The dorm was quiet at the fourth bell.
Isaac sat cross-legged on the floor, with his eyes closed and breathing settled into the rhythm he has familiarized himself with over the course of time.
The Festival of Foundation was over. Starting today, academy resumes, and everything will return to normal—or that's what others would think, he assumed.
In the end, nothing resolved.
The culprit who sabotaged his wands was still unknown. The culprit who hired Atticus to eliminate him within the Mechanism Room was still unknown, except for the fact that it was someone from House Valerius. Those who stopped professor Thorne, professor Maren, and professor Andrias in their operation were still unknown. The assassination attempts at him from Solari Empire would likely continue.
However, that didn't mean that his work up until now wasn't fruitless. Now, he was aware of more than before.
One, House Terra, House Hedron—or its head at the very least, and House Clodia were involved in the renegade. The fact that one of the Five Pillars as well as the most noted high noble were part of it suggested that there were likely more houses that were involved. Coupled with the discovery of the academy's headmaster, Seran Crane, too being a betrayer, Isaac was starting to see how hopeless the situation of the Aetherion Kingdom was.
Two, the research journal that he briefly read back in the underground facility. It suggested that it wasn't impossible to elevate the rank of a skill. Hollow King himself is a researcher. He wondered if his rumored SS-rank skill was artificially attained, if Remian Aetherion was the same.
Point is, the war wasn't just imminent in capital—it was already here. It was a silent war that was ongoing in shadows, unknown by the oblivious who lived their daily lives. It was at a scale that no average person had a control over.
Then, how would he survive through this? The answer was surprisingly simple.
He had to become strong, stronger than he was now. Strong enough that he won't lose against anyone, that even if he were to combat Silas Fulgur again, he would win without a problem.
In his mind flickered his instinctive operation of [Condesnation] before the explosion, one that provided him a brittle ice shield that, no matter how negligible it may have seemed, absorbed some extent of impact.
Ice.
He still didn't fully understand what he had done in that final second, but he had an idea.
It was the amplification of [Condensation] that responded to his desperation. His subconsciousness likely accelerated his cognition on its own, before inputting as much mana as he could utilizing his mana thread method.
Condensation was the phase transition of matter from gas to liquid. It typically involved the appreciation of pressure and depreciation of temperature. If two factors are amplified, it produces enough energy to further induce a phase transition from liquid to solid—known as freezing.
For his case, the amount of energy he input was sufficient enough to break through the limit between liquid and solid as well. He instinctively performed a deposition, which was the immediate phase transition of gas to solid.
Opening his eyes, he raised his finger.
[Condensation].
The usual droplet of water condensed at his fingertip, just as how it always did.
It didn't end there. He supplied the waterdrop a greater magnitude of pressure, all while releasing its heat.
It wasn't long until it became a tiny granule of ice that dropped to the floor and bounced slightly. In a matter of seconds, it melted into water.
The amount of mana required for deposition, although much more so than condensation, is a lot less than what the supercritical fluid generation requires. Isaac thought, problem lies on the fact that it takes time, and I need an abundance of water to maximize its effectiveness.
He frowned, for deposition didn't feel difficult. Rather, it felt as if he was just one step away from reaching its answer.
Breathing out, he stood up. His mind felt blank, still not fully recovered from all that he's gone through.
He walked up to the window and gazed at the outside that was still dark. It was early in the morning, and the sun hasn't risen yet.
He then inspected his legs. Compared to yesterday, it appeared that the limp was not as pronounced anymore. It was still there, but not to an extent that produced pain or discomfort.
He washed. Dressed. Prepared for the day. Grabbed his iron charm and sheathed knife by the table. The time was between fifth and sixth bell by then.
Then, a knock came by the door, gently as if it wasn't meant to wake him if he were to be sleeping.
"Who's there?" Walking up to the door, he asked.
"Isaac, it's me." It was Elara's voice that returned.
He proceeded to open the door and found Elara standing by the corridor. She stood with specific rigidity of someone who had rehearsed and anticipated this moment, without matching him in the eye.
"Elara," he said. "It's early in the morning." He tried to treat her the way he always did, "don't you usually sleep longer?" Unfortunately, his conversation with her didn't feel as natural as it did before. He felt a certain degree of awkwardness, as if their relationship has eroded into something less.
"I—" She glanced at him before quickly lowering her head back, her demeanor suggesting guilt. "I wanted to apologize. For last night." She took in a deep breath. "What I did, with—" She gestured vaguely. "I shouldn't have. Pretending that… yes."
He remembered when Elara defended him against Jax months ago. He remembered the first year of the academy that they spent together as friends.
People change. The thought of it made him feel bitter. Elara acquired a skill of high rank that can potentially elevate her status. To take the chance, she needed to minimize her connection with him, who was shunned from the noble society.
But… could he be angry at her for that? After all, it wasn't as if siding with him came with perks.
"You don't need to apologize." In the end, he stated. Regardless of how painful it was to admit it, he understood Elara. To her, who was a commoner the entire life, an opportunity like this was a chance that couldn't go ignored.
Elara didn't say anything for a while, but maintained an apologetic posture. Then, she peeked by the side, which he caught.
Shadows. Footsteps echoing through the corridor. Someone was walking toward them, and Elara seemed alarmed, as if she didn't want others to see the two of them together.
"…Thank you." She said, timidly. She then looked up at him with a gloomy expression, "that's… all I had to say."
"I see."
"…I will take my leave then."
Isaac studied her rigidity. "See you later," he nodded.
Elara flinched at his words. Wordlessly, she left his door, hurriedly walking in the direction opposite from where the footsteps were heard from.
Elara disappeared around the corner, just when another student revealed himself from the opposite end. He raised an eyebrow upon finding Isaac, who stood still by the entrance of his room, before fastening his pace to walk past him as quickly as he could.
The iron charm still sat in Isaac's pocket. Slowly, he reached for it. Took it out and inspected it as he felt its rough texture against his skin.
He gave a dry chuckle. Placed the iron charm back in his pocket. Closing the door, he left his room.
…
The garden of Golden Repose carried its usual quiet when Isaac arrived.
Among the flowers, there was Irine, seated on the same bench where they had spoken before. Her posture was loose in the way it only was when she expected no one to interrupt her solitude.
Silently, Isaac took a seat at some distance away from her, at a separate bench. He didn't speak—he wasn't here to converse. He was here to rest his thoughts.
"You're limping." Finding the silence unusual, Irine was eventually the one to initiate a conversation, as she looked at him flatly.
"Is it still noticeable?"
"Yes."
"It's gotten better than the day before." Isaac said, "and it'll heal eventually."
The stillness on her face broke. With an open concern, she studied his leg. "Is it that you always manage to find troubles, or that troubles manage to find their ways on you?"
Isaac gave some thought to it, as he looked up at the sky that had the quality of darker blue before the sunrise. "Both, I suppose."
Irine breathed. She then grimaced, as if there was a sensitive matter to discuss. "I heard about the tournament," she said. "Caldwin Pass."
"You heard quickly."
"The night of festival wasn't as silent as you may have believed." Her voice was flat, carefully so. "It was the only thing everyone talked about."
He looked at her. He knew what was in her mind. However, he didn't voice it.
"Ironway Merchants… is the name of my family's trade business. We made fortunes, enough for them to give me the luxury of living in here, the Golden Repose." She seemed to be lamenting, as she leaned her delicate face into her palm, with her corresponding elbow on her thigh. "The extent of our profit has grown substantially over the years. It was thanks to the war raising demands for supplies, and our decent relationship with Aldo Caldwin, the master of the land who passed away without a successor."
Isaac remained silent. His eyes were still at the sky, but he was listening. Irine knew that.
"Caldwin Pass's ownership will be going to whoever wins the tournament four months after…" Irine muttered. "How fun. To think that my family's fate will fall upon its victor… it's as if I've become the prize of the tournament." She then turned at him, "is that how you think as well?"
Isaac looked at her, whose eyes were sharp.
"I'm Nameless." He said.
Irine stiffened, as if she didn't expect him to say such words.
"Think about repercussions I would face if I were to take the control of this land mass." Isaac's tone was flat. He was nonchalant. "Besides, to win the tournament is equivalent to winning against all those monsters of the higher classes. Pulling off a win against Silas Fulgur already was a miracle, and there is no guarantee that it will happen again."
"…I see." She murmured. Her eyes zoned out in the air, dull and lifeless.
Isaac breathed in the fresh and fragrant air of the garden. "What's in your mind, Irine?"
Irine remained silent to his question. After a while, Isaac turned to face her, wondering the reason behind her silence. She was biting her lips, with her hands tightened in frustration.
For the first time, he witnessed her rage. She was trying to hold it in to maintain her usual poker face but to no avail.
"I…" She gritted her teeth, "I will need to… for the sake of my family…" She then noticed his gaze, wide-eyed. Quickly, she turned away from him. Then, she suddenly asked, "for a while, you bothered to come to this garden in the early morning to chat with me." She asked in a colder tone, "do you pity me?"
"No."
"Then," she breathed in, "do you like me?"
"Yes." Isaac's answer was immediate, and Irine's body shook as if surprised, "you're a likeable fellow."
She seemed to have calmed upon hearing the second half of his response. "As a friend."
"Yes."
"Friends… such a shallow relationship holds no value." Irine mumbled, before speaking sharply, "So, do not."
"Do not what?"
"Do not involve yourself in my matter. Whatever happens from my end... is none of your business."
Her voice was cold. However, it was shaky at the same time.
Isaac brought his back off the bench, changing his posture in a way that better fit a serious conversation.
"You've already put yourself in a dangerous situation. Unnecessarily." She said. "Aldric Zephyr of all people developed spite against you, and it wouldn't have happened if not for your tie with me." She stopped and exhaled. "As you said, you're Nameless. You already have problems of your own to deal with."
"So, do nothing." She whispered. "Be selfish, and—" she paused, "the tournament. As you said, all the participants will be forces to be reckoned with. Yield early and stay out of this matter."
Isaac understood that beneath her clumsy coldness, there was an intention to protect him. He returned his gaze back to the sky as he leaned back into the bench.
D-rank: [Glamour]. A natural-born beauty. Commoner in status. Powerless against nobles.
…Perhaps he did pity her.
"There is no need to feel guilty of my consequences." At last, he spoke, gentler than he usually was. "They are the consequences that I brought. Nothing less, nothing more." She was still turned away from him. "Still, I will respect your decision. Should you not hope for my involvement…" He nodded, "I will stay put for my sake. But,"
He remembered his past. He knew the loneliness. Loneliness was the reason why he ended up bonding with Irine, with others, even though he held nothing but distrust to his surroundings.
"Should you need someone to talk to, I will be available."
She didn't respond to that. She was still turned against him, and the conversation closed the way most of their conversations did—without resolution, without either of them fully satisfied, but with something quietly understood regardless.
Standing up, she left the garden without any further word. He let her go, in silence that she seemed to want.
And so, Isaac thought as he was now left alone in the garden, be it good or bad, time continues to go on.
He didn't know whether he should be happy about it or not.