The next morning, at one of Neo Knight Academy's many training fields.
Over two hundred youths—boys and girls alike—gathered in clusters of three and five, clad in the black-and-white leather uniforms of the Academy. Their faces brimmed with youthful vigor, their eyes bright with pride. They were the students of Sean's cohort.
"Surprised you didn't take the chance to beg leave on account of your injuries."
Sean, his head still wrapped in bandages, had scarcely set foot on the training ground when a tall, lanky youth stepped into his path.
The boy's hair was chestnut, his face speckled with freckles. Seeing Sean, bandaged and limping yet present, he sneered openly and barred his way.
"Move."
Sean's eyes flashed with a spark of anger, his tone like ice.
This was Benson Adams—the very one who had struck down the body's former owner. At the sight of him, hatred welled up instinctively, as though inherited from the boy whose body Sean now inhabited.
"Why bother? In half a month you'll be expelled anyway. Better to spend what little time remains preparing for failure."
Benson's lips curved in a cold smile. On the word expelled, he pressed heavily, savoring the scorn.
"Benson, that's enough. We're all classmates. And you and Sean are from the same city besides."
The speaker was a youth with tousled flaxen curls—Moll Leonard, Sean's friend, who had visited him only the night before.
"Moll, best you stay out of this."
Benson's face darkened at once.
But Moll, standing firm at Sean's side, did not falter.
"Sean is my friend. And you tell me not to intervene?"
Though a merchant's son who prized gain above all, Moll was also one to stand by his choices. His "investment" in Sean might prove a failure, but he would not abandon it midway. Besides, even if he abandoned Sean now, Benson's petty vindictiveness would one day turn upon him for being Sean's friend.
"So you insist on opposing me?" Benson's voice dropped to a chill.
"And what if I do?" Moll stepped forward, not yielding an inch.
He knew he was no match for Benson alone. But with Sean beside him, the odds were not hopeless. And in moments like this, spirit mattered more than strength.
"Think well on it. Is it worth defying me for the sake of this failure?"
Benson's eyes narrowed, venomous with contempt.
"Whether it's worth it is my affair. Don't forget—today's lesson has a guest present. Should trouble break out, not even your patron could shield you."
"You—!" Benson's face turned red, then pale, rage and humiliation warring. At last, spitting a threat, he turned on his heel and stalked away.
The scene had not gone unnoticed.
"Who were those three?"
Curiosity flickered among the watching students. With over two hundred in a year, not all could know each other. One student chuckled softly and explained:
"The flaxen-haired one's Moll, known for being everyone's friend. The brown-haired one is Benson—he's Wallace's new lackey."
"Wallace's lackey? Fortunate indeed, to catch Wallace's notice. And the other boy?"
"The other? Best you forget him. Soon enough you won't be seeing him at all."
"What do you mean—ah, I see…"
Realization dawned, and the student's smile turned knowing.
At Neo Academy, failure bore a heavy price. Twice yearly examinations judged every student without mercy. Fail three times, and one was expelled—noble birth no safeguard.
But the Academy did not bend. Backed by the royal house, it feared no noble family. What lineage was greater than the crown's? And its uncompromising standards ensured its graduates bore no stain upon its name.
"Thanks," Sean murmured to Moll.
"What are you saying? Come on, time's almost upon us."
Moll clapped him on the shoulder with a smile, and together they went to join their class.
When the hour struck eight, six figures appeared—men and women clad in crimson-dyed leather, boots stamping the earth with measured force. Their very bearing exuded battle-hardened might.
They were the teachers of Sean's year—six knights, each a veteran of war, each a formal knight of the realm. Only Neo Academy, with its wealth and prestige, could afford to appoint true knights as instructors for every class. In lesser academies, even the finest elite students could not dream of such privilege.
Knighthood brought with it baronial title, however lowly, and barons did not come cheaply.
The six stood before the gathered students, but did not at once begin. Instead, as one, they turned slightly, facing a figure approaching from the distance.
A woman strode toward them, clad too in crimson leather, her long hair flowing behind her like a banner of flame. Her frame was slender yet unyielding, the armor tracing lines of grace and strength. Each step she took struck firm upon the earth, her aura sharp as drawn steel—an aura that eclipsed even the six knights combined.
"The Crimson Lady—Sera?!"
"Is that truly… Lady Sera?"
"Our guest today is her!"
Gasps rippled through the students. The noble-born among them were first to cry out in awe, eyes alight with reverence. Others, hearing whispered explanations, caught the fever as well.
"It's really her!"
Even Sean felt his breath hitch in wonder.
The Crimson Lady, Sera—though still young, she had already reached the rank of great knight. Alone, she had ventured into the perilous outer zones, slaughtering corpse-thralls and reaping a harvest of victories. She was famed even for felling a dread sorcerer of the alien races.
Her exploits were legend in the Kingdom of Carlo, her tale retold in books that sold by the thousands, inspiring a generation.
"Silence!"
From among the six, the eldest—a grim-faced man with iron in his voice—cleared his throat and stepped forward.
This was Hadis Ives, instructor of Titus Kirk's elite class, and dean of Sean's year, charged with overseeing all six instructors and every student under them. His authority was well known, his sternness feared. At his command, the field fell instantly still.
"Today, we are honored by the presence of Lady Sera. I invite her now to speak."
Sera's gaze swept the students. Wherever her eyes touched, heads bowed instinctively. Even Titus Kirk, proud as he was, dared not meet her look.
"Greetings," she said. Her voice was calm, but carried the weight of command.
"I am Sera. It is a pleasure to stand before you today."
"In truth, I am your senior. Ten years ago, I stood where you stand now."
"So, brothers and sisters—strive! May ten years hence find you standing where I stand today."
Applause thundered, rolling across the grounds. Every hand struck together, every eye shone bright. Even Sean, drawn in despite himself, felt stirred by her presence.
The girls were dazzled, many gazing with adoring eyes. Were there such a thing as "fan clubs" in this world, Sean mused, half the field would surely have joined hers.
But he could not deny her magnetism. In a few simple words, she had ignited the hearts of hundreds.
Who would admit to being lesser? Who did not dream of rising to her height?
Lady Sera had struck the deepest chord of all.