Two weeks passed.
Sam's sessions accumulated day by day. Footwork, grip work, the specific economy of movement that knife practice demanded—all of them were faithfully taught by Sam, and his students followed just as diligently.
Isaac's body was absorbing what his mind had understood from the first demonstration. The gap between intellectual comprehension and physical instinct was closing—slowly that is. He still was far from mastering it all. Nevertheless, he liked to believe that he has gotten the hang of it, and that was enough for him.
"You are a fast learner, Isaac," remarked Vesper.
Isaac shook his head, "I still got a long way to go compared to you and two others."
"Don't be humble. Everyone knows that unlike us, you didn't… receive any formal training." Vesper spoke, rather bitterly, as if finding his past status as Valerius and lack of training as a mismatch.
Now, there were at the second week into the second month. The festival was one week away.
…
The day's class ended. Under the bask of the setting sun, Isaac walked back toward the Golden Repose, together with Magnus on his left and Vesper on his right. Throughout two weeks of weapon training, this has become a norm for them.
Magnus was vibrant, making gestures as he talked about the festival excitedly.
"The Free Ground events on the first six days are fine and all, but the banquet on the seventh is the thing. Do you remember that last year?" He said. "Literally, all the named people were there. Sure, there were good food, but it was—" he searched for the word, "—suffocating. Real suffocating."
"This year may be different," Vesper reasoned, "a good number of nobles are at the battlefield. The majority of the participants will be nobles in the Academy, like us."
"Right. I forgot about that one." Magnus frowned. "Raul is free only because he was a higher class student in fourth-year. For some reason, I thought everyone was like him." He looked between them. "By the way, are you two are going?"
"What kind of question is that? Nobles enrolled in the Academy are required to participate. It's not the matter of choice—" Vesper said. Then, he paused. Looked at Isaac.
He was no longer Valerius, but Nameless. He was no longer a noble either. Only then did the two realize that they brought up a topic sensitive to him.
"Oh," Magnus said.
A pause.
"What's with the silence?" Isaac spoke up, chuckling with the composed expression of someone who wasn't bothered by the talk at all. "To answer your question, no, I won't be going. Probably."
The two appeared visibly relieved by his words, having read the humor in his tone.
"Well, by the way," Magnus said, hurriedly, "the weapons training has been going well, I think. Jabbing with spear is fun."
"Speaking of spear, how good is Silas?" Vesper asked, curious.
"Well, do you want an honest or biased answer?"
"Honest one."
"He is good. Damn good. He was definitely trained, thoroughly."
"What would be the biased answer?" Isaac asked.
Magnus grinned, "He uses it like an egoistic prick."
The three of them continued walking.
The Golden Repose's main corridor was filled with its residents returning from various sessions. It was clearly different from its morning configuration.
They were halfway down the corridor when Vesper stopped first, having noticed something.
Isaac and Magnus stopped beside him.
"What is it?" Magnus asked, but Vesper didn't seem to hear.
At the corridor's far end, near the junction that led toward the residential wing, a young woman stood with the composed patience of someone who had arrived at a location with a specific purpose.
She was dressed formally. From her overall appearance, it was evident that she wasn't an academy student but someone who was here for the sake of her work.
She was looking at the corridor's residents with the attention of someone cross-referencing faces against a known profile. Then, her gaze found Vesper. After, her gaze moved to Isaac. It settled, as if he was the one whom she was waiting for.
"Westia," Vesper said.
Magnus looked between them. "You know her?"
"She's my sister."
Magnus blinked. Looked at Westia and then at Isaac. "Your sister is here for Isaac," he said.
"Apparently," Vesper said, as he held his chin in a thoughtful expression.
Westia Bardot approached them with steps of certainty.
She appeared to be older than Vesper by enough years. Her hair was the same color. Her eyes held the similar, analytical gaze as he did.
"Isaac Nameless," she said, in a confirmative tone rather than that of greeting.
"Westia Bardot of House Bardot," Isaac said.
Something moved briefly in her expression—she was clearly surprised by his impassiveness to the fact that he was called "Nameless."
Regardless, she reached into the formal case she carried and revealed an envelope.
The seal on the envelope was the Aetherion royal family's—not the administrative version used for institutional correspondence, but the personal seal.
She held it out.
"From Prince Gladius Aetherion," she said.
Isaac took the envelope.
"He requests that you read it now, in my presence, so that I may confirm receipt and convey any immediate response he should be aware of."
He looked at it for a moment. Felt its weight and observed the seal carefully.
He opened it.
Magnus was making a significant effort not to visibly lean forward.
"Right, you were nominated as an exception to the conscription, to instead serve as the prince's assistant…" Vesper, on the other hand, whispered, with his eyes locked on Westia rather than the envelope.
Isaac read.
The letter was brief.
To Isaac Nameless,
The Festival of Foundation's concluding banquet will be held on the seventh day of the festival week. As rank 2 of the second-year higher class and the individual whose Trial result was broadcast to the kingdom's population centers, your attendance is requested as my personal guest.
Attendance requires a formal partner for all participants. It is, although questionable, the tradition that has existed since the birth of the Kingdom. I trust you will manage the relevant logistics.
Gladius Aetherion
Isaac read it twice, taken back.
He didn't expect this development, but he found it reasonable. Rank 2 of higher class meant the second best among the entire cohort of thousands of second-year.
This invitation gave him an impression that the prince was someone who meritocratic rather than hierarchical.
Now, he folded the letter and placed it in his pocket.
"Confirmed," he said to Westia.
She nodded once, as the professional acknowledgement of someone whose function was delivery and confirmation rather than conversation.
Then, she looked at Vesper briefly with the warmth of someone who had a separate conversation available.
"Father has been proud of you, Vesper," she said to him. "I will find you later."
"I will be available," Vesper nodded.
She turned and walked back toward the corridor's exit without further words.
Magnus waited until she had turned the corner.
Then he looked at Isaac.
"That was a royal seal," he said.
"Yes," Isaac said.
"From the prince."
"Yes."
"Personally."
"Yes."
Magnus looked at Vesper. Vesper looked at Magnus with the expression of someone who had arrived at the same conclusions.
"You need to find a partner." Magnus said. Then paused, as one memory surfaced, "Didn't you say that last year—"
"Magnus." Vesper interrupted. Magnus looked at him, and he shook his head, "Don't."
Magnus closed it.
"Partner… huh."
Isaac muttered as looked at the corridor junction where Westia had been standing.
The festival was one week away. The banquet was on the seventh day.
Last year, he, as Valerius who was required to participate in the banquet, was kicked out of it because he couldn't find a partner.
"How did you two find yours?"
He asked, trying to think where to start.
"I just asked the same one as last year." Magnus shrugged.
"I am in a formal engagement." Vesper gave a different answer.
Isaac felt fatigue rushing into him.