A Barbarian Was Admitted To The Academy Chapter 1 Novels & Stories

“Which way to the quarters that don’t have pixies or werewolves?” As a security officer nervously led him away, the rest of the team was left standing in the hall, staring at the spot where he had been. The air still felt colder. The chapter of their simple recruitment had just ended. A new one, filled with ancient demons, gray morality, and a boy who carried the weight of a paradox, had just begun. ---

“I was leading a tour for new recruits in the forest. We were near the ridge when I sensed we were being watched. Before I could give a full warning, rogues and hunters emerged from the trees. They were coordinated. They targeted me specifically. I told the recruits to run back to the academy for help then I fought to hold them off. I was wounded and lost consciousness. I woke up here, in the castle infirmary.” I kept it brief and factual, just like I’d been trained to report an incident at the academy. “And why,” Baron Vane’s smooth, unpleasant voice cut in, “were you leading recruits? The Royal Academy has never, in its centuries of history, admitted a female candidate. Why the exception?

Soral steps back, ghost-white with horror. Suddenly, the barbarian's cottage doesn't seem so bad. * *

Come and I’d kill you! Animals should be spoken to like animals. And the Barbarian Lord did just that. In a world were only strength was valued, he made his own statement. The power of a Half Step into the Phenom Realm powerhouse was his own, and he announced it like a dragon descending upon a mountain. The Barbarian Lord was a Pseudo Phenom at the peak of his power, and his might was not to be underestimated. Like a ghost his steps were inscrutable and his figure almost a blur. He moved like a fleeting shadow, irritatingly so like a mosquito in the eyes of the Ice Bear. For just like that tiny and prickly creature, it wasn’t able to keep its eyes on the elusive figure of the man who ruled t

At the strange, alien ache in his chest he couldn’t place. He cursed under his breath, rolling onto his back and staring at the beams above. What the hell was wrong with him? It was nearly dawn when exhaustion finally won, and even then, his sleep was shallow. ★★★ ★★★ When the first light spilled across the floor, the academy was already stirring. Baron rose without ceremony, adjusted the bandage along his cheekbone where Lucian Speare’s knife had split the skin, and stepped out into the hall with his baggage. Eloine was there, tightening the strap on her satchel and baggages.

I am not entirely sure if these Academy myths truly worked or were simply myths at all. Eventually the Barbarian’s numbers lessened, I could already see some staggering away and running back through the breach in the wall. We all cheered as the last one ran off into the breach and began to breathe easily; some even began ransacking a food crate that was sitting nearby. But like every jolt of happiness in this world, this one was short lived.

It was for some academy that Balor wanted to build, allowing beings from all walks of life to join and train. It sounded like a crazy idea, but I was only half listening as I assessed every individual here. The one I kept finding myself returning to was a beast of a male. His dirty blonde hair, grey eyes, and a mean scar across his left eye were among the few things that made him intimidating. He had furs draped over his shoulders and a warrior look about him. But what really set me on edge was how unpredictable he looked. And not the Balor kind of unpredictable but the type who would mark you as an enemy without your knowledge and kill you in your sleep kind of unpredictable. "-let's vote t

Raw, merciless, and dripping with lust, this is a story of a king who would burn kingdoms for the perfect fuck. Chapter 1: The Royal Claim King Torvald lounged on his massive obsidian throne, one leg draped over the armrest, as the heavy doors of the great hall swung open and his returning war party dragged in their latest prizes. At thirty eight, Torvald was a mountain of a man, broad-shouldered, thick with muscle from years of conquest, his dark hair streaked with silver and his body marked by scars that only made him more imposing. His cock, already half-hard beneath his crimson robes, twitched at the sight of the newest captive: a towering barbarian warrior captured from the northern tri

Chapter 41: A primal snarl tore from her throat, her eyes shifting into a fierce crimson glow. The atmosphere dropped, the air thick with a suffocating coldness. She lunged forward with an astonishing speed, a blur of brown. Her sharp dark nails struck, aiming for my chest, but I sidestepped. The crowd cheered, a mix of anticipation and excitement. With a loud roar, she successfully dug her claws into my shoulders, drawing blood, a stark contrast to my white fur. I groaned, slamming my body against hers, making her lose balance. We rolled across the ground, biting and clawing at each other.

Her hands were always like this, dry, split, aching. No one cared. Behind her, the main doors slid open. A shift in the room followed instantly, voices lowering just slightly, posture straightening without thought. Warriors. They moved in groups, their uniforms marked in gold along the sleeves and collar. Some of them were barely older than her, but it didn’t matter. Rank settled early. Strength decided everything. “Move.” A shoulder knocked into her as one passed. The tray slipped in her grip, clattering loudly against the counter.