The student residence stood in one of the buildings not far from the well. The five-story rectangular structure had once served as a dormitory for servants and maids, but after some remodeling it now housed future warriors.
The living conditions could not be called good even out of politeness. Layers of dust everywhere, hanging cobwebs, scurrying rats and insects. It seemed the environment had been made deliberately unbearable to temper the students. For children from noble families or renowned houses, it was a true trial.
— Ugh, rats again!
— Damn vermin!
Irritated shouts came from different parts of the building. A month had already passed since the beginning of training in Lion’s Moat, yet the discontent had not faded — on the contrary, it grew louder with each day.
Kun ignored the complaints indifferently. With a habitual motion he brushed aside a web blocking his path and kept walking.
I’ve endured worse than this.
The rotten steps and railings groaned beneath his stride.
Creak, creak.
At last he stopped before a door in the far corner of the third floor.
Creeeak.
A small single room, barely three pings in size. A table and a bed — that was all the furniture. This cramped, decrepit space had become his refuge. Strangely enough, in Lion’s Moat every student was given a private room — probably so they could train in solitude. Kun entered and shut the door behind him.
— Haa...
He exhaled, sat on the bed, and assumed a meditation posture. Immediately fragments of memory about the technique Supernatural Power and Divine Madness began to surface in his mind. More precisely, they were not memories but some kind of data mass. Kun mentally spoke the meaning of the name:
Monstrous power… and the madness of chaotic gods.
This breathing method with the strange name allowed one to accumulate magical energy by devouring the souls of the dead.
To be precise, the technique gathered energy closer to the dead or supernatural beings than to living creatures.
For his current body, which rejected ordinary mana, it was the perfect solution. Kun even began to suspect Myung had chosen this vessel for him on purpose.
The energy accumulated through this breathing possessed two unique properties completely unlike ordinary magic.
First… because the power was akin to the otherworldly, it was extremely difficult for others to perceive.
The same principle by which ordinary people cannot see ghosts or spirits.
And second — the energy of this technique carried a primordial terror that suppressed the will of anyone who came into contact with it.
To conceal one’s true strength while simultaneously instilling fear in the opponent…
Used properly, these traits gave an overwhelming advantage in any confrontation.
By “souls of the dead” it literally meant ghosts.
A breathing method that turned ghosts into a source of power.
In his previous life Kun had never heard of anything like it. But for the monster that called itself the king of the impure and the lost, such a technique suited perfectly.
The one who stands atop the dark arts defies external forces and distorts fate itself.
As he pondered those words, a strange sound reached his ears.
Kheeeeee…
A dreadful, sinister moan that raised goosebumps across his skin. It was crying. Drawn by the energy of Dead Man’s Sleep and the new technique, ghosts began gathering around him. Devoid of will or reason, they simply drifted in emptiness, frightening any passerby. Lost souls.
Uuuung.
Mana awakened in his heart instantly spread through his vessels.
Flash.
The energy circulated through his body several times, devouring the attracted ghosts.
Kheeeeee…
A quiet vibrating hum resonated in Kun’s chest.
Uuuung.
It was exactly the twentieth day since he began mastering Supernatural Power and Divine Madness.
5.
At the same time Bale, leaning back in the chair of his office, studied a report.
Rustle.
Training a thousand students simultaneously was not easy, so they had been divided into four groups. In Bale’s hands was a report from the third sector. Reading it, he spoke quietly:
— Used a bucket for a surprise attack, closed the distance, and delivered a series of strikes with a broom…
He slowly set aside his smoldering cigar.
— And finished with a precise blow to the legs.
The instructors assumed these movements were a variation of the Rotating Strike from the Astal basic technique.
A bucket to compensate for the difference in build. Then a continuous cascade of blows that gives the enemy no chance to breathe…
Far too practical for the pampered young lord the rumors described. For a moment Bale even doubted the report’s authenticity, but immediately dismissed the thought.
Impossible.
The reports were written by Lion’s Moat instructors. Though inferior to him or the senior mentors, each was a recognized Master capable of wielding Weapon Aura. Such people could not misjudge the situation. Besides, this was not a clash of equal masters — merely a scuffle between trainees.
If it had happened at the end of the training, I might understand.
The situation refused to fit in his mind. Distortion of facts was also unlikely. Only Bale, his deputy, and the senior sector instructors knew Kun’s true identity.
And this report was written by ordinary mentors.
They had no reason to lie. Even if they knew who Kun was, no one would risk their reputation for a “young lord” who held no real power in the family.
— Then only one option remains… everything written here is true.
The senior instructor standing nearby noticed Bale’s puzzled look and gave a short nod.
Understandable.
He himself had been the first to rush into the office with a stunned expression. When he received the report, his own surprise had been immeasurable.
— I even summoned those mentors to verify every word.
If it had been any other direct descendant of the house, no one would be surprised. But for “Kun Zoldic” to show such skill… it defied common sense.
Though if he were like the others, he wouldn’t have been exiled to Lion’s Moat…
What troubled them most was that Kun had used the Astal basic technique.
「Astal Basic Technique: Rotating Strike」
This style was popular on the Southern Continent, not here in the North. Of course, there was nothing supernatural in a Zoldic descendant knowing the fundamentals of other schools. But when it came to Kun, too many questions arose.
— Perhaps… — the deputy administrator cautiously began, noticing their confusion. — Perhaps before being sent to Lion’s Moat, That Person taught him something?
— Him?
The atmosphere in the office instantly grew heavy. No name needed to be spoken to understand who was meant. One of the continent’s strongest swordsmen, above the rank of Grandmaster, nearly reaching divinity.
The Great Swordsman. The Sword Emperor, Ernst Zoldic.
The absolute ruler of the North and the true lord of the Black Lion Order. If anyone knew a way to handle Dead Man’s Sleep, it would be him — the man who had surpassed human limits. From that perspective, the assumption seemed most logical.
However…
Bale exhaled the last of the smoke and frowned slightly.
— …There are still doubts.
— Doubts, sir?
Bale nodded. Sword Emperor Ernst Zoldic had not even raised an eyebrow when his younger son and daughter-in-law died in an accident. On one side a steel ruler, on the other a cold machine devoid of emotion. Hard to believe he suddenly showed interest in a frail grandson.
Especially considering the boy had suffered from Dead Man’s Sleep since birth and had shown nothing but weakness until now.
Of course, after this incident one could not rule out that rumors of his frailty were false. But there is no smoke without fire.
— Perhaps his priorities changed? — the deputy suggested.
Bale tapped the desk thoughtfully. Having risen from a common fighter to head of the order under Ernst, he knew his lord too well. In decades of service he had never seen sentimentality in him. Yet at the same time it was the only reasonable explanation.
And if…
Bale’s brow twitched.
If it isn’t just that? If the Head saw something in the boy that we cannot? And that is why he paid attention to him?
Perhaps the Council’s decision to send Kun to Lion’s Moat was not a political scheme, but the will of the Sword Emperor himself.
— Haa…
Bale slowly shook his head. None of the questions had clear answers, but as administrator he understood he had only one duty.
I will simply perform my duty.
With that he ended his thoughts and spoke in his usual, emotionless tone:
— For now, we observe.
The cigar he had barely smoked had long turned to ash.
— In the end, the result will speak for itself.
Lion’s Moat was a place where everyone had to prove their right to live with their own fangs and claws. And even for… direct descendants of House Zoldic, there would be no exceptions.