21 Orphanage

[ Name: Ren Arken

Age: 14

Race: Human

Strength: 500

Agility: 10, 000

Vitality: 2, 000

Mana: ~~~

Spiritual: ~~~

Intellect: 1, 000

Unique Skills:

-magic cards -appraisal -evil gaze -strengthen -leap -basic magics -fire magic -Fire Archmagic -illusion magic -water magic -light magic -nature magic -Grimoire of death -Real Clone [Heavenly Slime] -Eye of Wisdom ]

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Avalon Magic Academy

Avalon magic academy is an academy whose name is very famous on the continent, Everyone from the continent wants to enter the Avalon magic academy. Every military department, like the knight order, the magic department, or the adventurer guild, welcomed every graduate from the Avalon magic academy.

Avalon magic academy is famous for its unique teachings that differ for every year, and for their graduates who are sure to be high-quality combatants. One of the requirements to enter the Avalon magic academy is, the registrant must be at the age of 14.

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"Is that all you got?" Oz said, his voice laced with a confident smirk that danced upon his lips like a flickering flame.

He drew the cloak's hood over half his face, shrouding his features in mystery, leaving only his nose and mouth visible to the curious crowd. Murmurs rippled through the onlookers as they whispered among themselves, wondering who this enigmatic hero was and from whence he came.

The noble youth, his face contorted with indignation, stuttered, "Y-y-y-y-you, how dare you!"

"I'm a noble! You can't offend me!" he protested weakly, his bravado crumbling as he surveyed his collapsed bodyguards with growing panic.

"I don't care whether you're a noble, a merchant, or a peasant," Oz declared, his voice ringing with conviction. "What I know is that this child's life is more precious than yours. So scram!"

His words struck the noble like a bolt of lightning, draining the color from his face and sending shivers down his spine. With a cowardly whimper, he fled the scene, leaving his abandoned bodyguards in his wake.

As the tension dissolved, Oz exhaled a sigh of relief and turned his attention to the child, who stood before him unharmed, a look of gratitude shining in their eyes.

"Are you okay, kid?" Oz asked, genuine concern softening his features.

"Yes! Thanks for saving me!" the child exclaimed, their voice filled with innocent gratitude.

"You're welcome," Oz replied, his heart warmed by the child's bright smile. ("The feeling of receiving appreciation does indeed feel nice," he mused silently to himself.)

Before Oz could bask in the moment, however, a voice cut through the air like a chill wind, disrupting the tranquility.

"I don't need your help," the girl with cold eyes interjected, her tone as frosty as her gaze.

Just like her eyes.

Her words, though brief, echoed with a glacial disdain that matched her icy demeanor.

"I don't intend to help you," Oz retorted, his smile unwavering despite the girl's chilly reception. "I'm helping this child."

The girl's response was as frigid as ever as she turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd.

Seeing the altercation had ended, the crowd dispersed, returning to their previous activities with a sense of relief.

Oz heaved a heavy sigh, his thoughts lingering on the encounter with the cold-eyed girl. ("What a cold personality," he mused, "people with that kind of eyes always have a dark past.")

"Hey, kid, what's your name?" Oz inquired gently, turning his attention to the boy with the messy gray hair.

"Nash!" the boy exclaimed with a wide grin, his innocent eyes shining with gratitude.

"Okay, Nash. Where are your parents?" Oz asked, his voice filled with concern.

"I don't know!" Nash replied with a carefree shrug.

"You don't know? Hmm..." Oz pondered for a moment. "Then tell me, where's your home? I'll accompany you there."

Nash eagerly accepted Oz's offer, his trust in his savior evident in his bright smile. His innocence warmed Oz's heart, reminding him of the purity that often lay buried beneath the harsh realities of the world.

As they walked, Oz couldn't shake the anger that simmered within him at the thought of innocent children like Nash being oppressed by arrogant nobles. ("Does incidents like that happen often?" he questioned Nash, his voice tinged with concern.)

Nash's expression darkened with sadness as he nodded. "Yes, bad nobles often bully peasants like us," he admitted, his voice heavy with the weight of experience.

(So oppression from nobles to peasants is a usual occurrence here)

(Well, that's not unexpected. Even on Earth, oppression and abuse of the lower class are all too common)

"Big bro! We're here!" Nash exclaimed, tugging on Oz's sleeve to get his attention.

Startled from his reverie, Oz looked up to find himself standing before a grand sign that read: LIBERAL ORPHANAGE

His heart sank as he realized Nash's home was not a traditional household but a two-story orphanage. Despite the realization, Nash seemed content, his cheerful demeanor unwavering.

(He must be happy being here)

Oz thought, his heart heavy with a mixture of sympathy and admiration for the resilient boy.

"Nash!" a hoarse voice called out from the direction of the orphanage, drawing their attention.

Turning, Oz spotted an elderly man with a white beard and hair, walking towards them with the aid of a sturdy stick. Grandpa Kyron, as Nash affectionately called him, exuded an air of wisdom and calmness that belied his age.

"Grandpa Kyron!" Nash exclaimed joyfully, rushing to embrace the old man.

Observing the interaction between Nash and Grandpa Kyron, Oz couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over him. There was something about the old man's piercing gaze that made him feel exposed, as if his very soul was laid bare before him.

"Can you introduce me to the young man who came together with you, Nash?" Grandpa Kyron's voice was gentle yet carried a hint of scrutiny as his sharp eyes assessed Oz.

"My name is Ren. It's a pleasure to meet you, respected elder," Oz greeted respectfully, bowing his head in deference to the elderly man. Despite the faint sense of danger emanating from Grandpa Kyron's gaze, Oz attributed it to the natural caution of a guardian meeting a stranger with his grandchild.

"What a well-mannered young man. Good manners are a rare sight these days," Grandpa Kyron chuckled warmly, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"Don't be too tense, Ren. I've heard about how you saved Nash from trouble with a noble. I should be grateful to you. Thank you," Grandpa Kyron expressed his gratitude sincerely.

"I merely did what any decent person would do," Oz replied modestly.

"Hahaha, come, come in. Let's have a chat inside, Ren!" Grandpa Kyron's jovial demeanor put Oz at ease as they entered the orphanage together.

The double doors of the orphanage swung open with a resounding creak, revealing a lively scene within. The sounds of chatter, laughter, and occasional squabbles among the children filled the air, painting a picture of bustling activity.

As they stepped inside, Oz observed the children ranging around ten years old, engaged in various activities. Some played games, others read books, while a few engaged in friendly banter.

"Hey kids, no fighting!" Grandpa Kyron's authoritative voice halted a dispute over a game among the children, instantly restoring order.

"Yes, Grandpa Kyron!" the children chorused obediently, their eyes wide with innocence as they glanced at the unfamiliar guest standing beside their beloved guardian.

With a warm smile, Oz greeted the children, their innocent curiosity eliciting a grin from him.

"Let's continue this inside, Ren," Grandpa Kyron gestured for Oz to follow him towards his room, located at the east corner of the building.

Entering the room, Oz couldn't help but notice the subtle but palpable aura of mana that surrounded the space. Despite its simplicity, the room exuded an air of tranquility and wisdom, reflecting the character of its occupant.

With a pair of chairs arranged around a small table, a bookshelf, and a closet, the room was modest yet inviting, offering a glimpse into the life of the venerable guardian of the orphanage.

"Come, sit here, Ren," Grandpa Kyron beckoned, gesturing towards a comfortable chair positioned opposite him.

Oz accepted the invitation graciously, settling into the chair with a polite demeanor.

With a thoughtful expression, Grandpa Kyron folded his arms and closed his eyes, as if deep in contemplation.

"So, Ren, I want to express my gratitude once again for intervening in Nash's plight with the young noble," Grandpa Kyron began, his voice tinged with appreciation.

"It was the least I could do," Oz replied humbly, echoing his earlier sentiment.

"A noble gesture indeed. But do you know whom you offended?" Grandpa Kyron raised an eyebrow, his tone carrying a hint of curiosity.

Oz's mind raced as he recalled the encounter, realizing the significance of provoking a noble accompanied by a retinue of bodyguards.

"As I suspected, you were unaware. Are you new to this town?" Grandpa Kyron inquired gently.

"Yes, I am," Oz admitted, his expression reflecting a blend of resignation and determination.

"The youth you confronted is none other than the sole heir of Lord Kevil Snyder, the count of this city. His father wields considerable influence, and his indulgence of his son knows no bounds," Grandpa Kyron explained solemnly.

(Damn)

"But fear not. Your act of bravery has earned my gratitude, and I shall ensure your safety. Nevertheless, I advise caution in your future dealings, as antagonizing a noble can lead to dire consequences," Grandpa Kyron advised sagely.

"Enough of the serious matters. I feel compelled to reward you for your bravery. Is there anything you desire?" Grandpa Kyron's tone shifted, offering Oz the opportunity to request assistance.

"Well, if it's not too much to ask, I would appreciate any opportunity to work," Oz replied, his practical nature shining through.

"Hmm... a place to work, you say? And how old are you, Ren?" Grandpa Kyron inquired, studying Oz with a keen eye.

"I'm fourteen," Oz responded evenly.

"Fourteen, you say? Very well. Do you possess any particular skills or talents?" Grandpa Kyron probed further, his interest piqued.

Oz considered his options carefully. His knowledge of science was irrelevant in this world, but his proficiency with a sword could prove useful.

"I have some skill in swordsmanship," Oz revealed, his tone confident.

"Swordsmanship, you say? Hmm... Would you be willing to demonstrate your skills?" Grandpa Kyron's request was accompanied by a sudden shift in the atmosphere, as if a storm was brewing.

(So, the old man wants to test me, huh?)

Oz smirked inwardly, meeting Grandpa Kyron's gaze head-on.

To his surprise, Grandpa Kyron's reaction was not what he expected. The old man emitted an intense aura, laden with killing intent, yet Oz remained unfazed.

'Who is this kid?' Grandpa Kyron wondered, astounded by Oz's unwavering resolve.

"Interesting indeed! If you prove yourself in this sword fight, I shall appoint you as the sword trainer at this orphanage!" Grandpa Kyron declared with enthusiasm, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Oz's smirk widened into a grin, ready to embrace the challenge that lay ahead.