God's Tree-Chapter 224: Return of the Prodigies

Argolaith stood silently in the narrow stone corridor, the cold air humming faintly with the residue of spatial magic. The hidden entrance Elder Mirith had passed through was now sealed—its archway unmarked by anything obvious, but Argolaith could still sense the weight of the runes embedded in its surface.

The passage was dimly lit by slow-burning wall glyphs, casting faint shadows that danced like ghosts.

He didn't approach the door.

Not yet.

Instead, he leaned against the wall just beyond its reach, arms folded, expression unreadable.

Watching. Waiting.

It wasn't long before footsteps echoed once more.

Soft. Deliberate.

Argolaith straightened slightly.

From the dim corridor beyond came a figure—then two, then three. All dressed differently than the average student robes. Their silhouettes were tall, composed. Their clothing bore the academy's crest, yes—but customized with flourishes rarely granted to anyone outside the Top-100 Registry. And the aura they carried…

Power.

The first to step into view was a young man with dark copper skin and hair pulled back into a single braid bound by mana-threaded rings. His coat shimmered with warding runes etched in golden ink, and a coiled crimson serpent familiar slithered lazily around his shoulders.

His gaze was sharp, dangerous, but composed. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

He didn't even glance at the walls. He knew exactly where he was going.

Behind him came a tall girl in monochrome robes woven with shifting silver threads. Her eyes glowed faintly violet. As she passed a light glyph, the wall itself bent slightly around her, rippling for just a second before settling back into stone.

Spatial mage. Advanced. Possibly anchor-class.

And the third—

A boy with no visible aura.

He looked… simple.

Plain, even. But Argolaith's eyes narrowed the moment he saw him.

He walked like someone who'd seen death and decided it was beneath him.

No wasted motion.

No fear.

And when he passed the door, it opened before his token even touched the stone.

Automatic recognition.

The three of them entered without a word.

No hesitation.

No announcement.

Argolaith remained where he was, shadows clinging to his coat as the seal reformed.

He considered what he'd just seen.

They weren't ordinary students. They weren't even instructors in disguise.

They were returning prodigies.

The kinds Veylan had warned him about.

The kinds Caelus had mentioned before his defeat:

("Just wait until the prodigies come back from personal training.")

And now, they were here.

Walking into a secret classroom beneath the Dimensional Mechanics Tower.

A classroom where Elder Mirith had gone.

And possibly more.

So this is where the real academy begins, Argolaith thought.

Not the surface-level lectures.

Not the public arenas or open merit competitions.

This was the layer beneath it all.

He reached into his coat, fingers brushing over the coin-shaped token Arvail had given him.

It still pulsed softly with permission.

But the question was no longer if he could enter.

It was:

When.

And what awaited him on the other side.

Argolaith remained in the shadowed corridor, leaning against the stone wall that now felt more like the edge of something sacred.

Ten minutes passed.

During that time, eleven students entered the hidden classroom. Each one dressed in personalized variants of the academy uniform. Polished, tailored, high-grade mana thread—woven with specialized enchantments. No two looked the same, but all shared a common trait:

Confidence.

These weren't students fresh from the arena or lecture halls.

They were refined weapons—sharpened by time, training, and secrets.

And when the twelfth student arrived, Argolaith moved.

He didn't walk carelessly.

Instead, he folded his presence inward—drawing his aura close to his skin, slipping into the still spaces between breath and sound. His footsteps made no echo. His mana pulse vanished, suppressed entirely beneath a layered weave of awareness and nullification.

No cloaking spell.

Just perfect discipline.

Unless someone was actively searching for him, he didn't exist.

He moved silently behind the twelfth student as they approached the sealed archway. As the student pressed their token to the glyph-plate, the door shimmered and rolled open.

Argolaith passed through, one step behind them—then veered silently toward the back of the room, his figure vanishing into the furthest corner where shadow and shifting arc-light met.

He leaned against the wall.

And waited.

The hidden classroom was massive—far larger than the tower should've allowed.

Walls of ancient runestone arched high overhead, marked with runes that didn't glow, but breathed. The chamber pulsed faintly with dimensional energy, making space feel fluid, as if the floor and ceiling were subtly at odds with each other.

Floating desks formed a semi-circle in the center, and around them sat twelve students—each one already deep in conversation, quiet casting, or analysis of projected rune arrays.

No one noticed him.

Not a soul.

Except one.

At the far end of the room, near a stone dais, Elder Mirith stood still, robes like drifting smoke, her silver eyes gliding slowly across the room—until they rested briefly on Argolaith.

Her expression didn't change.

No announcement.

No surprise.

Just acknowledgment.

Then, she turned back to the class and raised her hand. The room fell silent at once.

"Today, we begin a new cycle of the Unveiled Lessons."

Her voice was soft. Cold. And yet it cut through the air like a blade.

"But before that, there is a matter of presence. There will be… a new student."

She let the words hang in the air.

Several of the prodigies exchanged glances.

"He will not be introduced today."

"He will not take a seat."

"He will join when the path folds to let him in."

Confusion stirred.

A few of the students turned to each other, whispering.

But then one—the tall girl with silver-threaded robes who had entered earlier—spoke aloud, her voice low but laced with arrogance.

"What's so special about this… 'new student'?" she asked. "If he's meant to join us, then why hide him like a secret? What kind of magic does he even have?"

Another student chimed in from the second row, chuckling under his breath.

"Probably another fire mage with a family crest and delusions of grandeur."

The room chuckled.

But Elder Mirith raised a hand.

The room fell silent instantly.

Her voice came calmly.

"If Argolaith chose to, he could destroy the pocket realm we are standing in."

The laughter stopped.

A dead pause fell across the chamber.

The smug expressions drained from the students' faces, leaving only pale uncertainty behind. Some blinked. One student swallowed visibly. Even the girl in silver robes tensed, the condescension slipping from her posture as her hands dropped away from her casting focus.

No one spoke again.

And in the far corner of the room, still unseen, still wrapped in stillness—

Argolaith nearly laughed.

Just barely, he held it back. A faint smile curled his lips. His shoulders shifted once with the weight of suppressed amusement.

He hadn't said a word.

But his name had already reshaped the room.