The castle spires glowed in the late afternoon sun like gilded spears stabbing the clouds. The sky, once sharp and blue, had dulled into a haze of golden gray, heat shimmering over stonework and stained glass. Shadows lengthened across the outer training grounds, but Kael wasn't with the others.
He stood behind the upper balcony of the west tower, hidden behind a carved pillar depicting an angel of war. Beneath him stretched a different kind of field—circular, cratered, and scorched. It wasn't the lush training grounds where he and his class had been brutalized under Sir Garron's heel.
This place was broken. The grass had long since been burned away, and the soil was a deep iron-red, compacted and scarred by something that didn't respect the laws of human combat. Sword marks gouged the earth in jagged patterns. One edge of the field was half-collapsed into a smoldering trench, as if lightning had kissed it over and over again.
And in the center—
Tatsuya Minoru.
The class representative. The golden boy. The chosen Hero.
He stood shirtless, body wrapped in sweat and bruises, arms trembling around the hilt of a two-handed training blade. His breath came in sharp bursts. Every muscle in his body looked like it was screaming.
Before him stood a man.
No—not a man. A calamity.
Renn Haigar, the Blade of Red Sky, wore no armor, no emblems. Just a sleeveless coat of black leather cut at the ribs, and boots laced with iron cord. His body was lean, but his arms were corded with tension, and his black hair fell in shaggy streaks across his face like ink running down a battlefield map. Across his bare back was tattooed a blade-shaped seal—etched into the skin like a living brand.
He didn't speak. He didn't shout. He didn't encourage.
He simply moved.
With a flash of motion and a thunderclap of displaced air, Renn vanished from view—and appeared directly behind Tatsuya. Kael's eyes widened.
Tatsuya barely turned in time. His blade rose out of instinct, not reason.
Steel clashed with steel.
A boom rippled across the field, and Kael felt it in his teeth. Sparks danced like golden insects between their blades, then scattered into wind. Tatsuya was sent sliding ten meters backward, boots digging trenches into the ground. He coughed blood, doubled over, but still held his stance.
Above them, hidden in stone shadow, Kael grinned.
[Target has acquired: Advanced Sword Form: Skybreaker]
[Returning to host…]
[Skill unlocked: Unseen Blade – Ghost Step Cleave]
[Balance recalibrated. Limb responsiveness increased.][
Synchronization: 89%]
The world shifted.
Suddenly Kael understood that clash. The weight shift in Renn's heel. The opening in Tatsuya's stance. The angle to strike not once—but twice before the second breath.
He hadn't trained a single day. But the lesson lived in him now.
Kael's fingers twitched. His breath stilled. He could feel the cleave—the impossibly fast, impossibly silent movement that could cut from behind and leave the enemy confused about how they died.
He whispered, "Thanks, Hero."
Then turned and walked away from the tower.
The royal castle at night was a different beast.
By day, it was luminous, clean, noble. Polished marble halls, velvet banners, crystal chandeliers.
But now, as the sun vanished into blood-red clouds, and the corridors emptied of nobles and guards, the palace grew still.
Too still.
Kael slipped from shadow to shadow, a ghost in linen.
His movements had changed since syncing with the system. His footfalls were lighter, timed with the creaks of distant floorboards or the chime of old wall clocks. His breathing was silent. Even the air seemed to ignore him.
The Royal Arcane Archive lay beneath the main chapel, behind a locked bronze gate flanked by lion statues.
Kael pressed a palm to the gate's lock.
It clicked open.
[Minor Lock Detection bypassed via Instinctive Combat Mapping]
[Gate entry: Unrecorded]
Inside, the archive was a cathedral of dust and secrets.
Massive oak shelves loomed into shadow. Candlelight flickered against arched windows stained with moons and stars. The air smelled of old paper, dried herbs, and metal dust.
Kael walked slowly, running his fingers across book spines etched in a dozen languages. Summoning Rituals, Heroic Incantations, Calamity Classifications, Blessings and Their Restrictions…
He found a narrow spiral stair descending deeper. At the bottom, the shelves changed. Black leather bindings. Chain-locked volumes. Scrolls sealed with wax.
In the back, beneath a cracked statue of the Goddess, he found it.
[On the Failed Summonings: Divine Rejection and Anomalous Hosts]
He pulled it down. The pages were brittle and cold.
"…While many summoned from the mortal plane receive blessings and classes immediately, not all are accepted by the divine lattice. When rejection occurs, cases manifest with abnormal behavior—lack of a class, unstable blessings, or incompatible souls. Most are quietly disposed of by kingdom authorities or lost to early casualties."
Kael's heart pounded.
He flipped faster.
"Some bear parasitic systems of unknown origin. These 'anomalous hosts' operate outside divine structure. Their abilities are not granted by the Goddess. Their power is earned through resonance, theft, or mimicry. If one survives long enough, they become uncontrollable."
The ink blurred for a moment. Kael stared, stunned.
Not a mistake. Not bad luck.
A threat.
"…Last known anomalous host was recorded in the Ash War. Records erased by royal decree. No further sightings."
He snapped the book shut and slid it back.
And as he turned to leave, the candle beside him guttered—then flared.
His shadow stretched long and thin across the wall.
A presence brushed his mind.
[Secondary Bond Eligibility Detected]
[Sync Threshold Unmet]
[Dormant Potential Unlocked: Awaiting Trigger Event]
Kael paused.
Then walked into the dark.