The crowd just watched no one daring to interfere.
Asthia turned her head slightly, just enough to glance back.
"Done?"
Reth wiped the blood off his boot—on the noble's silk cloak.
"Yeah."
She nodded.
"Then let's go."
This time, no one stopped them.
No one even dared.
If the City Lord's name had weight—it was lying in the gutter now.
They walked in silence.
The street behind them stayed frozen. Not a single footstep followed.
Reth's boots left red streaks on the wet stone, but he didn't wipe them off.
He felt nothing.
No excitement. No guilt. No rush of adrenaline.
Just stillness.
As if the fight hadn't touched him at all.
He flexed his hand once, absently. The knuckles ached from the first punch. Blood under one nail. Probably not his.
He stared at it a little too long.
"…I don't feel bad," he said softly.
Asthia didn't look at him.
"Should you?"
"I don't know," Reth muttered. "That guy was trash. I know that. But still… I beat the hell out of him and didn't even flinch."
"Why would you?" Asthia said, her tone flat.
Silence again.
Then she added, almost like a side comment,
"You're at Tier Two now. Iron Knight level. Maybe a bit past it."
Reth blinked. "What?"
She gave him a quick glance.
"You didn't know?"
"No," he said. "What the hell does that even mean—tiers?"
Asthia stopped walking. Turned to face him.
"You really weren't trained by anyone, huh?"
Reth crossed his arms. "Didn't exactly get a syllabus handed to me, no."
She looked at him for a moment, then sighed and started walking again.
"There are eight main combat tiers," she explained.
"Most people never get past Tier One. That's Bronze. Street thugs, town guards, basic fighters—they're stuck there."
"And me?" he asked.
"You started in Bronze. Fought your way into Iron by surviving. And today—when you dropped three men without breaking stride? That was Iron Knight work. Tier Two."
Reth frowned.
"So Silver is next?"
"Tier Three," she nodded. "Silver Knights. You're not there yet—but you're close. Your footwork, blade control, timing… it's almost refined."
Reth looked at his hand.
"I feel normal."
"That's how it works," she said, giving a faint smile.
"When you hit Iron, your body moves ahead of your mind. You don't feel the change—but it's already there."
He kept staring at his hand. Still flexing the same fingers that broke a noble's jaw not long ago.
No glow. No pulse. No mark.
Just a hand.
But different.
"…Keep going," Reth said.
Asthia raised an eyebrow.
"You want the full list?"
"I just smashed someone's face in until he passed out. So yeah, I'd like to know how much worse I'm going to get."
She gave a dry laugh.
"Alright," she said, counting on her fingers.
"Tier 0 – Bronze.
Anyone with six months of training. Knows how to hold a sword. That's it."
"Tier 1 – Iron.
A proper fighter. Good reflexes. Can take on five normal people alone."
"Tier 2 – Iron Knight.
Movements become sharp. You stay calm when killing. It looks... clean."
She glanced at him.
"You're here. Just barely."
"Tier 3 – Silver Knight.
Your attacks carry intent. People start to feel fear before you even swing."
"Sounds dramatic," Reth muttered.
"Because it is," she said.
"Tier 4 – Blood Knight.
Your instincts and skills work as one. You control the fight, not just react."
"Tier 5 – Obsidian Knight.
rare. Quite Powerful - can take on small army's" ."
Reth raised a brow.
"Let me guess. You've fought one?"
"No" she said.
He blinked.
She didn't explain.
"Tier 6 – Knight Commander.
Trained by Empire. They lead armies. Every move means something."
"Tier 7 – Paladin.
Only one is known: the Sword Saint of Church of Spire. People say he can slice mountains in half."
"…And Tier 8?" Reth asked.
Asthia's smile faded.
"No one holds that title."
"What is it?"
She looked ahead.
"Tier 8 is nameless," she said.
"It doesn't exist—until someone becomes it."
A pause.
Then she added,
"But if someone does… the whole world will know."
Before Reth could say anything else, Asthia's voice cut in—sharp.
"We need to move. Now."
He turned. She was already lacing her boots, cloak thrown over one shoulder. Her tone was flat, but serious.
She looked at the door, then back at him.
"We just beat the City Lord's son unconscious in his own estate, Reth. Once they find him, the whole city will go on alert."
She crossed to the window and cracked the shutter.
"They'll check every gate, alley, and inn."
Reth's face tightened.
"How long do we have?"
Asthia stepped back. Her eyes were cold.
"An hour. Maybe less—if the guards don't waste time asking questions."
She pulled up her hood.
"We need to disappear. There's a smuggler tunnel behind a place i know. Elenya said it might still be usable. If not, we make it up as we go."
Reth strapped his scabbard tight.
"You sure he's still alive?"
Asthia didn't reply right away.
Her silence said enough.
"Well for now."