Rage—energy potent enough to foment Armageddon—had become the intrinsic essence of this world.
It was said to have originated from beyond the barriers, harnessed by various races of mysterious nature.
For a thousand years, such sorcery was practiced and exercised by humans within the barriers to combat vicious raiders.
These humans—seeking to enlighten themselves about the principles of this world—became known as knights.
Rage manifests in various forms, such as presence, pressure, and abilities.
These abilities are divided into three categories, which are Versatile, Dimensional, and Conditional.
* * *
200th Day — Third Day of Academy
The professor’s words jolted Kisatsu out of his daydream, the corner of his mouth wet with drool—though the words themselves didn’t register in his mind.
Versatile, Dimensional, and Conditional.
Three days had already passed since the first day of school—and on that day, he’d promised to be as attentive as he possibly could.
In the end, he just wasn’t built for it.
Daydreams crept in before he could even realize it.
It had been ten days since Thanduin had enlisted—or rather, recommended—him to the Reco Team, yet no updates ever came.
In the meantime, they’d decided to place him with the regulars.
Half days were better than he’d anticipated.
Most of his classmates were older by at least two years—he didn’t quite fit in.
Ranking would begin next month, though no one would realistically get past the hundredth section, even if they managed to ace the entire class.
Quizzes and exams were mostly based on application and competition—the loser could still pass, as long as they applied the correct techniques.
Knight licensure would be issued after four years—upon completing eight semesters, though that applied only to the regulars.
Alternatively, if someone managed to climb to the Fifth Division within that time, the license would be granted ahead of schedule.
The knight hierarchy consisted of ten devisions in total, each containing ten successive sections.
The First Division—the highest in the numerical hierarchy—spanned from the first section to the tenth, followed by the lower divisions in descending order.
Students had the liberty to rise from the hundredth section to the fifty-first section without being licensed.
Since they were only student knights, they weren’t eligible to take on any quests until they were ranked.
Even so, they’d still be assisted by higher-ranked knights on lower-ranked quests.
Being a licensed knight allowed anyone to undertake quests matching their rank independently.
On the other hand, if Kisatsu were admitted into the Reco Team, he’d immediately be granted a license and placed unconditionally in the Eighth Division.
These perks would come once he completed the evaluation.
Lunch break began.
Kisatsu headed to the cafeteria and sat at a two-seated table by himself.
His meal today were three rotisserie barbecue chicken tacos—he’d been eating meat for the past few days.
Before he could take a bite, a redhead approached him.
“Excuse me—sorry to bother you.”
The voice came light, airy, as if a feather had brushed against Kisatsu.
He turned, recognizing the boy as one of his classmates.
“Would it be alright if you joined us for some training?
I-I mean, after you’ve finished eating,” the boy asked sheepishly.
“Training?” Kisatsu asked, faint surprise flickering across his face.
“There’s a surprise quiz?”
“N-No, nothing like that.
It’s self-paced—bit unofficial, actually.
No pressure if you’re not keen.” The boy glanced at the seat across from Kisatsu, then back at him.
“We were just hoping to find someone to train with…
and, well, make a mate or two.
Won’t take long, I promise,” he added, smiling softly.
“Uhm…
so how would this work, then?” Kisatsu asked, taking a bite of his taco, gaze locked on him.
“My friends and I managed to borrow a Partian puppet.
Yeah—exactly how you’re imagining it.
We’ll practise our skills and abilities against it,” the boy said, gesturing toward the space before him with his hands.
“W-Wait.
It actually moves?” Kisatsu set his glass down, intrigued.
An actual Partian would’ve been mundane compared to it.
“Sort of, yeah.
It’s built to react to an opponent’s movement through their Rage Presence.”
Cool…
things this advanced exist here?
he thought, quiet amusement lingering in his eyes.
“Alright, I’m in—after I finish my meal,” he replied casually.
“Where should I meet you?”
“Courtyard.
There’ll be four of us already, so that makes five with you.” The boy turned to leave, then glanced back at Kisatsu once more.
“Kisatsu’s fine,” he said, smiling back gently.
“Nice to meet you.”
“See you, then.” He spoke with cheerful confidence.
“No rush—we’re still fiddling with the puppet, getting it ready.” He headed over to the quadrangle to wait for him there.
Kisatsu returned to his meal, then gazed absentmindedly out the window.
We’ve only covered the basics and fundamentals so far—no real fighting, no application, he mused, staring down at the leftover.
Training in actual combat this early…
that’s smart.
Yeah.
His gaze drifted toward where Delvey had headed—distant, unfocused.
These are probably the sort of people I should stick with.
Half an hour passed, and Kisatsu arrived at the quadrangle, the afternoon sun bathing him in a pale, lazy warmth.
The sky had cleared slightly, the clouds less overcast than before.
Three other students Delvey had mentioned—perhaps from other sections—sat on a ledge beneath the tree, seeking shade.
Delvey crouched at the edge of the tree’s shadow across from them, tinkering with a foot-long contraption.
He turned toward Kisatsu, rubbing the sweat from his forehead in a tired, clumsy motion.
“Oh—there you are,” he called, breath shallow as he rubbed the back of his head, looking sheepish.
“Sorry, this might take a bit longer than we thought.”
Kisatsu’s eyes flicked down to the contraption on the ground, brow raising slightly.
“What’s that—some kind of battery?”
“You can tell?” Delvey asked, smiling inanely at the device.
“Yeah, the puppet runs off it, and the battery itself needs Rage to function.
Problem is, I’m nearly tapped out—draining yourself completely has consequences.”
He turned to the other three, eyes hardening from the strain of exhaustion.
“The rest of them have already chipped in their share, but I didn’t expect it still wouldn’t be enough.”
Kisatsu looked over the group, then back at the battery.
“Rage, huh?” A thought came to mind, tugging his lips into a faint grin.
“Teach me how to channel mine into it.”
“A-Are you sure?” Delvey asked, turning to him, surprise flashing in his eyes.
“I mean, it won’t hurt, but we’ve no idea whether you’ve got enough Rage to transmit.”
“It’s alright,” Kisatsu replied without hesitation.
“I can handle it.”
After everything I’ve been through, something like this won’t scare me, he thought, stepping forward steadily.
“Alright, then,” Delvey said, standing up and stepping back to give him space.
“Just imagine channelling your Rage into the battery.” He gestured toward the contraption with an open palm.
“You don’t need to touch it—though it’s harder if you don’t.
It’s tricky the first time, but it gets easier as you go.”
Kisatsu knelt as instructed, hovering a hand over the battery.
With barely any effort, the contraption suddenly lit up in a soft violet hue.
“Blimey—it worked.
First try, too.” Delvey glanced at the gadget, then looked at him with a boyish grin, eyes twinkling in awe.
“You’re a natural.”
Kisatsu studied his palm, a hint of fascination furrowing his brow.
Looks like I overdid it a little.
I pushed more Rage into it than necessary.
“Is it done already, Delvey?” a brown-haired student asked, walking over to them.
“Let’s head to the underground now, then.”
Underground?
Kisatsu thought, brain buzzing with thoughts he hadn’t sorted out yet.
So that’s where the training ground is?
They headed to the underground facility for training, where the borrowed effigy had been hidden.
The older students training in neat rows across the quadrangle caught Kisatsu’s eye as he ambled down the stoa.
“So the training ground’s underground?
Quite fancy, this school,” he drawled, gaze fixed across the courtyard.
“You heard about it, right?” Delvey said, voice lilting blithely as he walked in front of him.
“That place hasn’t been used properly for years.”
Kisatsu turned to him, curiosity touching his face.
“What?
Why?”
“It was originally meant for deathmatches.
Big space, fewer restrictions—people could push their Rage output and go all out.”
“So students actually killed each other before?”
“Not exactly,” Delvey replied evenly.
“Deathmatch just meant the usual rules didn’t apply.
Both sides are free to get as violent as they liked.” His eyes hooded slightly, the next words carrying a sharp edge.
“But…
why did they do something like that in the first place?”
He glanced at Kisatsu, gaze deliberate, steps slowing—though not quite stopping.
“Vows.
Chivalry.
Honour.
Those were the things knights used to chase.” He looked forward again, picking up his pace.
“Knighthood was once all about death and killing—fear wasn’t even part of the equation.”
The clouds began to clump together again, shrouding the sun in a grey veil.
The silver rays tapered as the shadows blended into the concrete earth, the cold air returning is if it had never truly left.
“These days, though, those ideas feel like they’re being forced on us,” he added.
“That’s why the Knight Association decided to soften things.”
“…That sounds a bit…
personal, to be honest,” Kisatsu said, voice tinged with uncertainty.
“I’m not saying those ideals are ridiculous, though.”
Delvey’s gaze drifted toward the birds hovering in the air, a faint smile ghosting over his lips before he looked at Kisatsu.
“Fair enough.
But becoming a knight is already personal enough, don’t you think?” His eyes lingered for a heartbeat, then flicked ahead.
“Then there was the last deathmatch—where neither fighter died.
The winner demanded the tradition to be abolished altogether,” he added.
“That marked the final deathmatch in this university’s history.”
“In this university?” Kisatsu asked, curiosity lingering like a tingling sensation he couldn’t shake.
“You mean the tradition’s still going at other universities?”
At last, they reached the stairwell entrance, each step echoing softly as they descended.
“The Camesarian Guild’s already banned it at all their institutions,” Delvey said.
“Can’t speak for the other guilds, though—especially those in other nations.
Speaking of which, you don’t look like you’re from around here—your name alone gives it away.”
He studied Kisatsu, noting every features he’d noticed since they first met.
“B-But I’m not saying it’s a bad thing.
It just doesn’t sound like a name you’d hear in Akasa, unless it was meant to be unusual.”
Kisatsu chuckled softly.
“Well, I live in the heartlands.
My real parents were from another land…
and they…
well, they died there.” His voice dipped slightly, eyes hooding at the mention.
“That’s where this name comes from.”
“Hmm?
Fotia, huh?” Delvey remarked casually.
“Y-You can tell?” Kisatsu replied, a gawky smile on his face.
Well…
Mom was from that nation anyway.
“Fotian names are strange-sounding—though in a good way, if you ask me,” Delvey remarked.
Except I wasn’t born there, Kisatsu thought, eyes flicking over to him.
Though Ryurei was.
The echoes grew louder as they descended deeper, the walls darkening as light shimmered faintly like candlelight.
The staircase shuddered beneath their steps, and Kisatsu hesitated, breath hitching.
“How far down is this place anyway?” he asked, a low tremor in his voice.
“We’re basically at the chamber now—just the ceiling level above it,” Delvey answered, voice echoing downstairs like wind through a tunnel.
“Do people come here often?” Kisatsu asked.
“Nope.
Not even for maintenance,” Delvey replied casually, almost shrugging.
“It’s not that anyone’s forbidden from coming, but I’d rather no one sees us.”
They arrived at the entrance three floors down, directly beneath the library—the university’s oldest hall.
Delvey stepped forward, shoulders squared, hands on his hips.
“Here we are.”
Kisatsu’s gaze darted across the dimly lit hall, and for a moment, it felt as if the darkness gazed back.
The entrance towered above them, half-open.
Torches flickered along the walls, the arched ceilings stretching high overhead.
I get that you said this place is big, but I didn’t expect it to be this big.
This feels like we’re barely three floors down.
He glanced back at the stairs they’d just descened.
Feels like we’ve gone down many more floors than that.
As they slipped through the small gap—still wide enough, as though waiting for them—an invisible pressure pressed down on them.
Lingering Rage from those who had trained here in the past.