That evening, after dragging himself through a full day of classes under those irritating stares, Soren found himself standing in front of the Martial Studies training hall.
He stopped at the top of the short stairway leading into the building, hands in the pockets of his long cloak, shoulders slightly hunched as if he could make himself smaller by force of will.
The air outside was cool enough to sting, but it still felt better than being inside a classroom where every breath came with an audience.
He exhaled sharply.
"…Why am I here?" he muttered to himself.
He already knew the answer.
It was standing in the centre of the arena inside.
Soren pushed the door open and stepped into the hall.
It was crowded.
Students from several years had gathered, some wearing training gear, others still in their academy uniforms, sleeves rolled up or jackets loosened like they had rushed here the moment they heard the rumour.
Weapons were stored against the walls in orderly racks, practice swords, spears, shields, while instructors hovered along the edges of the floor, arms crossed, watching both the crowd and the ring with the kind of vigilance that meant they expected someone to get stupid.
Noise rolled over him in a thick wave, voices overlapping, laughter, the sharp clack of wood against wood somewhere in the back where someone was warming up.
A handful of students glanced at him the moment he entered, eyes lingering a second too long before sliding away, not casual, not neutral.
Soren ignored it and moved toward the back, staying just close enough to see the ring clearly without putting himself in the middle of the crowd.
At the centre of the room, in an open sparring ring marked by worn lines on the floor, stood a man with soft, pale hair and a relaxed smile.
"Hello, students. I am Morcant Calder," he said, voice carrying easily over the murmur of the gathered crowd. "I am the commander of the Fialovan contingent of knights here at the academy."
Soren watched him quietly, expression empty.
He had seen Morcant's face before, fleetingly, but this was the first time he had heard him address a large group in person, and the performance was almost… perfect.
"Please feel free to call me Morcant," the man continued, tone light, almost amused. "I'm not a fan of fancy titles."
A few students laughed nervously.
Morcant laughed along with them, a soft, gentle sound that would've been comforting if Soren didn't know exactly what he was.
"I have received permission from Headmistress Dorothy to hold a sparring session with the students here, as long as enough of you turn up, so I must thank you all for coming."
On the surface, he was warm and approachable.
His posture was loose, sword held casually at his side, stance open, inviting rather than challenging.
His smile never wavered, and the way he met people's eyes, patient, attentive, kind, made him look like the sort of adult who would listen to a nervous student and actually care.
If Soren didn't know about the purple haze clinging to the academy's mood, if he didn't know about the cult and the way Morcant's "tests" worked, he might have fallen for it too.
Instead, his stomach turned.
'You were playing with everyone's heads for fun, and now you're standing here acting like a kind instructor…?'
His jaw clenched briefly, then he forced it to relax.
Getting angry here would only make him obvious, and obvious was the last thing he could afford to be.
Only hours ago, he had been on the receiving end of Morcant's game.
Now he had to stand here and play student.
For a moment, the urge flared up again, sharp and simple: walk straight to Dorothy, or any trusted adult, and spill everything.
Tell them what he had seen in the cafeteria, tell them about [Dark Energy], tell them Morcant Calder was a bishop of the Lunar Cult and he was poisoning the academy's mood like it was entertainment.
But he couldn't.
The Lunar Cult didn't leave obvious evidence lying around, and Morcant least of all.
At best, if Soren raided his room, he might find something symbolic, some private relic of devotion, but proof didn't matter if nobody was prepared to believe the accusation in the first place.
The cult wasn't yet a recognised threat in the continent's official consciousness.
They were just rumours, scattered incidents, and vague fear without a target.
They wouldn't be truly exposed until Morcant openly attacked Alex.
And that only happened because Morcant chose to reveal himself.
Against someone like that, there wasn't much a first-year could do besides endure and gather information, and Soren hated that more than the whispers.
"The cult really is the worst kind of opponent…" he muttered under his breath.
"I'm aware that we have people from different years and majors here today," Morcant continued, voice smooth. "So please, when you come up to spar, state your year, rank, and major so that I can adjust my strength to each person."
Murmurs rippled through the students.
On the surface, it was generous, the sort of offer people told stories about later.
Personal guidance from a commander-level knight, tips and corrections, a chance to test yourself against someone far above you without the risk of being outright crushed.
Soren could already hear the excited whispers, the admiration creeping into voices that had probably been speaking about him with disgust earlier.
He didn't know why Morcant had chosen today to host this event.
Maybe it was coincidence.
Maybe it wasn't.
Trying to guess Morcant's reasoning was pointless.
The more you assumed there was some deep plan, the more likely you were to walk straight into something he set up just to watch you trip.
'Don't overthink it. Just see what you need to see and get out,' Soren told himself.
Once Morcant finished explaining the safety rules, no lethal strikes, instructors ready with healers on standby, no use of forbidden spells or relics, the sparring began.
"You first," Morcant said, pointing at a young man near the front. "What is your name?"
The student stepped forward with the stiffness of someone trying very hard to look brave.
"Sir, I am Eugene Everwater. I am in my second year. My major is Martial Studies, and my rank is sixteenth."
"Oh, impressive," Morcant said warmly. "A Class B right away? This should be fun. We shall begin when you are ready."
"Yes, sir. I am ready."
"Then let us begin."
The moment the words left his mouth, Eugene moved.
He dashed forward with a short sword in one hand and a compact crossbow in the other, movements quick and fluid, switching weapons mid-step to match distance.
A bolt snapped through the air, then another, then steel flashed as he closed in, the sword taking over in a smooth transition that showed hours of practice.
Morcant stayed on the defensive.
He flowed around Eugene's attacks, deflecting each bolt with small movements of his blade, stepping just enough to avoid the sword without ever seeming rushed.
He didn't retreat in panic, didn't brace like he was being pushed, he simply… adjusted, like he was letting the student show off while he watched.
"Interesting," Morcant said casually, even as a bolt skittered harmlessly off his training sword. "Your fighting style is unique. Not many think to wield two different weapons at the same time, and yet you manage it deftly, with barely any downtime between actions."
"Thank you, sir!" Eugene shouted, emboldened, charging again.
Their exchange continued for several minutes.
Soren watched from the edge of the ring with a flat gaze, cataloguing details.
Morcant's sword never glowed.
His mana never flared sharply.
He fought with pure skill and physical ability, and even while he was "holding back," the difference between them was obvious.
After about three minutes, Morcant stepped back and used the flat of his blade to knock Eugene's sword away with a sharp, controlled slap.
"Enough. You did well."
Eugene lowered his weapons, panting hard.
Morcant smiled and spent a minute pointing out openings, praising his weapon switching, then sent him off with encouraging words.
Eugene left looking both exhausted and pleased, cheeks flushed, eyes bright like he had just been given something precious.
The pattern repeated.
Second-year Martial Studies.
Third-year Arcane Studies with a focus on support, trying to maintain distance while Morcant calmly dismantled their timing.
A surprisingly talented first-year knight who fought with too much pride and learned, gently, that pride didn't replace fundamentals.
Morcant adapted mildly for each one.
Held back his strength.
Adjusted his timing.
Made each student feel like they were being personally seen, like their effort mattered.
Soren's eyes narrowed slightly.
If he hadn't seen the purple haze earlier, he might've called Morcant a good teacher.
Now, all he could see was a predator petting its food.
Eventually, after several rounds, the instructor managing the order glanced toward the back and called out a name.
"You're next."
The nearby students shifted.
Some turned to look more directly.
Others whispered openly now that he had been singled out, no longer pretending their curiosity was casual.
Soren stepped forward slowly, expression empty.
He had practised this face.
It was something left behind in the original Soren's memories, how to drain the expression from your features until nothing leaked.
He couldn't let Morcant see what he was thinking.
Not yet.
He stopped at the edge of the ring and looked up.
Morcant's pale blue eyes settled on him, bright with mild interest, like he had been waiting.
"Soren Arden," Soren said evenly. "First-year. Rank ninety-six. Arcane Studies."
Morcant's brows lifted.
"Hm," he hummed, the sound light, almost amused. "I'm sorry, but I never expected someone of such low rank would be here."
He laughed softly.
It wasn't loud, nor was it aggressive.
It was patronising in the way a smile could be when it was worn by someone who knew exactly how much power they had.
At the same moment, the air in the hall shifted.
Students ringed around the sparring area, those waiting their turn, those here just to watch, turned their attention fully on Soren.
The hostility in their eyes sharpened.
Some scoffed.
Some curled their lips openly.
The annoyance that had been simmering in the room suddenly had a direction.
— What's a rank ninety-six doing here?
— Showing off after beating the Hero?
— Trying to get attention from Commander Morcant, too?
'Is he even trying to hide it…?' Soren thought.
He didn't need [Chimera] to feel it this time.
Morcant's offhand comment had been nothing more than a flick of the wrist, but it tugged on something in the room and the students' resentment spiked immediately, as if someone had turned a dial.
Being on the receiving end of it made the edges of Soren's patience scrape raw.
He breathed in, slow.
Then let it out.
"Can I begin?"
"Of course," Morcant said pleasantly. "Show me your best effort."
The instant he had permission, Soren lifted his hand.
A small magic circle flickered into existence at the tip of his translucent index finger, barely the size of a coin at first, then expanding, rotating, layering atop itself as he infused mana.
Lines grew more complex, then tightened again, compressing the spell, refining it until it was dense enough to feel like pressure against his skin.
It was the same spell he had used during the final exam.
This time, he didn't hide it behind muttered incantations.
He wanted Morcant to see it clearly, to recognise it, to know Soren wasn't flailing blindly.
The circle stabilised.
Soren pointed his finger straight at Morcant.
"「Shockwave」."
The circle flared.
The air screamed.
A heavy, invisible blast tore forward, so dense that even students with poor perception flinched on instinct.
The sound of it ripping through the hall echoed sharply, like roaring wind trapped in a tunnel.
Morcant's eyes widened a fraction.
"Oh?"
His sword lifted with a smooth, economical motion, no flare of mana, no obvious reinforcement.
Kwaaangg—!
The impact rang out like a hammer slamming into steel.
Morcant's foot slid back half a step.
The floor under his heel creaked.
He didn't stumble.
He simply adjusted, blade angle shifting minutely as he rebalanced, then with a twist of his wrist he let the lingering force deflect upward and dissipate into the air as if he had redirected a gust.
Soren watched him through narrowed eyes.
His face remained relaxed, but inside he clicked his tongue.
'I thought so.'
He hadn't come expecting to win.
The idea was ridiculous.
He had only come to confirm one thing: how big the gap between them really was.
Watching Morcant casually stop his strongest single-target spell without using visible mana told him everything he needed to know.
Even without [Dark Energy], even without the cult, Morcant was strong enough to be a commander.
In other words, far beyond him.
For a moment, something small and sharp twisted in Soren's chest.
Annoyance.
Frustration.
Envy.
He silenced it the instant he recognised it, pressing it down before it could swell, because he refused to let Morcant's influence creep inside his own head too.
He didn't know when it had started, but lately ambition had been quietly rising in him.
He wanted to get stronger.
He wanted to win more fights.
He wanted to push people like Alex and Amelia and not just scrape by on preparation and relics and timing.
Looking at Morcant made that ambition feel laughable.
'Don't be stupid,' he told himself, firm.
Strength didn't come overnight, and even if it did, Morcant wasn't someone he could afford to pick a fight with right now.
He wasn't here to provoke him.
He was here to test.
Morcant swung his blade lightly, letting the last traces of [Shockwave] vanish.
His smile returned, calm and satisfied.
"Not bad at all," he said. "For a rank of ninety-six."
Soren didn't rise to the bait.
He lowered his hand.
"I forfeit," he said, voice flat.
The hall quieted for a heartbeat, like the crowd had expected something louder, something more dramatic.
Some students looked confused.
Others snorted, as if forfeiting was exactly what someone like him would do once he had shown off.
Soren ignored them all.
He turned on his heel and walked away from the centre of the ring without a backward glance, cloak swaying around his legs as he pushed through the edge of the crowd.
He could feel Morcant's gaze on his back.
When he glanced sideways just once, only to confirm what he already knew, he saw Morcant's mouth twitch, as if he wanted to say something, but he held his tongue.
He watched Soren leave with a curious light in his eyes.
And yet, even as he stayed silent, his lips curved upward anyway, betraying his emotions.
————「❤︎」————