Chapter Four: The Angel Statue

In the early morning, Ling Xiaolei stepped out from a small rented room on a secluded street, carefully locking the door behind her. The makeshift sign above, pieced together from strips of bark, crookedly spelled out: "Ling Xiaolei's Live Studio." The room was scarcely larger than the cart selling meat skewers across the street, furnished with nothing more than a sofa and a wooden table. She had made a living by interviewing a handful of local celebrities or submitting the occasional news article to the city paper.

"Soon I'll be living in the academy dormitory," she sighed, "and perhaps only able to return here on weekends."

She lingered for a moment, locking the door and gazing back with reluctance.

The first light of dawn brushed the horizon, hazy beams spilling onto the cobblestone path before her. Walking straight through the central square would bring her to the Magic Academy, where a statue of the Archangel stood tall.

In the Blackfeather household, Blackfeather kicked open his bedroom door and trudged out, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Slinging a backpack over his shoulder, he descended the staircase. His father, Yisheng, was seated on the sofa, reading the newspaper. On the dining table, a simple breakfast awaited: a small dish of pickles and a pot of plain rice porridge.

"Yixin already left?"

"Oh... yes. Axin went out early, always so eager no matter what he does. You're heading to the Intermediate Magic Academy for enrollment today, aren't you? Eat something before you go."

The middle-aged man glanced up from behind the newspaper, his weathered face marked by years of experience. Though kind and smiling, his eagle-sharp eyes betrayed a brilliance that could never be hidden. He was none other than the head of the Red Flame family, the strongest Saint Magus of the Fire Element, and the Lord of the Holy City. Strangely, in this city, the Lord had no personal guard; the "Holy City Guard," who kept order, answered not to him but were voluntary mages. His way of governing was to read the paper each morning and go fishing by the river.

Blackfeather ate quickly and carelessly. The breakfast was plain, but it was clearly made by Yixin, not his father—his father's cooking could only be described as a culinary disaster.

"Blackfeather, I heard you were at the scene yesterday..."

A chill ran down Blackfeather's spine. "Yesterday" could only refer to the incident that had shaken the Holy City—the "Demon Invasion." He had not only ignored his father's warnings but had used dark magic in the city and confronted the demons in public. It was as though he wanted to advertise his possession of the forbidden "dark power."

Swallowing the last mouthful, he mumbled, "I—I'm done eating!"

He shoved the chair back, grabbed his bag, and hurried out the door, fearing another lecture from his father.

"Speaking of your academy's headmaster, he and I are old acquaintances... How I miss those youthful days..."

After Blackfeather left, Lord Yisheng lingered on the sofa, his gaze distant and a warm smile on his face, lost in memories.

Blackfeather walked on beneath the rising sun. In front of the Magic Academy, the pure white statue of the Archangel towered above. It was not only the symbol of the city but also the object of the people's faith. Because of the statue, the city's residents even enjoyed the privilege of not having to kneel to the royal family.

A ray of sunlight fell upon the angel's face, imbuing it with an unspeakable sense of sanctity and solemnity. Ling Xiaolei stood alone and small beneath the towering statue, hands clasped devoutly at her chest, fingers entwined as if silently praying.

Blackfeather strolled over indifferently and nudged her elbow.

"Hey, what are you spacing out for?"

"Shh... This is the Archangel's statue. He is the god who brought magic to this world five thousand years ago and the one who drove away the Demon King to bring peace to mankind! Whenever you silently invoke his name, he will bless you."

Blackfeather shrugged. "Tch, that's just superstition—a statue is all it is..."

He glanced at the Archangel with disdain, noticing the angel’s gentle, downcast expression. He appeared young, handsome, and not much older than himself.

"Archangel, please bless me..." Ling Xiaolei whispered reverently.

A strange sense of intuition welled up in him. His nose tickled, and he turned aside awkwardly, muttering under his breath, "If you're going to invoke anyone, you’d be better off invoking me..."

More students were arriving to register. Ling Xiaolei followed Blackfeather forward. He didn't notice that, as she bowed her head, the much shorter Ling Xiaolei discreetly wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

A moment ago, standing before the Archangel, she had recalled how, at six years old, she lost her entire clan and fled, drifting from a hidden village on the western coast across the sea on a raft, all to find this city—gleaming like a jewel in the heart of the continent—and to stand before the legendary Archangel.

This was the last safe harbor in her ocean of suffering. For she had heard that only in the Holy City’s Magic Academy were dark elves accepted as students.

"In this city, people of every race will be loved and cared for equally." Those were the words the Lord of Red Flame had said to her on her first day, when she slipped in among the refugees.

The sky was blue, white clouds drifting lazily, and the gentle spring sunlight bathed the tranquil academy grounds. Headmaster Yunlan stood atop the steps before the main teaching building, welcoming the new students in person. Lined up on either side of him were the instructors of each magical discipline, their various colored robes fluttering in the breeze, their gem-encrusted staffs sparkling in the sunlight.

Headmaster Yunlan stepped forward. Tall and elegant, he wore the resplendent Headmaster’s white robe, draped with the blue wind-mage cloak bestowed by the continent’s highest magical institution, the Pantheon. The faint blue glow of wind magic shimmered about him, perfectly matching his flowing pale blue hair, lending him an air of ethereal grace.

Though he was the academy’s chief, not a trace of aloofness clung to him. Rather, a gentle serenity softened his handsome features—a beauty with a touch of the androgynous.

His voice was gentle as water, drawing all who heard it to lean in closer:

"Today is the first day of enrollment for intermediate mages. I know each and every one of you stands here because you carry dreams in your hearts!"

He surveyed the crowd, elegantly raising both hands.

"To become a mage is the dream of everyone across this land. Beyond innate talent, it requires diligence and effort. Whether you become an outstanding mage depends on you!"

Blackfeather had heard of this headmaster, the continent’s greatest wind-mage, known as "Windblade." But it was said that, after joining the academy, he devoted himself wholly to nurturing the next generation, and the tales of his exploits faded into legend.

"Before you are assigned to your classes, I will test each of you for your magical affinity and physical potential."