The door whispered shut behind Lucius as he entered the Combat Fundamentals classroom. The air was dry, slightly metallic, and heavy with expectation. The space was wide and hollowed out like a training arena, no desks, no chairs, just the cold, reinforced floor and pale lights embedded high above in the black ceiling. Mirrors lined one wall, fogged with years of impact and effort.
At the very back of the room stood a weapons rack stretching the length of the wall, arranged in precise order. Spears hung beside polearms, their shafts polished and well-maintained. Blades of various lengths, from long sabers to compact daggers, rested in slots designed to fit their curvature. Bows, both composite and recurve, leaned against tall shelves, with quivers hung beside them like silent promises. Even the more exotic weapons, kusarigamas, hook swords, and curved fangs of unknown origin, sat in place with reverent care.
It was the kind of room that spoke not of war, but of discipline. A martial arts dojo shaped by pragmatism, not tradition.
At the front of the room, the blind man with the twin swords turned to face the class. There were about thirty students in all, gathered in uneven clusters, eyeing one another with tentative curiosity or sharpened contempt.
"Welcome to the Combat Fundamentals class," the man said, his voice rough as wind on gravel but clear. "My name is Master Raiken. If you're here for a soft introduction or clever tricks, leave now."
He paused.
No one moved.
Raiken gave a small nod. "Good. At least you're brave. But bravery without effort is just arrogance with a louder mouth."
Lucius felt the room still further. There was something about the man's voice, measured, calm, and completely unconcerned with being liked. It was a quiet sort of authority, the kind that didn't demand attention but earned it effortlessly.
Raiken took a slow step forward. Despite his blindness, there was no uncertainty in his movement.
"In this class, your bloodlines won't help you. Your blessings will not speak for you. Neither wealth nor talent matters here. The only thing that counts," he paused, lifting one hand, "is work."
Another pause.
"And pain."
A few students shifted nervously. One or two cast doubtful glances at the door, but still, no one left.
Raiken tilted his head slightly. "Interesting."
Then he pointed to the back of the room.
Lucius turned.
"Select a weapon," Raiken said. "The one you feel most familiar with. Not the prettiest. Not the deadliest. The one that feels like it's already in your hand."
Lucius walked slowly toward the racks with the rest of the students. Some made their choices quickly. Others hesitated, fingers brushing the air in indecision.
He didn't need to look for long.
His hand found the hilt of a blade already hanging at his side.
Still, for the sake of the instruction, he approached the rack.
And then, he reached for a sword that looked nearly identical to his own, simple, worn, single-edged.
It wasn't nostalgia that guided him. It wasn't even logic.
It just felt... right.
He tested its weight. It was balanced, slightly heavier than what he was used to, but manageable. He gave it a small swing and caught the motion reflected in the fogged mirrors.
Raiken listened.
Even blind, he seemed to hear the swing.
"Not bad."
Lucius didn't reply.
Around him, others tried to mimic confident movements. One boy picked a giant cleaver and tried to lift it with both hands, nearly toppling backward. Another selected twin daggers and twirled them with too much flair, losing one in the process.
Raiken turned away from them all.
"Some of you don't need a weapon," he added, and his gaze, sightless though it was, settled briefly on Lucius's katana.
"If that's your truth, respect it."
Then he raised both arms, clapping once.
"Now we find your partners. This is not a duel. It's not a fight to the finish. This is a start. The one I pair you with now will be your training partner for the rest of the semester. You will know their strengths. And you will expose their weaknesses."
There was an audible shift in the room's atmosphere. Suddenly, people started scanning the others around them, measuring, judging. For some, it was the first step in a war. For others, it was dread.
Raiken moved through the crowd, calling names, pointing, drawing pairings like fate made flesh.
"Lucius Manne. Jerry Scanlon."
Lucius turned.
From across the ring stepped a boy around his height, maybe a little taller, dressed in black. His hair was dark, swept back in a casual way, and his eyes, a dark, unreadable grey, stared at Lucius with disinterest that somehow wasn't insulting.
"Jerry," he said, extending a hand.
Lucius took it. "Lucius."
There was no pause. No look of surprise. No discomfort.
Jerry didn't even blink at the katana strapped to Lucius's side or the fact that he hadn't displayed any divine signature.
It was almost unsettling.
Lucius waited.
Still nothing.
Eventually, he let out a short breath. "You don't care, do you?"
Jerry shrugged. "About what?"
Lucius laughed under his breath. "Exactly."
Raiken stood again in the center.
"Now," he said, spreading his arms. "Friendly sparring. One round. Show me what you are. I know the Academy had you all throw each other around during the entrance tests, but I like to see things with my own eyes."
Then he paused, lifted a hand to tap his blindfold, and added, "Joke intended."
The room let out an awkward mix of chuckles.
Except Alex.
He broke into full, unfiltered laughter.
Heads turned.
Some stared.
"What?" Alex said, genuinely confused. "You laugh when your teacher makes a joke. I thought that was common knowledge."
Raiken let the laughter fade, then nodded.
"Very well. Turn to your partner."
Lucius did.
Jerry took a step back and stretched his arms lazily, cracking his neck.
Then he raised one hand.
A pitch-black sword materialized from thin air, its blade rippling with an otherworldly gleam. It was long, wickedly thin, and hummed faintly, like it had been waiting to be called.
Jerry tilted his head.
"I guess we're fighting then," he said, his tone indifferent.
He gave a shrug, shifting into a loose stance.
Lucius tightened his grip.
And the room began to blur around the edges.
The match had begun.