My back burned.
He summoned the sword again at night. For the third time. The veins in his right hand darkened, as if they were filled with black tar instead of blood. He almost passed out, but managed to drive away the shadow. Ward remained silent. He was probably watching.
At the morning assembly, many people had their eyes half-closed, as sleepless nights and intense training had taken a toll on everyone.
The quiz show was getting closer.
A mixed-race tournament. Team and individual matches. Demonstrations. Intelligence tests. Maze challenges. And sometimes... murders. "Non-lethal," according to the teachers, but no one in Wildcrane believed them.
The class was standing on the training ground. Their new supervisor, a mage with a bird skull for a face, was hovering above their heads. His name was Helmir Saen. He was a necromancer. He was tough, ruthless, and incredibly effective.
"Two days, children," he said hoarsely, "and you will either make the Academy famous... or you will die."
"We have a 'study' vic," someone began.
Saen raised his hand.
The boy fell down at once, and shadows flashed around him for a moment, and he gasped and choked and fell.
— We weed out the pissers in advance. The rest of you… get ready.
The group split up into fives. Reina, as the head of the group, immediately handed over the list. Her scarlet eyes were cold. She had trained even harder than Kallen, but in her own way. Without emotion. Without pity.
Kallen was in the same group as her. And also with:
Levi Cassar is a guy with Beast magic, short blond hair, and wolf eyes.
Jonas Terriwayne is a novice necromancer, too quiet, but with strong spiritual magic.
Mara Glisa is a girl with Ash magic, nervous but precise.
"Don't relax," Reina said. "Training will begin on the spot tomorrow. We'll be moved to the combat zone. We'll be living there. Food, combat, and sleep."
"Norm," Kalen chuckled. "Just like home. If home is a hole where they eat you every night."
Reina gave him a look. Something in her face flickered, but she didn't say anything.
After the meeting, everyone went to their respective locations. Some were practicing their strikes. Some were meditating. Some were frantically reading books on martial arts theory.
Kalen left. Alone. No one stopped him.
He climbed into a ruined chapel on the edge of town. Where magic doesn't work well. He reached out. He squeezed.
He summoned the shadow again.
This time, the sword responded immediately. But the pain was stronger.
He worked out forty punches. Without a break. His face was dripping with sweat. His body was shaking. But he didn't stop.
He didn't care how much it hurt.
Victrinada was his chance. His step up. He could feel it. Somewhere in his bones, it was as if Ward himself was whispering:
"You're climbing, boy. But remember… the higher you go, the harder you fall."
***
The lanterns burned dimly, like dying eyes. The sky was an inky silence. In the laboratories, the alchemists were delirious from the fumes. And on the lower levels, where no normal student would go, there was a battle.
Kalen was standing on one knee.
Breathing is even. The sword is stained with shadows and blood. Behind me are four bodies, former members of the Academy.
He looked at them.
"You're the ones who got involved," he muttered. "You're the ones."
These four are students from another wing of the Academy, from an elite class. They decided that they could track down Kallen and "play around." Check out if he's as tough as they say.
They didn't know he had a Ward. They didn't know he'd trained in the dungeons of pain. They didn't know he'd become stronger than a B-rank. They didn't know, and now they never will.
He stood quietly among the bodies.
"The monster attacked. I ran away. They didn't make it," I'll say.
"No one will believe it.
"Everyone will believe it," he chuckled to himself. "Because everyone is afraid. They're afraid of these lower levels, afraid of the night. And I... I'm a part of it."
Wardes stepped out of the shadows.
The black Knight bowed before him.
"The more you cut, the cleaner you become. But remember, it's not the blood that sticks to your hands, but to your heart."
Kalen didn't respond. He just watched as one of the corpses twitched weakly. Then he finished it off. Without emotion. One blow to the neck. That was it.
He hid the sword, healed the wounds, and erased the traces.
At dawn, he returned to the dormitory. There was no trace of fatigue. Reina was already waiting, sitting on the windowsill.
— Where have you been?"
"In the fresh air," he chuckled. "It's good to breathe before you die."
She didn't answer.
Her scarlet eyes studied him. He could feel that she suspected something. But she didn't ask.
And correctly.
Because if she had asked, he would have lied anyway.