In the early morning of the day after, in the training ground of Golden Repose where the dew was still on the grass and the morning light arrived at the angle that made the dummy's shadow longer than the dummy itself, Isaac was present.
Isaac was working through the footwork sequence with knife in his hand. Too much thought, Sam said. His movements were that of someone drilling sequences until they stopped requiring thought, until they became a part of his intuition. His knife—the one with Z.Y. engraved—moved through its arcs without hurry.
"Isaac."
He paused. Turned.
Blanc, the man from third-year, was approaching from the back with the easy and casual vibes he always put on the surface. He raised a hand in greeting.
"Blanc. It's been a while," Isaac said.
"Training already." Blanc settled nearby with a weapon of his own—a sheathed longsword. "I heard that you will be challenged today."
"Yes."
"If you haven't heard, so am I." Blanc unsheathed his longsword and glanced at its blade. It was clean and sharp, shining as it received and reflected the morning's light. "The challenge continues even at third-year. At fourth-year as well. It's just that…" he gave the blade a few light flicks as if warming up. "Most of the challenges starting from third-year fail. It is because by third-year, the initial abnormality that the class designation exam delivered was normalized. Those with higher skill ranks are naturally stronger, and thus, make their way up."
He then paused. Looked at Isaac.
"Or, that's how I used to think until I met you."
"You believe that I will be able to defend my spot."
"Believe? Oh, please." Blanc smiled as he looked at Isaac, "I don't believe. I am merely stating a fact." His smile then faltered, as if he recalled a memory, "defeating someone with a S-rank skill cannot be coincidental. Not by the slightest."
He placed his sight on the training dummy afterward. Pointing his sword at it, he readied himself.
"In last year's tournament, I had a chance to face Aldric Zephyr. The result was instant. The only thing I could say about it was that… S-rank skills are in a world of their own. It's as if… they've transcended as demigods." Blanc swung his blade. A clear, diagonal gash was left on the training dummy. "And you defeated one of them. With [Condensation] of all things."
Isaac didn't say anything to that. He simply raised his knife. Returned to the footwork sequence without. In silence, the two of them focused on their own routines, going through their own routines in their own ways.
For quite some time, there were no sound except those of training. Then, a third person arrived.
"Nameless."
The voice carried from the entrance. Silas Fulgur crossed the ground with the contained intensity that fearmongered without a word spoken.
Isaac stopped the footwork sequence. Looked at him. So did Blanc.
Silas gazed at the knife in his hand. Snorted. "Of course you'd need to rely on that."
"Not necessarily," said Isaac, "I didn't require this to beat your ass."
"Tough luck." Silas growled.
"State your business. Else, fuck off."
Blanc paused. He appeared surprised by Isaac's choice of words. Although his tone was flat as it always has been, the words were more vulgar and direct.
Silas stepped forward, threateningly. His eyes flashed in the rage that they always kept—contained usually. However, what Isaac read in those eyes weren't rage, but something beyond that: pride. Just like Vesper, Randal, and Kaif, he too was a slave to pride.
"You have a challenge today. By that worthless Oriel Fenn, that bastard who was retired with a single [Lightning Spear] of mine." Silas's jaw tightened fractionally. "Don't you dare lose and tarnish my reputation, Nameless. I am to be the one to take your first defeat, to revenge my loss."
Isaac looked at him for a moment. "Is that all you have to say?"
Silas held his gaze a beat longer. Wrinkled up his face, as if he had more to lash out. However, without speaking anymore, he turned to leave.
"Are you two friends?" Blanc asked.
Both Isaac and Silas turned to look at him simultaneously.
Blanc looked between them in a genuine interest. "You seem quite familiar with each other. The way he came specifically to—"
"He is Nameless," Silas scowled. "Blanc. Rank 2 of third-year. Commoner. I suppose that the resemblance of your situation to this… man brought you to him. But don't be mistaken. Just as how Aldric Zephyr views you as nothing more than a rubble by the side," Blanc's face turned stoic. Silas noticed that, and turned with a mild satisfaction, "so do I." He walked back out of the ground after.
Blanc watched him go. Stood in silent for a moment. Then, he voiced, "huh." He chuckled as he looked at Isaac, "isn't he arrogant?"
"So is Aldric Zephyr," Isaac said, nonchalantly. "So is Caspian Valerius."
"Yes. But…" Blanc appeared to have a lot in his mind, "those arrogance that they have… it is deserved, I suppose."
"Or, they got lucky."
"…Lucky."
"Born as nobles, born with talent, granted the skills that rarely anyone in the world awaken." Isaac looked detached as he spoke. Blanc, for the first time, watched him differently. "Do you envy them, Blanc?"
"I—" Blanc stopped in the middle of his words. He didn't speak any more after that, and so did Isaac.
The remainder of their training session continued in silence.
…
After the completion of the morning routine, Isaac prepared and left his room. In today's higher class, he were to face a challenge—it appeared that others who weren't the part of the class were aware as well, sneaking a peek at him as he walked by. It wasn't a strange thing, given how prestigious it was to be a part of a higher class.
He was midway on his way when he found Evangeline, who was easy to be seen because of the wheelchair she relied on unlike others.
Even though she was paralyzed waist-down, even though she was a part of the lesser noble house that was at a verge of collapse, her beauty was nonetheless present—enough to have some come to a brief stop, in awe.
Currently, she was alone. Likely, she has been alone most of the time, isolated except for a select few who were acquainted with her such as Isaac and Irine. Right now, she seemed to be waiting for someone, and that someone was him, for when she found him, her expression changed.
"Isaac." She greeted him, softly.
"Evangeline." he said. "It's been two months."
Evangeline was a first-year student. She didn't live in Golden Repose. Their schedules were different, and it was practically impossible for them to meet by coincidence given how large the academy was, unless a deliberate effort was made to meet, like right now.
"I heard." She looked at him directly, her emerald eyes carrying the same open concern she'd shown during the banquet's worst moments. "That you're being challenged. By someone with A-rank skill."
"Word travels quickly." Isaac muttered to himself.
"Is it true?"
"Yes."
She studied him for a moment. Worries were evident in her eyes as Isaac peered into them. Perhaps, she was thinking of how she would feel if she were to be in his shoes. One thing was for sure—ever since the banquet, she no longer looked at him the way she used to do.
"Will you be fine?" She then asked.
"If I lose," Isaac answered the question with a question, "what happens?"
"You lose your status as the higher class student. You get demoted to elite class."
"And then?"
Evangeline paused. "That's it."
"Exactly." Isaac nodded, "that's it. My right to dwell in Golden Repose remains, for it was awarded as the victory prize from the Silas Fulgur duel. There are no financial or physical repercussions. Just the demotion from higher class to elite class."
Evangeline didn't seem to understand, for the demotion itself was a big deal. In a noble's society, pride was the key.
"That means nothing, Evangeline."
Now, Isaac denied the notion. He was stating that pride meant nothing to him. Evangeline's eyes shook.
He really is different, she couldn't help but think. Isaac was no noble. However, he wasn't a commoner either.
"Therefore, don't worry. Whether I win or lose, nothing happens." Isaac paused, before adding on, "I do believe, however, that I won't be losing."
Isaac looked at her.
Evangeline made the same request Silas had made an hour earlier. However, the motivations behind it were completely different.
Whether he liked it or not, people whom he knew of were placing their expectations on him. Frankly speaking, he didn't necessarily dislike the idea.
He should perhaps put more effort into this upcoming challenge, he thought. It wasn't about being rational, but about following what his heart was telling him to do at the moment.
Then, he paused. This was the exact same logic he followed during his duel against Silas, the same decision that got him into these tiring circumstances.
"I believe in you." Then, there were the words of his mother.
"Don't think too much." Sam told him about the importance of intuition over thoughts.
Isaac didn't know anymore. He decided to stop thinking. Perhaps, this was how it was meant to be.
…
The class today was held in the dueling ground.
Compared to the eastern trial grounds where Isaac's duel against Silas was held, the area was quieter, and this was normal, given how the only spectators were the second-year higher class students and Maren Solke, their assigned professor.
In the dueling ground, there were no glass hearts. Instead, there were devices positioned at the arena's corners to indicate victories and losses—they were less of performance and more of functionality. Combatants will be given another device to be held, which will absorb an impact. Should the cumulative impact pass the threshold, the devices by the corner will ring, indicating a loss.
It was exactly in this duelling ground that the first series of challenges were held two months ago. By the seat, Magnus shook his head as he recalled the fight he held back then.
"Thank god that I'm not the one doing it time around." Magnus remarked as he stared into the flat ground of the arena as if he was viewing something unsightly.
"Isaac is challenged." Vesper heard Magnus. "Your opponent wasn't as noteworthy. Considering how Silas," he eyed Silas who was seated far away with Vane, "disqualified most of those with A-rank skills, they were facing promotion to elite class two months ago, not to here, higher class."
"I am aware." Magnus pouted, "I am also aware that if I were to be challenged this time around, I likely would've lost."
"…I wouldn't necessarily say that."
"But it's true."
Vesper couldn't deny him.
"What about Isaac though?" Magnus asked.
"He'd win."
The two of them paused, for it wasn't Vesper who answered. Rather, it was Cassiopeia, who was overhearing them with her eyes fixated at the empty duelling ground.
"How can you be certain?" Vesper asked.
"Because he won against Silas?" Magnus rubbed his chin as he suggested.
"No." Cassiopeia shook her head, "because I saw what he could do during the class designation exam."
"Right. You two were in the same team." Vesper's eyes narrowed. His expression changed slightly, as if he didn't like the idea.
Cassiopeia didn't say anything to that. Vesper stared at her for a moment before returning his attention back on the duelling ground. Magnus looked at them awkwardly before deciding to follow suit.
Soon, the participants of the first fight revealed themselves.
"Camilla Hedron, Rank 17, elite class."
As Maren Solke announced, Camilla walked up to one end of the ground.
"Kaif Delpyon, Rank 16, higher class."
Kaif Delpyon stood at the other with clear nervousness. His eyes weren't that of someone who was ready to fight, but rather, that of someone who foresaw his defeat and the consequences that followed.
Camilla read his expression. Smirked as she muttered, "how pitiful."
Maren raised her hand.
"Begin."
Camilla's [Mystical Swords] immediately manifested. Seven blades of condensed mana orbited her in slow, deliberate rotation.
At the gate behind Kaif, Isaac and Garrick Ossel stood, spectating the challenge just as how those in the seats at the periphery were.
"How unfortunate it is for Kaif." Garrick's arms were crossed. His voice was stoic, but Isaac read the fear that existed beneath. "And for us." He then looked at Isaac, "it was fun while it lasted, wasn't it, Nameless?"
"Fun." Isaac rolled the word in his mouth. The majority of his memory in higher class was filled with the weapons training under Sam's instructions. He chuckled, "I suppose it was quite fun."
Garrick looked confused, as if he didn't understand why Isaac wasn't provoked by the word "Nameless." Isaac couldn't be bothered with his reaction, however; his attention was already back to the fight between Kair and Camilla.
Kaif had B-rank: [Mana Blast], which was a range skill. Upon sighting Camilla's seven orbiting, mana-constructed swords, he instinctively blasted the ray of mana out of his palm.
Camilla didn't move. Rather, it was her swords that moved. Two of the seven blades intercepted the [Mana Blast]'s trajectory and shattered on contact, absorbing the impact. Five remained, before two additional blades were constructed out of the thin air, restoring the seven.
The seven blades then flew right at Kaif, who appeared dumbfounded, from different angles such that it was impossible for him to dodge it all.
The ringing device activated. Kaif was expelled from the arena as the safety mechanism activated. From the arena's far edge, he stood with the expression of someone who had known the outcome was likely and still found the speed of it startling.
"Victor: Camilla Hedron. Kaif Delpyon will be demoted to elite class." Maren Solke stated the result as she noted the details on her ledger.
The spectators received the result in relative quiet.
"Next." Maren called, "Atticus, Rank 18, elite class. Garrick Ossel, Rank 15, higher class."
Garrick grimaced as his name was called. "Wish me luck, Nameless."
"Enjoy your pitiful defeat," Isaac replied.
Garrick chuckled at that, "heh… bastard." He then walked out, facing Atticus whom Isaac remember facing in the past.
Atticus, noticing Isaac's eyes on him, flinched. Somehow, his flinch seemed to have given Garrick an impression that Atticus was scared of him, as his back straightened as if he found an opportunity.
"Begin."
Both Atticus and Garrick immediately moved.
It wasn't long until the challenge concluded. Once Garrick was under the influence of Atticus's [Phantom Limb], which Isaac would argue as one of the strongest A-rank skills, there was nothing that he could do.
"Victor: Atticus. Garrick Ossel will be demoted to elite class."
Garrick looked dumbfounded as he stood at the edge of the arena. Then, he turned to look at Isaac, because he knew that Isaac was the one who disqualified Atticus. He was wondering how Isaac managed to win against someone like Atticus.
However, Isaac wasn't looking at him.
"Oriel Fenn, Rank 19, elite class."
After all, it was his turn now.
"Isaac Nameless, Rank 2, higher class."
Isaac walked to his position.
Oriel Fenn walked to his.
Oriel was someone with a slim physique. He settled into a stance at the arena's far end that wasn't aggressive—the wide, grounded posture of someone establishing a foundation rather than preparing to advance.
Isaac deduced that he was setting the boundary.
"Begin."
Immediately, the wind abnormally blew in the arena. Within a second, said wind gathered and swirled in a circular manner, right in front of Oriel. The circular, laminar flow of wind resembled that of a veil, a wide shield capable of neutralizing attacks.
Rotation… The thought of Thorne's [Grounded Circuit] came into his mind. Disregarding it, Isaac observed Oriel. He immediately enacted his skill defensively. He was likely expecting Isaac to strike him immediately after the start of the battle, just as how Isaac did against Silas.
There was no sign of Oriel trying to lower his [Storm Veil]. He simply maintained its defensive use, which caused Isaac to raise an eyebrow.
If he wasn't going to attack in the first place, what exactly is his strategy?
The fact that Oriel formed a shield and was keeping its hold meant that he was afraid. If he was afraid, it meant that he didn't expect that he was advantageous in the first place. Isaac couldn't help but wonder why Oriel chose to challenge him in the first place, if this was how he was going to react.
Either way, it didn't matter.
Isaac raised his finger. Oriel flinched upon his motion.
[Condensation].
He wasn't manipulating temperature. The entirety of his mana thread's output converted to pressure—gathering the available gas at his fingertip, trapping it, increasing the density with the specific progressive compression, slowly but steadily. Usually, this would require him to accelerate his cognition, but with Oriel's defensive stance, there was no need for him to hurry.
Oriel inhaled, as if bracing for impact.
Just when he inhaled, supercritical bullet was there, traversing through the [Storm Veil] as if it were to be nothing but a sheet of paper. In a split second, the device rang. Oriel was standing at the arena's edge, which he realized only a second later.
The dueling ground was silent.
Then Magnus said, "...what just happened?"
"He fired something," Cassiopeia said, with her notebook was open. "A projectile. I couldn't track the composition."
"That's—" Magnus looked at Isaac, who was already lowering his finger. "That's it? It's over?"
"It's the same thing he did when…" Vesper glanced at Silas. Then muttered, "is that something that [Condensation] can truly achieve?"
Silas, seated with his arms crossed, said nothing. No one knew what he was thinking inside as he stared at Isaac.
"Victor: Isaac Nameless. No changes made to class statuses." Maren spoke with the flat delivery of someone for whom the outcome's speed had produced no visible reaction whatsoever.
"Starting tomorrow, Camilla Hedron replaces Kaif Delpyon. Atticus replaces Garrick Ossel. Isaac Nameless retains his position." She rolled the parchment. "Dismissed."
Isaac turned, about to leave. His eyes found Silas, who was still seated even as others stood up, leaving the area.
Clicking his tongue, Silas stood up and proceeded to leave. Isaac removed his gaze from him and walked out of the arena, removing the device and placing back in a designed basket as he walked out.
"Isaac Nameless." On his way out, Isaac paused. Camilla was standing in front of him, frowning. "So you got lucky once again."
"Lucky."
"Yes, lucky. What even was Oriel Fenn thinking, standing still and asking you to attack him?"
Isaac sighed. "Sure, I got lucky." He moved to walk past her, but she stepped to block his way out. "What now?"
"…Aldric." Camilla then mumbled. Her fists tightened before she glared at him. "Ever since that commoner girl approached him, he…" She gritted her teeth. "Do something about that girl."
"Irine, you mean."
"Yes, whatever her name is."
"Why should I?"
"Because!" Camilla shouted, before she paused. She looked around and seemed relieved that there were no one but them in the duelling ground now. "Because I am a member of House Hedron, as well as the wielder of A-rank: [Mystical Swords]. The spot next to Aldric Zephyr should be someone like me to take, not that… girl whose only worth is that face!"
Hedron. Every time Isaac hears that name, he gets reminded of the fact that Lord Hedron is a betrayer to the Kingdom, and that the royal family is aware of that.
"Camilla." Isaac spoke solemnly. Camilla paused, noticing the shift in his demeanor. "Of course, House Hedron is prestigious. Your family falls just below the Five Pillars in terms of social hierarchy." He pitied her. Her surname that she valued above all else would, soon or later, become worthless. "However, Hedron doesn't define who you are. Don't be obsessed with what you were granted."
Camilla narrowed her eyes as if she heard something worthless. "Are you sane? I was talking about that girl, and all of a sudden, you…"
Isaac pushed her away forcibly, which she clearly didn't expect as she stumbled over. She watched as he walked away, flabbergasted.
Whatever scream that followed, he ignored.