Norvin was now certain the man was just a Spark Nexus—a warrior incapable of channelling Awen. If the knight had possessed the ability to cast spells, he wouldn't be slogging through the mud; he would have simply blasted the barn apart or tagged Norvin with a tracking spell the moment the fight began.
The Nexus were knights who honoured physical might above all else, worshipping the raw brutality of steel and bone. After years of agonizing labour and limit-breaking training, they developed the strength to control Numen—the vital energy that resided within their own bodies. They formed the iron backbone of the kingdom's military, the most common breed of warrior, for not everyone was blessed by the energy of the cosmos.
As the Nexus made up such a massive force, their ranks were strictly decided by their combat prowess and their mastery over the instruments of war, divided into four distinct tiers: Spark, Core, Vortex, and the legendary Prime.
The Spark was the kindling of violence, the starting rank for a Nexus. These knights had just survived their training and focused purely on raw physical power without refinement.
The man currently coughing up blood before Norvin seemed to be exactly this—a mere Spark Nexus, a rank significantly lower than the first true enemy Norvin had ever fought. Indeed, Zephyr had been a Core Nexus, a warrior who had pushed the mastery of a single weapon to its absolute limit, grasping the very essence of his affinity.
The gap between a Spark and a Core was vast, but it paled in comparison to the Vortex—a fearsome rank for those who achieved mastery over multiple forms of combat, wielding weapons as extensions of their own bodies within a personal- Point Horizon where their physical will was law. And above them all stood the Prime Nexus, the pinnacle of physical perfection, a legendary figure representing the ultimate union of skill, strength, and slaughter.
Yet, despite their vast numbers and terrifying physical strength, the Nexus were not considered the true apex of power. They were shackled by their inability to sense Awen. Only those blessed with the ability to channel the cosmic energy flowing through the universe could obtain power incomprehensible to a normal human or even a Spark Nexus. These were the Ciphers and the Anchors.
While the high-ranking Nexus commanded respect, the very nature of reality bowed to the Ciphers, who dedicated their lives to the mastery of sorcery. Their ranks were a measurement of their ability to turn the world into chaos: Whisper, Fragment, Spectre, and Phantom.
A Whisper was merely the entry level, a novice beginning their journey into sorcery. A Fragment, however, was a frighteningly powerful entity who had not only mastered sorcery but established a magical Point Horizon. Remus himself was a Fragment Cipher; he had served the Roric Kingdom for decades, and his strength was a testament to his experience. Yet, despite a lifetime of war, he could never ascend to become a Spectre.
The strength one could achieve in a lifetime was largely defined by their potential in the formative years of developing Numen and Awen. This was the cruel reason children had to undergo hellish training to develop themselves as vessels of infinite potential if they ever hoped to rival the gods.
A Spectre signified a Cipher who had achieved mastery over a second affinity, making them a truly versatile and formidable force. But the Phantom Cipher was a nightmare made flesh. Their sorcery was so complex and catastrophic that it was completely unpredictable, their spells nearly impossible to comprehend, let alone counter.
They were the most dangerous of all Ciphers, walking cataclysms that few survived to speak of. However, the number of Ciphers was few compared to the Nexus, though their destructive power easily bridged the gap.
Yet, there existed a third group, a terrifying balance of physical and magical might—the Anchors. Root, Pillar , Monolith, Titan.
The Anchors were the rarest breed, knights who actively trained to master both Numen and Awen, their ranks reflecting their proficiency in weaving sorcery by awen into martial combat. From the Root Anchor, who learned to combine basic spells with strikes, to the Pillar who commanded an affinity alongside their weapon, up to the Monolith who forged a balanced Point Horizon. But at the summit stood the Titan—the strongest of all Anchors, an individual who had reached the pinnacle of both physical powers, a true master of both worlds.
In the military designations of all kingdoms, the Phantoms and Titans held the highest honours. They were the Captains, the strongest warriors of humanity, possessing strength that gained admiration even from the Demon race.
In a world where nothing mattered but power, these sorcerers and hybrids naturally took the thrones of command. The Prime, Phantoms and Titans held the S-tier threat level classification.
Of course, the Captain of the Serpent's Maw was the sole, terrifying exception to this rule. He was a Prime Nexus. It was unheard of for a man who refuse to use Awen to hold the position of Captain, yet Thane Cladaron sat there not because of the lack of Phantoms or Titans in his division, but simply because he was the strongest. He was a monster despised by the other Captains, a living proof that with enough rage and physical perfection, even the cosmos could be brought to its knees.
Unlike the S-Tier, which is evaluated by the military intelligence of individual knighthoods, the Z-Tier is a designation given unanimously by the Imperial Diplomatic Council of all Great Kingdoms—Roric, Kvothe, Zenithar, Aureus, Nadir and Merek. The forces of the other comparatively weaker Kingdoms would naturally have to obey the decisions of the Imperial Diplomatic Council.
This rank is reserved for beings whose strength is comparable to a god. They are viewed not just as enemies, but as existential threats to the continent itself. If a Z-Tier entity decides to turn against a kingdom—even their own—no army can stand in their way.
As of now, there are only fifteen such individuals on the entire continent who have been given the threat of Z-tier.
Of these fifteen, eight are human. These individuals have transcended the rank of Titan or Phantoms and are known as "The Warlords." They possess the might to build or destroy a kingdom on a whim.
The remaining seven are not human. They are monsters—ancient abominations so dangerous that no kingdom dares to anger them. Hunting them is a joke, the Kings of the six kingdoms pray that their kingdom doesn't become the prey of those monsters. They are living forbidden zones. Millions have perished by their hands, and history records no hero who has ever claimed victory against them.
The standing orders given to common knights regarding these supreme beings were simple, bleak, and absolute. If a group of knights were to face an enemy Prime, their order was to hold ground and wait for reinforcements. If they faced a Titan, the order was to abandon the mission and retreat immediately. But if they were to face a Phantom, the order was to run—run until their lungs burned and their hearts gave out, for none truly knew the extent of a Phantom's power, save for the Phantom himself.
But for Norvin, his orders were different. Upon sighting any enemy—regardless of rank, strength, or number—his sole duty was to vanish. He was sent here to be a courier slipping through the cracks, not a warrior standing on the front lines. To engage was to fail.
Yet, fate cared little for orders.
Here he was, miles from safety, his chest heaving and his hands stained with the warm, sticky blood of a seasoned killer. He hadn't just encountered an enemy; he had been cornered by one. The Marsh Forest had stripped him of his speed, the mud had shackled his feet, and the vicious persistence of the Knight had forced his hand. He had been entangled in a fight to the death where the only choice was to butcher or be butchered.