School resumed. Weapons training resumed.
Standing at the week of the challenge, the three students from higher class were chosen to face evaluative duels against the top three students of the elite class. Cassiopeia, Magnus, and Randal Ursula were the chosen ones. Isaac surprisingly wasn't, which meant that the challengers acknowledged his competency that he demonstrated during the duel against Silas.
The duels were swift. All three were victorious and successfully defended their spots.
Days continued to go on. Mundanely. It was as if the week of festival and before were dream, with time flowing as peacefully as if it were a year ago.
Now, Isaac breathed as he sat in his room, eyes closed, meditating.
In the blink of an eye, two months passed.
They were into the fourth month's last week now. Two schedules awaited the higher class. One was that just as how they did two months ago, they were now about to face another challenge window from the new top three students of the elite class. Another was that today would be the final session of weapons training.
Breathing out, Isaac felt the rapid revolution of mana thread throughout his Manafold Circuitry.
[Condensation].
A droplet of water formed at the edge of his finger as it always did.
Then, it froze into a tiny pellet of ice. Losing its adhesive property, it fell off his finger and dropped on the floor.
Water acts differently from other substances. Isaac marked his observation. Its volume expands as its phase changes from liquid to solid. Then he sighed. This observation didn't hold much of a significance; he was already aware of it.
Ice held numerous possibilities, and successfully mastering this application would give him new tools at disposal. Issue was time and focus it required. These requirements could be bypassed if he were to accelerate his cognition, which came with detrimental effects that could affect his competency in a battle should he overuse it.
For now, as the ice pellet proceeded to melt away, Isaac turned his focus to his strongest card: supercritical fluid.
Over two months, he discovered how inefficient he has been in operating this technique. Initially, he would condense existing vapor into waterdrop before utilizing that waterdrop to form supercritical fluid.
He couldn't be more idiotic.
Supercritical fluid is an intermediate between liquid and gas that could be achieved at high-temperature and high-pressure conditions. In other words, the process of condensing a waterdrop was completely unnecessary and waste of mana in its production.
Isaac raised his finger. His mana thread accelerated at the speed only he—in the entire world—was capable of, and the output generated concentrated at said finger.
He wasn't manipulating temperature. The entirety of mana output was converted into pressure, which was gathering a large volume of gas in proximity and trapping it at his fingertip.
With a whoosh, the glimmering supercritical fluid came into the existence.
Although this still required a considerable amount of time and focus, such that accelerating his cognition was inevitable in dire moments, it was nonetheless a discovery that reduced the cost of its generation by a significant margin.
Without firing the substance as a bullet, he released his control over it. With a light burst of wind, it dispersed back into gas.
He stood up. The sun was rising from outside, and this meant that the academy was about to start.
…
The final session of weapons training carried no ceremony.
Sam moved through the group the way he always had—direct and practical.
"Your shoulders are too high. Guard is open. Be aware of your habits, Kaif."
Kaif Delpyon frowned. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. It isn't as if I will be using knife during the combat anyway."
Two months. No matter how enthusiastic and ambitious students were, two months of rigorous training was enough for some of them to forget their initial mindset. Kaif was one of them, and he was treating this training session as an annoyance rather than a learning opportunity. After all, he was in the higher class because he already was strong.
Sam sighed. Stepped to the next student, Randal. Observed briefly. Nodded—there wasn't anything else for him to add on. Randal paused at that, before shrugging and resuming the practice of his own. The fact that Kaif looked at him and Sam, flabbergasted, was none of his interest.
"Vesper." Stopping in front of the next student, Vesper, Sam observed his work. "your skill is adequate. Your performance has been consistent."
"Thank you." Vesper nodded firmly, as if he expected to hear such words.
"Don't thank me. I am not trying to praise you." Sam's eyes narrowed. Vesper was caught off guard by that. "I said performance. Do you think a battlefield is a theater? Your movements are too wide. It's as if you are trying to put a crowd in awe, rather than to survive."
Vesper became rigid. "…You didn't mention this before."
"No, I haven't." That was all that Sam said. Then, he left Vesper, and reached the fourth student in the group, Isaac.
Isaac was holding onto his knife, one with the initials Z. Y. engraved, the very same knife that took the life of the royal guard named Rick.
He stabbed the training dummy at the front. Used the footwork he was taught with to quickly gain distance, imagining that an enemy would retaliate.
A mirage, perhaps, to misdirect enemy's attention. Isaac was simulating in his head, of how he would react in a particular situation. He circled around the dummy with his guard up and knife's edge pointed at it, thinking of his next move.
"Too many thoughts." Sam then stated, putting Isaac at a stop. "War is instant. Fight is instant. In the battlefield where a millisecond decides life and death, thoughts are nothing but burdens."
He stood in front of the same dummy that Isaac was training with. Unsheathed his own knife. Proceeded to stab it numerous times, barbarically rather than carefully, as if he didn't care about the fact that his action will shorten the lifespan of the knife. "Don't trust your thoughts. Trust your intuition." He pulled the knife out with strength. "Always remember that weapons are secondary. Your skills are your greatest tools. Weapons are disposable. Once you get blood and flesh on their blades, they are no longer usable until given time to clean and re-sharpen them." The dummy had a clear crevice in the middle, created by Sam's knife.
Isaac stared at the crevice. In his mind, the memory of his knife being stabbed on Rick surfaced. Blood spilled. Eyes filled with pain and agony. Gleam of fear—that death was imminent. [The Prism] marked them all, and it marked them in a way that he won't ever be able to forget.
Carefully. Perhaps, he was unconsciously holding himself back. Perhaps, contrary to his belief, he was letting the sight of death in front of him affect him up until now. Too many thoughts, Sam said. Perhaps, he was right.
"If you don't kill… you die." Sam stated bitterly, staring at the same crevice. "Heh… all these trainings with weapons… they mean nothing in the end. When you get into the actual situation, your body freezes up. What must be trained, in truth, isn't your weapon-handling skill. Rather, it's your mindset."
Isaac grimaced. He knew what Sam was talking about. "The mindset of a murderer." He said.
"Yes." Sam whispered, "you must become a murderer. Else, you become murdered."
Isaac wanted to ask, why don't you run away? However, he didn't let it out. Perhaps, the reason why he wanted to ask such a question was because he couldn't understand himself, of why he wasn't running away from all this either.
"…You've improved." After a moment of silence, Sam backed and stated, "more than anyone I've trained before. That one, I will commend you. Among the four, you, Isaac Nameless, understand the nature of weapons the clearest."
Under the watch of the four students, Sam returned to the front, his gaze sweeping across all of them.
"With this, the weapons training concludes. The knives will permanently be yours to use—unless you fail to defend your position as a higher class student and get demoted to elite class, which would require that you pass your weapon to the victor."
Sam appeared tired. Isaac noted that even as he spoke the information, his mind seemed elsewhere.
"Starting this afternoon, you will return to the lecture room of higher class to receive the details regarding the upcoming challenge window. It was a pleasure working with you."
Sam turned, about to leave. Vesper, standing with the composed ease that he restored during Sam's final words, then asked. "Where will you go from here, Sam? Back to instructing elsewhere?"
Sam stopped. His face twitched in a way that suggested grimace, although it quickly disappeared. "Back to the eastern front," he said. "Orders came through last week."
"Ah." Vesper straightened slightly. He nodded at Sam with genuine respect. "A noble and worthy service. The Kingdom is fortunate to have men of your capability returning to the fight."
Isaac didn't agree to Vesper's words.
He is called back to the service. He thought. The kingdom is calling the injured back to the frontline.
And Vesper treated as if this was a favorable situation for Sam. Isaac looked around, and noticed that Kaif and Randal were reacting the same.
Sam looked at Vesper for a moment.
Then he nodded, once, with the blank expression that he was using to cover up his true feelings.
"Sam." Isaac then spoke up. Sam looked at him. He didn't know what else to say but this, "don't die."
Sam held Isaac's gaze for a fraction of a second. Then, his expression broke, and he gave a light, hollow chuckle. "Let's see." He said, before he gathered his items and left the training ground without looking back.
Isaac watched as the man left.
"What's with him?" Randal muttered as he sheathed his knife. "Being of use to the Kingdom is the greatest honor that its citizens can have."
"I mean, he did lose an arm. And he looked traumatized." Kaif shrugged at the tall, muscular boy, "I am with you though. If anything, he should be glad. Being called back to the frontline means that he is still capable."
"Stop, you two." Then, Vesper interrupted them, "don't be rude to Sam. Earlier on, I misspoke. To us, nobles, glory is the virtue we value above all. To commoners like Sam though, the idea of surviving itself is their utmost concern."
Randal snorted at that before he turned around and walked off. Kaif glanced at Isaac who was silent the whole time before leaving as well.
"Well." Vesper turned to face Isaac, "I suppose the weapons training is over."
Isaac blinked, before nodding. "Yes."
"Let's go check up on Magnus."
"Then lunch?"
"Lunch it is."
…
"I was busy trying to fuel that machine with my skill [Raging Fire], and Raul was like, that isn't how it's supposed to be done, idiot. Then he placed his hand, and it magically worked—"
Magnus was busy talking with his mouth full of food, lively as always. Seated on one lunch table, Isaac, Vesper, and Magnus were having a proper lunch for once after two months of tireless weapons training that started early in the morning and ended in the afternoon.
Isaac stabbed a piece of roasted pork with his fork and stuffed it in his mouth. Chewed and swallowed it. The quality of food has fallen. He then deduced, with Magnus continuously chattering in the background. A problem with suppliers?
"—Hey, Isaac! Are you listening?" Magnus then called him, to which Isaac raised his head to face him.
"Yes." Isaac casually remarked, "your cousin, Raul, demonstrated the mastery over [Raging Fire]—the same skill that you own—that you couldn't replicate."
"See?" Vesper said to Magnus, "even though he may seem uninterested at the first glance, he is listening."
"Huh, you were listening indeed." Magnus nodded, before the grin appeared on his stuffed cheeks, "so, continuing on—"
"Swallow your food first, Magnus." Vesper shook his head with a light smile. Magnus swallowed before stuffing his mouth again with more food, inflating his cheeks again. Vesper deadpanned, "really?"
Isaac chuckled at that.
"Oh? At last, you laughed!" Magnus immediately caught him.
"You were trying to make me laugh?"
"It's because you appeared down-spirited for the past two months." Vesper said.
"Was I?"
""Yes!""
Isaac looked through his memory for the past two months. He thought he was the same as he's always been. Still, he said, "well, thanks."
"What made you depressed in the first place, anyway?" Magnus then asked.
"Magnus." Vesper looked at Magnus solemnly, shaking his head. Magnus, realizing what he said, closed his food-occupied mouth.
"What?" Isaac genuinely didn't understand their reaction.
"I mean," Vesper read Isaac's expression and carefully spoke, "Irine. She…" He then looked at the table far away from theirs. There, Irine, Camilla, and Aldric were seated together, and it looked as if two women were trying to fight over Aldric's attention, as he sat in a composed manner, slicing his steak. Vesper looked back at Isaac reluctantly.
Isaac blinked, clearly confused.
"Are you…" Vesper asked, "are you not affected by that?"
Isaac glanced at the trio without his expression changing, "why would I be affected?"
"Didn't you… like Irine?"
"What?"
Vesper paused as Isaac looked genuinely confused. Then, he turned and met his eyes with Magnus, who had the same expression as him.
"We thought you had a thing with her?" Magnus said as he finished his food, his speech being muffled to the level that was barely audible because of said food in his mouth.
"Thing? No." Isaac chewed and swallowed a portion of his food. "She's a friend. Nothing more."
"Huh." Magnus muttered. "Then why were you—"
"Magnus," said Vesper.
"Right."
Depressed, huh. Returning to his food as Magnus resumed his chatter once more, Isaac thought. If I looked depressed, it's likely because… The death of Rick. The explosion. The continued likelihood of being assaulted. Seran Crane's identity. It wasn't that he was depressed, but that he was vigilant. Alert the entire time.
As Isaac was lost to his thoughts, and Magnus was busy speaking, Vesper peeked the other table once again.
He found Irine peeking at their table, specifically at Isaac who didn't seem to be aware.
Vesper's eyes widened.
…
The afternoon arrived at the blink of an eye. The lunch concluded, and the sixteen students of the second-year higher class were at the large lecture room that housed no one but them and professor Maren Solke, seated as they waited for her announcement.
Maren Solke stood at the front with her parchment in hand and her posture carrying its methodical composure.
Isaac, in his own seat, looked around the room, at the students.
Two months were enough time for him to learn and remember the names of them all.
First, there were Vesper, Randal Ursula, Kaif Delpyon, who were trained together with him as the knife wielders.
Then, there was Silas, Cassiopeia, Magnus, and Petra Voss, who belonged to the spear group instead. He was quite familiar with them all except for Petra Voss, who was, as far as he knew, the fraternal twin of Sera Voss.
Then, there were those who practiced on a longsword—Vane, Lyra, a boy named Bryce Fenn and a girl named Wren Ashveil.
Those who used staff were the ones Isaac knew least. Garrick Ossel, Soren Mallow, Talia Innis, Paulos Gustad—he has never mixed words with them before.
If not for [The Prism]'s precision, he would've forgotten some of their names by now.
Currently, some of them looked nervous—ones like Kaif who were at the risk of being challenged. Some with confidence in their skills—ones like Silas, Lyra, and Vesper—appeared unaffected by the thoughts of upcoming future. Ones like Cassiopeia, on the other hand, appeared entirely uninterested.
Overall, the higher class, no matter how small the size was, nonetheless reflected the typical class in the academy.
In contrast, there was Sam, who will be at a front line that had already taken one of his arms. Then, the casualty that arose from the explosion of the underground facility two months ago. Then, the acknowledgement of war by Gladius Aetherion during the banquet two months ago.
Compared to all those, this challenge window felt trivial to Isaac.
There was something wrong with this, he couldn't help but think. The way the Academy continued its normal days while the war consumed everything outside them. The way sixteen students could sit in a room and discuss about daily lives while Sam was presumably already en route to a battlefield. The way institutional normalcy persisted not because everything was actually fine, but because stopping would require admitting that nothing was.
To fresh his thoughts, he ruffled his hair. Cassiopeia, who sat near him, raised an eyebrow at his behavior.
"Three challenges of elite class have been formally registered," Maren then said, without preamble. "Effective tomorrow."
Isaac returned his attention to the front of the room.
"Camilla Hedron, A-rank: [Mystical Swords], has filed challenge against Kaif Delpyon."
Maren's eyes found Kaif, who straightened with visible tension.
"Atticus, A-rank: [Phantom Limb], has filed challenge against Garrick Ossel."
Garrick's expression remained carefully neutral.
"And Oriel Fenn, A-rank: [Storm Veil], has filed challenge against Isaac Nameless."
"Oriel?" Bryce Fenn widened his eyes.
"…Huh." Cassiopeia's lips parted slightly, as if she didn't expect Isaac to be challenged.
Isaac was looking at the window, where the afternoon light was doing what afternoon light did regardless of what was announced beneath it.
The sky outside was peaceful.
Outside, the war continued.
The fact that he was challenged meant nothing to him; he would fight. If he loses, he loses. If he wins, he wins.
What truly mattered was everything else.
Mother, Isaac couldn't help but think, what I am supposed to do now?
"Dismissed," Maren said.