Deep into the night, a mana-pigeon arrived, knocking on the window of Isaac's room.
He was at his desk with the notebook open, reviewing the information and tools at his disposal for the assessment the day after.
He stood and opened the window.
The mana-pigeon was approximately the size of his fist, translucent in quality. Isaac could tell, just based on the appearance alone, that it was a construct—the product of someone's skill.
A small envelope was secured to its leg with a loop of mana-string that dissolved when Isaac reached for it.
He took the envelope.
The pigeon remained for exactly three seconds—the duration of whatever confirmation protocol the staff member's skill required—and then came apart. It dispersed into the ambient mana that quickly diluted into the air, no longer visible by sight.
Isaac recognized this skill.
A-rank: [Mana Mimicry].
Master Andrias, one of a few A-rank skill practitioners remaining in the Academy's faculty, was the known owner of this skill. His skill was the specific discipline of giving mana a shape that could carry weight and follow instructions. High versatility, immensely useful in numerous circumstances.
Settling his thought, he inspected the envelope.
There was the Academy seal. His name was in institutional print: Isaac Nameless, Second Year, Cellar 7, The Hollows.
He opened it.
The letter composed of two paragraphs. The first cited Aetherion Kingdom National Code, Volume III, Section 7, subsections applicable to formal Trial petitions filed by a legal citizen against fallen nobles, which override the Academy Administrative code that protected the rights of a student. It noted the petition's filing date, signatures by two Senior Inquisitors, its review by the Registrar's office. It noted the petition had been assessed as procedurally valid under all applicable provisions.
The second paragraph gave the date.
Five days from now. Seventh bell. The eastern Trial grounds. Should he not comply, criminal charges will be pressed upon him.
It was a clear abuse of a law. In all, there was no point in someone like Silas Fulgur picking on him to this extent.
Yet, he did it, as Isaac expected.
Isaac read it once. Taking in a deep breath, he folded it back and placed it in his notebook between the page containing the 0.3-second window calculation and the page containing the margin note What am I to Caspian?
He closed the window. Then sat back down at the desk.
His mind was cloudy. He looked up through the window.
He knew that he has been expecting this. The entire Academy was already talking about it. Yet, having the formal letter delivered to him felt different.
There certainly existed a tension in his heart, although he didn't let that spill outward.
I will be facing Silas Fulgur, one of the five S-rank skill owners among the entire Kingdom.
Many things happened over the course of a week.
He acquired F-rank: [Condensation] and SSS-rank: [The Prism] during the Rite of Manifestation. He lost his status as Valerius. Was dumped in here, the Hollows. Was looked down upon by ones like Jax Wason, who couldn't even dare to look at him when his name was Isaac Valerius, the second son of House Valerius. Now, after the three-day-long assessment, he is to face Silas.
Can I do it?
He looked at his notebook.
The calculation was still there. He looked at the calculation for a long moment.
The deionized, compressed waterdrop was sufficient enough to deflect B-rank: [Bolt Streak]. The question of whether it was sufficient enough to deflect S-rank: [Lightning Spear] remained unknown, and he was currently leaning toward no based on his educated guess.
Two issues persisted. First was the application of supercritical fluid within 0.3-second time frame. Second was the limitation of "waterdrop"; a size of a droplet was too small to cover the wide-scale attack of [Lightning Spear]—he knew this because the current Fulgur Patriarch possessed the exact same skill, and he once saw the demonstration of the skill in the past.
He closed the notebook, holding his head that ached from thinking too much.
Breathing slowly, he closed his eyes as he sprawled into his old, creaking chair.
The brief rest then developed into a meditating session.
Looking into himself, he found his Manafold Circuitry, as well as the small amount of mana that circulated at a slow pace, generating little to no output.
He observed it without intervening.
And as he observed, he ran the inventory. Not to discover anything new. To confirm that what he'd built was present, intact, and ready to be used tomorrow and in five days and in whatever came after.
[Condensation].
The baseline. The F-rank result. The drip that the gallery had laughed at in the Hall of Manifestation. Ambient moisture collection from surrounding air. At face value, a dehumidifier because it stole humidity—although many misunderstood it as a humidifier due to their lack of interest in this skill.
In this state, he morphed his mana into a thread. It began to circulate at a rapidly accelerating pace, which is reinforced by laminar flow that generated zero-friction, and therefore, negligible resistance.
His mana output spiked in an instant. Manipulating the pressure aspect of [Condensation], he compressed the existing waterdrop under his fingertip.
Dense waterdrop.
At the scale, he could currently produce a sphere approximately eight millimeters in diameter carrying an immense mass disproportionate to its volume. It was heavy enough that he added his thumb, holding the waterdrop with two fingers now. Should he added any further mass from this point on, the surface tension would no longer be able to hold, the waterdrop would fall, and it would generate a crack on the wooden floor below.
He had shown Marcus this. Marcus had looked at the fracture and recalibrated something in his assessment of the person he'd offered tunnel time to.
Then, he evaporated this waterdrop, before instantly condensing back right away.
Deionized drop.
The purity application. It was the selective condensation of water molecules that generated the special drop of water that contained no ion, and therefore, its electrical conductivity was reduced to near zero. It was this specific application that had stopped Jax's [Bolt Streak] from completing its arc in the training room.
He held the deionized application in his awareness a moment longer than the others.
And even this deionized waterdrop, compressed to my maximum capacity, likely cannot stop [Lightning Spear].
He released the deionized waterdrop.
Then, moved onto the supercritical fluid.
As he willed, [Condensation] responded. Pushing pressure and temperature to extreme—it required focus.
Supercritical fluid.
What sat underneath his fingertip was the transparent, gas-like substance that was kept in a sphere at the size of a droplet.
If he exerts a unidirectional pressure in this state, this supercritical fluid becomes a supercritical bullet. It was potent enough to induce a lethal damage, but its speed of flight wasn't as fast as that of lightning.
Then, he lost the focus and the supercritical fluid quickly dispersed into a large volume of gas that filled up the room.
Quickly operating [Condensation] numerous times in the air, he gradually cooled down the air.
After the room's air condition returned back to normal, he let out a breath of exhaustion.
Why is it that I must win?
The duel will involve safety measures. There will be, to be frank, no real punishment for losing other than the public humiliation.
To Isaac, the opinions of the others were no longer of his interest.
He didn't really need to try this hard. He could simply let Silas defeat him without any effort and walk away.
He clenched his hands tight. Just the thought of it made him enraged.
I cannot give up.
The letter was in the notebook. The date was five days out. The assessment began at seventh bell. He was done for the night.
Outside, The Hollows moved through its night the way it always moved through its night—the water main thumping behind the wall, the distant sound of the filtration system doing its work, the specific cold of underground stone that held its temperature regardless of what happened above it. It has only been three days or so, but he has already gotten accustomed to the environment.
He lay down.
Isaac closed his eyes.
He would find a way. He would seize the victory. It wasn't about proving others wrong, but making his deceased mother proud. It was about being able to stand up for his own sake, to punish those who dare to belittle him.
In front of the others, he will continue to appear calm and collected. However, deep within, what truly lies is the years of pent-up rage.
He slept.