After a few minutes of walking, he finally arrived.

The Dining Hall was enormous — no, perhaps colossal was the best word for it — a ridiculously large space that was obviously intended to accommodate the first-year scholar’s entire body.

The ceiling arched high above, resembling the interior of a magnificent cathedral devoted to ravenous youth and appetite.

Sunlight poured in through the large windows that lined the upper walls, illuminating the well-organised rows of tables with an almost cinematic intensity.

The aroma of freshly cooked food filled the air, creating a perplexing symphony of smells. Spices clashed with roasted richness, savoury notes tangled with sweetness, and all of it drifted through the hall indefinitely.

Beneath that fragrant chaos lingered the countless voices overlapping into an indistinct hum, occasionally broken by the sharp clatter of trays, utensils, and chairs shifting across shiny floors.

It was very boisterous.

Or better yet... clamorous!

Ruvian usually took up his familiar seat among the scholars of his own class, occupying his usual space.

He had always benefited from routine, and even more so from anonymity.

But today... today would be different.

’Now then... where are they?’

His gaze intently moved across the crowded hall, ignoring the blur of unfamiliar figures until it finally settled upon a face that he was looking for.

Yerin stood there, signaling toward him with a small wave of her hand.

She had already assembled the other assigned teammates at the table.

Three faces he did not recognize sat beside her, which he managed to recall their names; Arlok, Shima, and Horren.

Noticing their gazes settled on him, Ruvian gave a slight nod of his head in their direction. But before heading towards them, Ruvian diverted his path toward the food counters first.

The Dining Hall’s selection of meals was, frankly, excessive.

Countless dishes lined the counters, each one seemingly crafted to appeal to a different cultural preference.

It almost looked like the institution had bent itself backwards just to make sure no scholar would ever dare complain — assuming, of course, if they could afford the luxury of choice.

For choice, here, it was never really about preference. It was about who had the coins.

If your pockets were heavy enough, every door would open wide for you. If not... if you were broke... well, you would usually end up getting hit by those doors instead.

Letting his gaze drift slowly across the long stretch of food, Ruvian observed the countless dishes laid out in neat abundance. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

In the end, he chose unreservedly.

Because truly, what was the point of possessing a mountain of gold so generously given by Silvena if he did not indulge himself, right?

Such a thing would be downright disrespectful to wealth itself!

If there was something he wished to eat, then naturally, he would eat it.

And he would eat well.

Of course, there was no need to behave like a feral glutton. That would be distasteful. Decorum, in this world, still existed, after all. Even with abundance within reach, one should at least maintain a semblance of restraint.

Thus, what rested upon his tray were tender slices of herb-crusted venison seared to a perfect brush, accompanied by butter-glazed young carrot and asparagus spears.

And finally, he took a glass of pomegranate juice, and a modest portion of saffron rice, complemented by a clear consommé that reflected the soft glow of the hall’s light.

Grumbling traitorously, his stomach twisted in loud, pitiful protest. Ruvian found himself staring far too intently at the food — perilously close to drooling at some point.

"I can’t even remember the last time I had something properly edible," he muttered with a slight chuckle before paying for it.

"It seems... I’m craving it more than I’d like to admit."

Balancing his tray, Ruvian made his way toward the reserved table. With a thin smile, Yerin gestured toward an empty seat next to her.

"Ruvian, over here."

Ruvian simply gave her a simple nod.

Once he reached the table, the first person who drew his attention was a robust young man bearing a grotesque scar that stretched from one corner of his mouth to the edge of his ear.

His sharp brown eyes carried a piercing steadiness, set against tanned skin and short, spiky hair marked by a single streak of white.

The man clicked his tongue.

From the well-toned build of his muscles and the strength that seemed to emanate from his mere presence — Ruvian could already tell he belonged to Class B.

He must be Arlok Carnam.

Seated beside him was a short, petite young woman with short hair of bright lilac and eyes of deep violet.

Noticing his approach, she offered nothing more than a brief nod of acknowledgment.

Since Yerin belonged to Class A, only one female remained in his squad — thus, he concluded she could only be Shima Lesla.

Lastly was Horren Volc, easily the tallest among them.

Despite having nearly as much muscle as Arlok, he looked oddly out of place, as if he wasn’t entirely comfortable being part of this gathering.

Ruvian gave them a small nod before setting his tray down on the table.

Velthia Academy liked to boast about its merit-based system, yet the unspoken distance between the different classes was hard to ignore.

Scholars from Class A rarely mingled with those from Class E. Class B had little reason to interact with Class C. It wasn’t hostility, just a quiet sense of separation that everyone seemed to accept.

Maybe that was why they arranged a joint test like this.

Still... it felt a little hypocritical.

Yerin, clearly aware of the atmosphere, took the initiative.

"I hope you didn’t have trouble finding us."

Ruvian shook his head lightly.

"Not at all."

Then, Arlok’s gaze drifted toward Ruvian’s tray.

For a brief moment, the large man simply stared, his brows slowly drawing together as he took in the sheer indulgence laid before him.

It was the sort of meal that quietly announced its price without needing to be named.

Arlok let out a low whistle.

"Well now... that’s quite the spread you have," he remarked, leaning back slightly, though his eyes never quite left the tray.

"Did the cooks mistake you for a visiting noble?"

His large hand rested casually on the table.

"Surely, you can spare a portion of that, right?"

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[Chapter 133: Chaos in the Dining Hall (2)]

Plot Points= 18,430