“You stashed the puppet in here, right, Farnz?” Rasnes grumbled, voice reverberating through the dark.
“Can’t see a damn thing.”
Farnz pulled a torch from its sconce and headed toward the corner.
“It should be around here somewhere.” Faint, reflected light emerged in the distance, and a figure lay against the ground, its outline familiar.
“There—found it.” He stopped and turned back to the others.
“You can slot the battery in now.”
Aubrey, holding the battery, crouched and opened the compartment on the puppet’s back with measured care.
Kisatsu peered past them at the puppet’s face, eyes narrowing—it resembled a lion, its surface wooden, unsettling.
That’s creepy, he thought, brows furrowed.
Good thing this place isn’t haunted.
His eyes drifted down until they landed on a small marking on its back: CLEANER.
This thing’s meant to be a janitor?
The battery clicked softly as it locked into place, still glowing with a faint violet light.
Aubrey gave an instructive nod to the others, and they moved to help the puppet stand.
“Bloody hell, this thing’s heavy,” Rasnes whined, voice straining from the effort.
“Why’d you leave it lying flat like that?”
“So fitting the battery wouldn’t be a pain,” Farnz clipped out.
“It’s two meters tall, remember.”
Not really an issue for me, honestly.
I’m just a bit worried it might decide to move on its own, he thought, forcing a small, deadpan smile.
The puppet was finally straightened, facing them—motionless, yet eerie.
“The switch should be somewhere here.” Aubrey checked along the torso, then stood on tiptoe to reach the nape.
“Alright—everyone stand back.
I’m switching it on.
Low difficulty only.”
The other four stepped away.
A soft click echoed as Aubrey flipped the switch, then quickly hopped back from it.
The puppet’s eyes gleamed with a sharp violet glow as it took its first step forward.
Everyone shifted into a defensive stance.
Kisatsu cautiously retreated a little farther than the others cautiously.
I should probably watch first…
before I jump in.
A nervous feeling bubbled up in his chest.
* * *
The office smelled faintly of sterile, musty paper, two men standing in the center aisle—one a knight, the other a professor.
The knight handed over a student file featuring Delvey’s profile.
“This student?” Professor Ruvenne asked, giving him an inquisitive look.
“Yes, that’s him.
According to our data, we suspect that he gained unauthorised access to the missing battle manikin,” the knight reasoned, eyes crinkling with vague suspicion as he crossed his arms.
“There’s a strong possibility he wasn’t acting alone, of course.”
The institution’s battle manikins were typically deployed for guarding, hunting, or even culling.
They operated on Rage and were usually manipulated by a caster.
Regardless of their intended purpose, they all shared one trait—lethality.
Consequently, these manikins were stored deep within the city hall.
One, however, had been illicitly obtained, and the city had dispatched a knight agent to investigate the traces found at Camershire Academy.
“Depending on his rank, we might classify the threat as I-rank,” the knight added, pacing a slow circle in careful thought before turning back to him, expression calm, calculating.
“The puppet itself…
in a worst-case scenario, it’s F-rank.”
“I know him—he’s a new student,” Ruvenne said, leaning back against the edge of the table.
He braced his hands on either side in a half-sitting position his height allowed.
“I’d assume he doesn’t fully understand how the manikin operates yet.
Perhaps he only got hold of it out of curiosity.”
The knight furrowed his brows, then took a step forward, measured, deliberate.
“Still, it doesn’t take a professional for the manikin to go out of control—or become dangerous.
The threat won’t vanish unless the manikin is retrieved.
That’s our top priority.” His voice was firm, final, gaze narrowing with steely resolve.
“Do you know where he is right now?”
Ruvenne glanced at the clock.
“It’s past lunchtime,” he said, turning back.
“He’s likely either in the cafeteria or the quadrangle at this hour.”
“Shall we announce his name across the whole campus?” This story is hosted at g.com.
“No, I don’t think that’s necessary.” He sprang away from the table and padded over, arms folding in firm denial, the document abandoned behind him.
“If he turns out to be innocent, we’d just have the school ostracise him.
I’ll alert the other professors and try to get information on his last known whereabouts.”
“There’s no need to call in a Sixth Division knight, then?”
“Don’t worry,” he added, voice low, steady with placid composure.
“If it’s an F-rank threat, leave it to me.
Our main concern is just making sure no one gets hurt.
Asking for extra assistance would make it look like this university has fragile security.”
Well, that’s exactly why I suggested bringing in another knight!
the knight complained silently.
“Oh?
What rank are you, by the way, mister?” Ruvenne asked, blue eyes narrowing with a flicker of curious amusement.
“Seventh Division…
Ichett.”
“If a Sixth Division member were really needed, why did they send you?” Ruvenne’s voice took on a distinct, snarky, sassy lilt.
“W-Well…” Ichett stiffened and turned away, rubbing the back of his head in frantic, flustered indignation.
You’re right…
but still wrong to ask!
his brain screamed in outrage.
“Anyway, there’s only half an hour left before lunch finishes.” Ruvenne cast another glance toward the clock, then back to him, a hint of urgency crossing his visage.
“I’ll check both the cafeteria and the library.
You cover the whole quadrangle.”
He walked past Ichett, tapping the knight’s shoulder lightly.
“I’ve now added you to my telepathic field.
Let’s notify each other if we spot him.”
“Roger that.”
* * *
The sound of wood creaking and low grunting echoed through the thick, silent, heavy air of the dim training ground.
Kisatsu wiped the sweat from his forehead with his forearm, gasping heavily as if the air had been wrung right out of his lungs.
The puppet took another step forward—impatient, unforgiving.
Kisatsu had only just dodged a swing of its arm—the effort felt more like an explosive dance than actual combat.
Taking even a single hit was enough to leave a bruise, but it was nothing compared to the bone-crushing sort he’d endured back in Hamburn City.
Due to his unprecedented regenerative abilities, no scars remained on his body—yet the memory of that pain lingered, impossible to shake.
It kept him on his toes, forcing him to evade every swing of the manikin, no matter how light.
Across from him, the other four sat by the torch, taking a break while curiously watching him spar with the puppet.
Kisatsu glanced at them, sweat slicking his face, heart thudding frantically under the weight of their gazes.
“You’re getting the hang of it, Kisatsu!
Keep at it!” Delvey shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth, high-pitched voice cutting through the air.
The goal of the set was to knock the puppet down.
The other four had already completed their rounds without breaking even a single drop of sweat—a feat Kisatsu, even at his best, couldn’t come close to matching.
The effigy was far slower and more sluggish than the real beast that had attacked him during the Hamburn Incident, yet he still struggled to match the manikin’s pace.
The manikin thrust its arm toward him with a sudden, staggering ferocity.
For a fleeting moment as brief as a blink, Kisatsu’s violet eyes met its cracked, lifeless ones.
That sliver of hesitation allowed the puppet to grab him by the neck.
It slammed him down with a loud, deadened thump, leaving him choking at its mercy.
“Are you alright?
You can take a break—you’ve already fallen five times,” Aubrey asked, voice lilting with a touch of pity.
The puppet released Kisatsu, straightened, and stepped back.
When in training mode, the manikin wasn’t programmed to eliminate its opponent.
By analyzing Rage fluctuations, it could determine whether the opponent was attacking or incapacitated.
It had only been designed to retaliate against opponents whose Rage was still high enough to pose a threat.
Kisatsu pushed himself up, turning his back to the manikin and wearily rubbing the spot of his neck where the hand had gripped him.
“Everyone’s got to start somewhere,” Rasnes teased, chuckling with a flippant air.
“I—I’m sorry…
close combat isn’t really my forte,” Kisatsu mumbled weakly, unable to stop the tremor running through his limbs.
Rasnes peeled himself away from the wall and leaned forward, hands on his hips, expression firmer now, edged with a gentle sternness.
“Oi, you’re still training, yeah?
No one’s good at this straight away.
Just don’t overdo it.”
But I’m meant to be in Reco!
How am I supposed to be recommended if I can’t even take this thing down?
This isn’t good.
I might’ve overestimated myself.
His violet gaze hardened on the puppet, burning with sheer, unadulterated determination as he bit his lips hard enough to taste the sharp tang of copper.
How can someone like you who isn’t a knight be able to regenerate like that, and while unconscious, no less?
The words resonated in his mind, heavy, expectant, as if he were always being watched.
He looked down at his hand, expression pale, devoid of its usual optimistic spark.
A disheartening shame took hold as he searched his palm for any sign of any potential others claimed he had.
If I’m not suited for battle…
then what?
Am I meant to end up as a healer?
He huffed a dry, agonizing, self-deprecating breath.
Patch up Ryurei’s torn hand, huh?
The image of the colossal white dragon crept back into his mind, looming like an impossible goal.
That thing exists too.
I’m not even sure how I’m meant to deal with it if the time ever comes.
A strained furrow formed between his brows, lining his sweat-slicked forehead as his knees buckled under the weight of a sudden, stifling uncertainty.
Delvey sneezed suddenly, the sound resounding through the dark.
“Achoo!
It’s getting a bit stuffy in here, isn’t it?” He glanced at the torch beside him, which seemed to be blazing brighter than he remembered.
Was the flame really that big?
His brows creased in genuine puzzlement.
The fire flared with intense vividness, the chamber brightening as the shadows retreated.
Farnz scratched the back of his neck absentmindedly.
The air feels strange.
Moist…
is it really this hot down here?
Kisatsu drew in a deep, slow, trembling breath, fingers uncurling before tightening into fists once more.
His heart quickened, thrumming a frantic, uncontrollable beat against his ribs.
Why do they make such a fuss about regenerating?
Surely that’s not all I can do, right?
I don’t even know how I pulled that off.
He stared down at the blackened, grimy earth beneath his scuffed, taupe boots, gaze detached, devoid of concentration.
Why did I even join this training?
What was I expecting?
To prove I’m not just some ordinary rookie?
He lifted his gaze to the puppet once more, half-lidded, shimmering briefly with a violet hue.
He tried to imagine making flashy, effortless moves against it, then snorted dryly.
His lips curved into a faint, self-deprecating, sardonic smirk.
Ridiculous.
I don’t even know where to begin—and I’m picturing that?
Come on…
The puppet moved forward again, squeaking sharply with each slow, measured step.
Kisatsu waited quietly, feet fixed in place, unmoving, violet eyes vigilant, calculating.
He held the same stance he had taken against the Partian seventeen days ago.
With a swing of its arm, the manikin lashed at him.
Kisatsu ducked, heart hammering as he felt the sharp rush of air above him, followed by the faint, sweeping whistle of a missed attack.
Seeing his opportunity, he lunged forward and drove his fist into the manikin’s core with a heavy thud that reverberated through the air.
The puppet flew backward before hitting the ground with a loud, piercing clutter that rattled the thick silence of the dark chamber.
Everyone’s gaze followed the manikin before snapping back to him, a mixture of shock and bewilderment flashing across their faces.
…Huh?
Kisatsu stood rigid for a moment, then lowered his arm, expression frozen in palpable disbelief.
“Bloody hell—you’ve done more damage than the rest of us put together!” Delvey exclaimed, standing up and brushing the dust away from his dark trousers.
“You’ve finally sussed how to imbue your fists with Rage, then?”
Kisatsu turned to them, then looked down at his palm.
This time, his somber expression was completely, entirely replaced by a lingering, inexplicable perplexity.
I…
succeeded…?
How?
Farnz stood up and walked to the sprawled puppet, crouching to press the buttons.
“Right then, time to crank the difficulty up, yeah?” His hand hovered hesitantly over the panel as he glanced back.
“So, er—what level am I setting this to, then?”
“Turn it right up to the max,” Rasnes replied with a shrug, wheeling his arm in loose circles, joints giving off a faint, rhythmic cracking as he loosened up.