Chapter 6 — First Class: Combat Theory
---
The morning light seeped gently through the tall crystalline windows of Lecture Hall Primus.
Cyrus stood quietly near the doorway, watching the other students filter inside.
---
The hall was grand.
Wide circular seating stretched upward like an arena.
Floating banners of ancient Houses hovered near the ceiling, displaying their family crests.
The air buzzed faintly with magical stabilizers keeping the heavy platforms suspended.
Even in stillness, the entire place felt alive — as if it observed every student walking in.
---
Cyrus moved toward an empty seat, far from the center.
Not because of fear or caution — but because here, the whole room unfolded before his eyes.
> Observation is the first weapon.
---
The other students chatted, laughed, and compared family gifts.
Some summoned tiny flames, others shaped simple illusions to impress their peers.
---
Two boys nearby argued quietly:
> "— My father said I'll unlock my second core before midterms."
> "Tch, you're lucky. The House of Vermillion controls half the reality engines in Sector 7. You're practically gifted your rank."
---
Cyrus listened, but made no response.
> Children of privilege.
Still clinging to the comfort of bloodlines. They know nothing of true struggle.
---
Soon, a soft pulse echoed through the chamber —
the signal of the instructor's arrival.
---
A tall man walked in.
His robe was midnight blue, embroidered with silver runes that seemed to shift as he moved.
His eyes were sharp, focused — cold but not cruel.
---
The room fell silent at once.
---
"Welcome, initiates," the man spoke, voice steady and powerful without needing to shout.
> "I am Instructor Varik, Combat Theory Division."
He scanned the room with deliberate slowness.
> "You are here because your bloodlines expect you to become weapons."
> "But I will teach you something most of your ancestors never mastered."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
> "Survival."
---
A murmur swept through the students.
---
Varik walked forward, hands behind his back.
> "You believe your blood gives you strength. You believe power is inherited."
> "But let me ask you this: what happens… when your bloodline gift fails you?"
His eyes briefly met Cyrus's — for just a second.
---
Cyrus remained emotionless, though inside his mind flickered:
> Interesting… he understands deeper truths.
---
Varik continued.
> "Combat Theory is not about your natural gifts. It's about control, adaptation, and mental warfare."
> "A warrior who knows his power but not his mind… is already dead."
He raised his hand slightly, and in an instant — a floating blade materialized, hovering beside him.
> "This blade was forged not by magic… but by knowledge."
> "The most dangerous fighters are not those born strong — but those who study their weakness and evolve beyond it."
---
The room stayed silent.
Some students shifted uncomfortably.
Others, mostly from powerful families, held their pride silently.
Cyrus simply listened.
> Good.
A teacher who values mind over gift. He may become useful.
---
Varik's eyes swept across them again.
> "Your first assignment: study your own fighting style. Find your flaw. Bring me one written page by next class."
He lowered his hand — the blade vanished into thin air.
---
"Class dismissed."
---
The students began murmuring again as they left.
---
Cyrus remained seated for a moment longer.
His eyes traced the patterns on the floating banners once more — each family crest carried heavy stories.
Politics. Blood. Betrayals.
> The Great Houses dance their endless game...
And here we sit, the next generation of players.
But I play a different game.
He stood slowly.
---
As Cyrus walked out of the lecture hall, a soft breeze met him in the marble hallway.
The sunlight was warmer now, painting long shadows across the polished floor.
> Survival.
Adaptation.
Control.
He smiled faintly.
For the first time, a small ripple of anticipation stirred within him.
> Perhaps this academy… will be more entertaining than I thought.
---
End of Chapter 6