The Academy's main training ground was a different space from the training facility, Mechanism Room, or colosseum.
Unlike those areas that had special, artificial Manafold Circuitry inserted to manage a mana-scale modification, the main traing ground was a raw, large area—an open expanse of compressed earth bordered by the Academy's outer wall on the north and the faculty observation platform on the south.
Maren Solke stood at the platform's edge with her ledger open and her pen already moving.
The sixteen students of the higher class stood before her, wearing a more relaxed wear than the typical Academy uniform.
"Again, I will point out the fact that the Kingdom is currently at war. Against the Solari Empire."
Her words contained the heavy weight, the type of tone only possible from those who knew how detrimental a situation was.
"You will be the strategic weapons for the Kingdom to deploy. Simultaneously, you will be the ruling class, to lead others of your generation through the rising turmoil."
Maren closed her ledger. Flipped her pen skillfully before plucking it on the ledger's cover. Her gaze roamed across all sixteen students. Paused briefly on Silas, before moving on.
"Being standard won't be enough. Being better than the standard isn't good enough either. You must be the best that the Kingdom has to offer, all sixteen of you." A pause. "A skill is the biggest factor in deciding a victory. However, I can't deny that other factors matter as well. Leadership, coordination, critical thinking, and most importantly… physical endurance."
Cassiopeia flinched at that, which Isaac noticed from her right.
"The higher class curriculum alternates," Maren continued, before anyone had taken a position. "Lecture days and practical days. Today is practical. Physical foundation—the baseline capabilities that skill application demands and that skill development tends to neglect."
She looked across the sixteen students.
"You will run the perimeter. Maintain your own pace. I am not timing you against each other. I am timing you against yourselves. There will be no limit to number of laps you can complete."
She stepped back.
Immediately, Silas and Vane began their run, without a question. Other students watched as they go, before they too joined.
Isaac took a moment to observe them. Then, he looked at Cassiopeia who was sighing, as if she wasn't the type to get invested on physical activities as such.
"Question, professor."
Isaac then asked. Maren raised an eyebrow, as if not having expected such a response.
"Go ahead."
"Typically, in the battlefield, what would be the average distance that an average soldier of the Aetherion Kingdom covers?"
"There is no 'typically.' There is no 'average' either in a war. However, if I were to give my insight…" Maren pulled out a number, "I would say twenty-five kilometers per day."
"Thank you for the answer."
Isaac nodded. He then began running.
Cassiopeia watched as he went. Resisting an urge to groan, she followed suit, for she couldn't be the only one to remain standing as others ran.
…
Silas ran the way he did everything—without entertaining the possibility of failure. The faint violet arcs at his collar intensified with physical exertion, the Circuitry running hotter under load. His pace was set from the first stride and he held it like a decision already made.
Vane ran behind him at a calculated gap—not competing, simply positioning. His notebook was in his pocket. His expression was the expression he always had.
Isaac, even with starting late, settled into seventh position without deliberating over it. Maren had said she was timing students against themselves, not each other—which meant the relevant variable was consistency, not placement. He found the pace that his system could sustain without degradation and held it. Economy over output.
Around him, the cluster moved with the contained effort of high-output systems running at reduced load. Behind them, the students whose physical foundation hadn't kept pace with their skill development began to show it by the second lap.
And Cassiopeia.
She was at the back—not barely, but distinctly. Her notebook was in her pocket rather than her hands, which meant she had already determined that writing while running was not an achievable goal and had accepted this without ceremony. Her face carried the flat resignation of someone who knows exactly why they are failing and has filed every reason without it producing any improvement.
At the platform, Maren wrote without pausing.
…
Fourth lap. A presence appeared at Isaac's left shoulder. Another student of higher class whom Isaac haven't talked with before.
Vesper Bardot. Light build, quick footwork. Isaac recognized the name because the surname Bardot belonged to the house of a high noble, and he, during his Valerius years, was taught to memorize all names of the nobles as well as their heirs.
Vesper had adjusted his pace from further up the field to fall in beside Isaac—deliberate, calibrated.
"Isaac Nameless," he said.
"Vesper Bardot of House Bardot," Isaac said, without adjusting his pace.
Vesper absorbed being named first. Recovered smoothly. "You know everyone here."
"The number only goes up to sixteen including myself. Not a big deal."
A brief silence. Then, "Do you know what skill I awakened?"
"No."
"…Well, you aren't the only one." Vesper's face morphed—into that of a clear confusion. "I awakened A-rank: [Shapeshift]. An A-rank skill, extremely rare, fitting for a heir. Yet, for whatever reason, no one knows. Even the algorithm back then in the Mechanism Room—it placed me in Group 14 after yours, when my status is clearly higher than that Vane Abias in Group 12… whatever."
Isaac looked at him with a concealed amusement. They continued running as they talked.
"Anyway, that isn't the reason why I'm talking to you."
"Then what may it be?"
"You're close to Cassiopeia Terra."
It was a topic which Isaac didn't expect, although it was reasonable given the context. He answered, "We've shared meals. We shared three days in the Mechanism Room."
"I wanted to ask about that. I saw you with Cassiopeia Terra in the last dinner." Vesper's stride held steady but his attention had shifted—the kind of runner who could talk but couldn't quite do both at full capacity. "What she's like. Whether she..." He reorganized. "I'm interested in her."
Isaac ran.
The arithmetic of Vesper's position assembled itself without effort. High noble. A-rank skill. The bearing of someone raised to consider his standing a natural advantage. And his assessment of Cassiopeia—youngest of the Terra line, no succession pressure, the kind of profile that read as approachable from the outside if you didn't look past the label.
The assessment was wrong, or so Isaac thought. His intelligence wasn't attuned for the "romance" aspect of life, so he couldn't guarantee how acute his judgement was.
"Why are you asking me?" Isaac said.
"You're the person she chose to sit with. First day. She signalled you across the room." Vesper's tone was careful—not hostile, the residual wariness of someone who had heard enough about Isaac Nameless—or Isaac Valerius—from the noble network to have an opinion he was actively trying to set aside. "You have access I don't."
"I didn't do anything to acquire it. We occupied the same space under extreme conditions for three days. She updated her model of me. The rest followed."
"She respects you."
"She finds me worth continuing to observe. Whether that's respect I couldn't confirm."
Vesper was quiet. Running. The fifth lap marker passed.
"Do you think I have a chance?" Direct. He'd decided the indirect approach wasn't working.
Isaac considered this honestly. "No."
"Why not."
"Cassiopeia runs on intellectual interest. Standing, skill rank, family position—she'd note those and move on. What generates interest is something that doesn't fit her existing framework. That—"
"Is that even relevant?" Vesper interrupted him, as if unable to keep himself silent. "Typically, people function differently when it comes to romance. This, I can guarantee you, because I am experienced."
"…Huh." Isaac didn't refute. Vesper's words had a point. He filed it and moved on. "You may be right."
"Well then. Think again and tell me. Is there anything I could—"
"Still, my standing doesn't change. You need to surprise her to invoke any kind of interest in her. However, you can't decide to be surprising. The moment you decide it, you're running a calculation. She'll read the calculation before you've finished it, that's the type of person whom she is."
Vesper looked at the track. His expression moved through something that wasn't quite acceptance but was adjacent to it. "You know," he said, "for someone the noble network spent years calling a failure, you're remarkably confident in your assessments."
Isaac said nothing. He noted the phrasing—the noble network spent years calling a failure—and filed it as confirmation, once again, that rumors surrounding him kept floating around. It has been like that ever since he entered the Valerius household after his mother's pass-away.
"I wonder," Vesper continued, quieter now, more to himself, "how Vane Abias ended up in a lower group number than me in the Mechanism Room. Lesser noble. B-rank skill. I had an A-rank and he still…" He stopped.
"B-rank Passive: [Mana Siphon]," Isaac said. "It is a unique skill, unique enough for the algorithm to note."
"Well, I'd argue that my skill is just as unique. I could launch a sneak attack, morph my size and appearance, strengthen my attacks, and—"
"—hff—incredible—"
The voice came from behind them, between heavy exhales, getting louder at a pace inconsistent with the effort the words suggested. Someone was pushing to catch up while simultaneously talking, which was producing results that were mediocre on both fronts.
A student pulled up on Isaac's right—broader build than Vesper, the warm ambient signature of a fire-aspected skill running at baseline, face red, breathing with the aggressive enthusiasm of someone who had been waiting for an excuse to have this conversation since the session began.
"Magnus Ember," Isaac said, before he could speak.
Magnus pointed at him, still catching his breath. "Yes—that—how do you—never mind." He exhaled hard. "You somehow surpassed me mid-way. I've been trying to get over here since the third lap. You walk—run—faster than you look."
"I maintain a consistent pace," Isaac said.
"Right. Yes. Obviously."
Magnus pulled in a long breath and seemed to decide that talking at this pace was acceptable even if comfortable was a stretch.
"I just—I needed to say something. I watched your Trial. Everyone did. But I mean I watched it." He gestured broadly, as if the gesture could carry the weight his breathing couldn't. "I'm branch Ignis. Lesser noble. I've heard of people with D-rank skills getting thrown out of their house and leading lives of disgrace."
He looked at Isaac directly—open, unguarded, the admiration genuine enough that it didn't need to perform itself. "You got in with F-rank: [Condensation]. Over Camilla Hedron. Over—" he counted on his fingers while running, which required significant coordination "—at least eight A-rank students who didn't make it because of Silas Fulgur. And then you beat him." He shook his head. "That's not a fluke. That's not circumstance. That's—I don't even have a word for it. It shouldn't be possible."
Vesper glanced at Magnus sideways. Then at Isaac.
"It was possible," Isaac said. "The conditions were specific."
"Exactly!" Magnus said, as if Isaac had confirmed something profound. "The conditions were specific and you built them. That's what I'm saying." He was still breathing hard but had apparently decided this was a problem for later. "I have B-rank: [Raging Fire], my safety net. I then have D-rank: [Cinder]—which overlaps in a sense that both are fire-manipulating skills. But I've been working with it since the Rite, trying to find applications that [Raging Fire] can't achieve. And seeing what you did with [Condensation]—" He trailed off. Then: "How long did it take you? To find that… shimmer application?"
"A week," Isaac said. "Or years, depending on how you interpret it. I had the framework already in available in my head, because of the studies I conducted in the long past. I simply integrated the theories into the skill which I awakened."
Magnus nodded. The nod of someone storing information carefully. "Years," he repeated, as if the timeline itself was instructive.
Vesper was running in silence between them. His expression had shifted—not entirely, but the residual wariness had a different texture now, less reflexive.
"Your [Cinder]," Isaac said to Magnus. "Thermal output at D-rank. The application ceiling the standard framework assumes is limited to contact-range heat transfer."
Magnus blinked. "Yes."
Isaac glanced at him briefly. "[Raging Fire] grants the volume but not the precision. Sometimes, an unexpected situation can arise that favors precision over volume."
Magnus stared at him. Then he laughed—sudden and genuine, the laugh of someone who had received something they hadn't been expecting and found it exactly what they needed. "Worth considering," he repeated. "Right. Yes. I'll—yes."
Vesper looked at Magnus. Then at Isaac. The owner of a B-rank skill and a D-rank skill, asking for an advice to the owner of a F-rank skill. It was a bizarre scene that didn't match the common sense which he built throughout his life.
He said nothing.
At the back of the field, Cassiopeia completed another lap in the specific manner of someone who had filed her current performance as unacceptable and was continuing anyway because the alternative was standing still. She was vividly exhausted, as evidence from the way she breathed.
At the platform, Maren's pen kept moving.