The young man wiped the sweat dripping down his face.

Around him lay four knights, utterly exhausted and collapsed. Their destination was merely the academy. Yet, what Euphil Raize had achieved was the unification of those who entered that very academy.

He was unfathomably strong. As if born to embody the very essence of strength, his movements bordered on divine. Even when three knights attacked him at once, a few precise gestures with his sword shattered their coordination like fragile glass.

"Next."

When the sword of yet another challenger shattered against his powerful counter strike, Euphil spoke again.

"Next!"

Like an ancient god sealed beneath the earth, Euphil Raize’s gaze pierced through the distance as if peering into a forgotten royal city. His eyes were sharp, brimming with a chilling clarity.

Golden locks, drenched in sweat, clung haphazardly to his high, regal forehead. His sculpted nose, radiant golden hair, fair skin, and deep crimson eyes created a striking visage.

This was not the boy who had arrived at the academy at the tender age of fifteen. Back then, he was a child too overwhelmed to even consider expanding his influence. The meagre stipend from his homeland was his only resource. Yet, he possessed one invaluable asset: a brilliant mind.

A mind so coveted that the most esteemed scholars of the academy sought him out.

“What do you desire, Prince?” they had asked. And Euphil had replied simply, “Time. I need time.”

It was then that he realised all correspondence to Myrthi had been intercepted. At first, when no reply came to his letters, he had assumed she had forgotten how to write back. But when the second, third, fourth, and even eighth letters went unanswered, the palace sent him a curt missive:

“Prince, all letters addressed to Princess Myrthi will be blocked.”

His first reaction was a bitter chuckle. He understood the king’s intentions all too well—mocking his despair while revelling in it like a twisted celebration.

At the academy, his peers were often royalty or nobles from various nations. Over time, these elites grew wary of Euphil Raize. His commanding presence, unparalleled abilities, and razor-sharp intellect set him apart.

On the other hand, commoners were awestruck by his overwhelming strength. He alone had become a formidable army within the academy, leaving no opponents to challenge him.

Perhaps the king feared Euphil’s rapid ascent. The golden lashes framing his crimson eyes, brighter than blood, exuded an eerie intensity that seemed to pierce everything around him. Merely meeting his gaze left the impression that one might perish unknowingly.

Another knight charged at Euphil. Effortlessly redirecting the attack with a twist of his blade, Euphil sent the knight sprawling backward under the sheer force of his manoeuvre.

“Weak,” he muttered, his single word laden with disdain. His low, resolute voice carried an almost hypnotic allure.

He spoke again. “Still.”

“...I’m sorry,” murmured one of the knights sprawled on the ground. They were under his tutelage, enduring daily training. Yet even as Euphil trained them, his own growth was extraordinary. Countless challengers had tried and failed to surpass him, only to meet despair.

Watching from the sidelines, a man with long black hair and striking features approached Euphil. He was the same man who had once delivered a gift to Myrthi. Silently, he waited as Euphil wiped the sweat from his brow and stepped closer.

Euphil, unbidden, allowed a faint smile to play on his lips. Some of the fallen knights gazed at him in dazed admiration, captivated by his rare expression.

“The gift...” he began.

It was the finest feast and a diamond-studded dress, prepared for a coming-of-age ceremony. Euphil Raize had handpicked the most skilled artisans for this single day, gathering them from among the academy’s brilliant craftsmen—individuals whose expertise surpassed most boutique masters.

But there was one issue: the diamonds. Euphil’s mind wandered to the origins of the diamond mine now under his control.

The mine had once been an abandoned gold mine that he had reopened and repurposed.

But why had the mine fallen into his possession in the first place?

The reason was simple. Few in the academy bothered to listen to the words of commoners.

Among them was a so-called "mad old man," nicknamed the "braggart," who claimed he could synthesise diamonds. Some mockingly called him an "alchemist." The old man had a peculiar habit of repeating a certain phrase:
"I know a place where diamonds pile up like rivers. That place, however, is man-made."

Naturally, Euphil didn’t believe him at first. Yet, he found the old man amusing and often spent time with him. Perhaps it reminded him of Gelbart, or maybe he simply enjoyed the absurdity of the old man’s tales.

In those moments, Euphil often thought of Myrthi. Memories of their time together would fill him with a bittersweet nostalgia. At the age of eighteen, three years since he had last seen her, such recollections had become a quiet ache.