine.

It wasn't an exaggeration—she'd done it before, and the memory of her relentless yelling and cursing while landing bone-crushing blows was enough to make him reconsider his life choices.

"You stupid idiot! How many times have I told you not to do anything reckless?!"

He could almost hear her voice now, sharp and furious, laced with an unending string of creative insults. Shaking his head, he tried to dispel the mental image.

Though....

It didn't help. Janica's wrath was a reality he'd probably have to face soon enough, but for now, he had other matters to handle.

Letting out a sigh, Lucas slowly got to his feet.

His body ached from the relentless training, sweat dripping from every pore.

His upper body was bare—he'd casually stripped off his shirt earlier to avoid ruining his uniform with sweat and dirt.

Now, as he grabbed his discarded shirt, he began buttoning it up, each motion slow and deliberate as his mind wandered.

But then—

A prickle of awareness shot through him.

Even though his mana reserves were depleted and his physical senses had dulled from exhaustion, his sharp instincts screamed at him. Something was off. Someone was watching.

Lucas's golden eyes narrowed, the glow within them intensifying as his gaze snapped toward one of the towering pillar-like columns supporting the massive dome of the training ground.

"Who's there?"

His voice was low, carrying an edge of warning.

The training ground fell silent, the faint hum of protective enchantments and the soft crackle of molten debris the only sounds.

It was way past midnight, and all students should have been asleep by now. Only three groups of people would be awake at this hour:

The academic staff—though they had no reason to enter Killian Hall without cause and were bound by academy rules to avoid interfering here.

The dorm master, who regularly patrolled the dorms but was far too disciplined to skulk around in the shadows.

And… lastly the principal... who was a person that rarely ever left her office and much like most of the academic staff had no reasons for being here….

"Step out,"

Lucas commanded, his voice firm, his hands instinctively gripping the hilt of his holy sword.

The weapon seemed to respond to his unease, its pure white blade humming faintly in resonance with its master's emotions.

He shifted into a defensive stance, muscles tense, ready to react to any threat.

But then, a soft, lilting voice broke the silence.

"Fufu~ Please forgive me for sneaking around~"

The moment Lucas heard it, his body froze.

That voice—it was unmistakable.

Memories flooded his mind, unbidden and vivid.

It was the voice he had searched for ever since he first met her back when he was a first year...

A voice tied to a mysterious presence that had vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Despite his efforts to find her, she had left no trace, no clue, as if she were a fleeting illusion.

His golden eyes widened in disbelief as a figure emerged from the shadows behind the pillar.

Slowly, gracefully, a young woman stepped into the dim light of the training ground.

Her golden hair shimmered faintly under the flickering glow of the magical lamps, cascading down her back like liquid sunlight.

Her ocean-blue eyes met his, filled with a gentle warmth that contrasted with the cold emptiness of the silent hall.

Lucas felt his breath catch.

She looked exactly as he remembered—no, more than that.

She was unchanged, as though time had frozen since their last meeting.

The same radiant beauty, the same presence that seemed to command the space around her effortlessly.

Even her outfit was identical to what he had last seen her wearing, pristine and elegant. It was as if she had stepped directly out of his memories.

"Lady… Evelyn?" he muttered, the name slipping from his lips before he could stop himself.

"It's nice to finally—I mean, we finally meet again, Lucas~" Evelyn said with a soft smile, correcting herself mid-sentence. Her tone was playful yet sincere, her gaze unwavering as she regarded him. "It seems you've been training quite hard. I respect that~"

As Evelyn began walking toward him, her movements graceful and unhurried, Lucas's mind raced with questions.