Gilbert didn't answer right away.
He let the silence stretch, long enough for unease to settle through the hall. Dozens of first-years shifted on their feet, some excited, others visibly tense.
"A Soul Awakening," Gilbert finally said, "is the manifestation of your will given form." He scanned the room slowly.
"It's not an awakening you are given. It is something you draw out. Something that answers to you and only you."
Murmurs spread instantly.
"Everyone's Soul Awakening is different," he continued. "Some take the shape of weapons. Others enhance the body itself. Speed, strength, perception, endurance. There are no identical awakenings, and there is no guarantee your Soul Awakening will be compatible with combat."
His gaze hardened slightly.
"That is why instruction regarding Soul Awakening will no longer be postponed to your second year," Gilbert said.
"However," he continued, raising a hand slightly, "it will not begin today."
The hall went quiet again.
"Soul Awakening training will begin in two weeks," Gilbert said. "That time is not a delay. It is preparation."
His gaze swept across the first-years.
"Train your bodies. Refine your awakenings. Learn your limits. Because once Soul Awakening begins… there is no room for weakness."
"Today's classes will proceed as normal," he added. "This assembly is dismissed. Prepare yourselves."
The students began to move, conversations erupting all at once as the weight of what was said finally settled in.
Raze went his own separate way, heading toward the weapon class.
Once every student was in the weapons hall, Ray's hands came together in a sharp clap.
The sound echoed through the hall, cutting through the remaining chatter instantly.
"Today will be light sparring," Ray said. His tone was calm, almost too casual. "This will be an endurance rotation."
A few students straightened at the words.
Ray continued, pacing slowly in front of them. "One versus one. Three minutes per round. No breaks in between."
"The winner stays in," Ray added. "The loser rotates out."
That got their attention.
"You don't stop when you get tired," Ray said, stopping in the center of the room. "You stop when I say so. If you get disarmed, you will keep fighting."
Ray turned slightly, eyes sweeping across the class.
"Get your beast weapons ready. We'll start once everyone is prepared."
Raze moved toward the weapon rack.
Since he had taken two basic-tier beast weapons earlier, his usual gauntlets weren't there. He scanned the rack, eyes moving quickly over blades and blunt weapons until he found another familiar shape.
[Basic-Tier Beast Weapon]
[Draco Gauntlets]
[Strength: +3]
Raze studied the system panel for a moment.
Only strength.
No agility. No defense.
So beast weapons really did vary. Even within the same tier.
That thought lingered briefly before another followed it.
'Then what kind of stats would an Intermediate-Tier weapon give?'
Before he could dwell on it, Ray turned slightly, his gaze sweeping across the class.
"Begin."
Raze stepped onto the sparring floor.
His first opponent was a Level Two. The boy held a sword, grip tight but uneven. His stance was stiff, weight too far forward.
Inexperienced.
The moment Ray signaled the start, the student rushed in, swinging wildly.
Raze shifted to the side and raised his arm. The blade struck his gauntlet and slid off. The movement came naturally, almost without thought.
He stepped in and drove a punch into the boy's ribs.
Air burst from the student's lungs as he staggered back.
Raze didn't pause.
He closed the distance, struck once to the stomach, then reached out and grabbed the sword. The Draco Gauntlets protected his hands as he clamped down on the hilt.
He pulled.
The sword slipped free.
'Too easy,' Raze thought. 'Lower it.'
He tossed the blade aside and stepped back, giving the boy space.
"That's not fair!" the student shouted, panic slipping into his voice. "You took my weapon!"
Raze said nothing.
He just stood there.
Waiting.
The boy lunged forward, throwing a clumsy punch toward Raze's chest.
Raze sidestepped and let the fist pass by.
Minutes slipped by faster than expected.
Raze avoided, redirected, tapped, pressured his opponent — nothing more.
With his current strength, he knew he could end it with a single clean hit.
He chose not to.
"Winner stays," Ray said.
The Level Two rotated out, head lowered, avoiding Raze's gaze.
Another student stepped onto the floor.
A few murmurs spread through the class.
"Did a Level One just beat a Level Two?"
Ray's eyes lingered on Raze for half a second longer than necessary.
"Again," he said.
The next student hesitated before stepping forward. He was a Level Three, wielding a sword.
'Oh. Another sword user,' Raze thought.
The student didn't rush in immediately. He rolled his shoulders once, eyes locked on Raze, watching instead of charging. He was being smart about this. Cautious, even though Raze was a Level One.
Raze raised his arms and settled into a fighting stance.
They circled.
Then the student moved.
He stepped in fast, blade angled low, aiming for Raze's thigh.
Raze shifted back half a step, just enough for the blade to scrape air. He caught the flat of the sword with his gauntlet and twisted, redirecting the force away.
The student reacted quickly, pulling back and following up with a second slash.
Raze leaned back, the tip missing his chest by inches. He slipped into the boy's guard and landed a punch on his wrist.
The sword slipped free.
Raze stepped back.
"Pick it up," he said calmly.
The Level Three froze.
"Is this Level One serious?" the boy muttered. "He's going to let me pick it up?"
Without thinking too long, he bent down.
The moment his fingers touched the hilt, Raze moved.
A punch to the shoulder, just enough force to send him stumbling sideways.
Before he could recover, Raze drove another punch into his stomach.
Air exploded from the boy's lungs. He staggered back, coughing.
Raze stopped.
He didn't follow up.
The Level Three bent forward slightly, one hand on his knee, breathing rough but controlled.
He straightened slowly, eyes locked onto Raze.
"…You're holding back," he said.
Raze didn't answer.
The student picked up his sword again, gripping it with both hands this time. His stance widened. He wasn't rushing anymore.
Ray didn't interrupt.
The timer continued to tick down.
The Level Three moved again. Faster now. Intentional. His blade came in at an angle, then shifted mid-swing, turning into a feint aimed higher.
Raze reacted a split second late.
The blade grazed his shoulder.
[-0.5 HP]
[99.5 / 100 HP]
A sharp sting cut through his focus, then the shallow cut sealed almost immediately.
Raze stepped back, eyes narrowing.
'Even shallow cuts can lower my HP,' he thought.
The murmurs around the room faded.
The Level Three exhaled slowly. "At least I managed to graze you," he muttered. "You're not untouchable."
Raze raised his arms again, adjusting his stance.
He felt it now.
The fatigue.
The delay.
Three minutes felt longer than they should have.
Dodging. Restraining. Redirecting.
It was catching up to him.
The student pressed harder, forcing Raze to react instead of dictate. Each exchange chipped away at his rhythm. Nothing decisive. Nothing clean.
Ray's voice cut in.
"Time."
Both of them stopped.
The Level Three lowered his sword first, breathing hard. Raze did the same, chest rising a little faster than before.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Ray spoke.
"Winner stays."
The Level Three looked up sharply.
Raze said nothing.
After a second, the student stepped off the floor, jaw tight, eyes still fixed on Raze as he passed.
Another student was already stepping forward.
This one didn't look nervous.
Ray's gaze stayed on Raze, unreadable.
"Again."