My attendant returned my smile, his movements practiced and efficient as he carefully packed the chips I had selected. Without another word, he turned and headed toward the checkout counter. The woman stationed there greeted us with a courteous smile, her fingers deft as she collected the items and inspected them one final time. After a brief pause, she nodded, as though confirming something invisible.
"So this is how it works," I thought.
"Even in another world… I never imagined systems like this would still exist."
Her voice rang out clearly as she straightened her posture.
"Confirmed, sir. You may now proceed with ten thousand gold coins."
As she spoke, she placed a massive leather bag onto the counter. The sound it made—heavy, metallic, final—sent a small jolt through me. Even without opening it, I could tell the weight alone was enough to draw attention… the wrong kind of attention.
"Sir," my attendant said cautiously, glancing at the bag, "this amount is far too large to carry openly. Why don't you deposit a portion of it into our savings system?"
I paused.
"That does make sense," I thought. "If this functions anything like a bank, walking around with that much wealth would be an open invitation to be attacked."
But then—unbidden—an image surfaced in my mind.
On my way here, I had passed through the darker districts of the city. Narrow streets. Broken stone. And children—far too thin, their eyes dull with hunger, their bodies weak from neglect. The memory tightened something in my chest.
"On my way here," I said aloud, my voice steady despite the murmurs beginning to rise around us, "I saw children. Too many of them."
I lifted my head.
"Remove eighty percent of it. Use it to feed every child in the Dark City."
The room fell into a hush before erupting into quiet whispers.
"…Is that too little?" I wondered briefly.
But exhaustion quickly drowned the thought. It was already late, and all I wanted now was rest.
In the end, only two thousand gold coins were handed back to me.
I took them without ceremony and walked out, never once looking behind me.
On my way home, the scent hit me first—rich, smoky, unmistakable. A man stood by the roadside, expertly frying skewered meat over open flames. The aroma was painfully familiar.
"…Suya," I muttered under my breath.
My mouth watered instantly. I didn't even hesitate.
I walked over and bought two sticks. One cost thirty silver coins.
Since one gold coin equaled fifty silver, I handed him two gold coins without waiting for change and left.
As I passed through the Dark City once more, I carefully removed my mask, hiding it beneath my clothes along with the remaining money. By the time I reached home, the streets were quiet.
Inside, the house felt strangely empty.
My maid was nowhere to be found.
My guard was gone as well.
Too tired to question it, I collapsed onto the bed. For the first time in a long while, my stomach was full.
Sleep claimed me almost instantly.
The next morning, I prepared for school.
I bathed, dressed up, and left the house as if everything were normal. When I arrived, nothing had changed—our classroom was as chaotic and empty of instruction as ever.
Hours passed.
Then, finally, a man stepped inside.
He looked… irritated. No—offended, even.
"Tch." He clicked his tongue loudly. "I was unfortunately assigned to your class."
His anger seemed to radiate as he scanned the room.
"I will be teaching here starting today," he continued sharply. "Oh—and by the way, you have a new student."
The door creaked open.
A boy stepped inside, smiling calmly despite the hostile atmosphere. He had jet-black hair and equally dark eyes—deep, steady, unreadable.
"My name is Kael Ardyn," he said.
The teacher scoffed.
"As you can guess," he sneered, "he's nothing but a lowly commoner."
Kael's smile didn't falter.
"Don't you think you're being a little too mean, teacher?" he replied casually.
"After all… it was this 'commoner' you lost to."
"How dare y—!" the teacher began, his face flushing red.
But Kael cut him off smoothly.
"Teacher," he said, tilting his head, "I may be a commoner, but isn't it common knowledge to make a proper introduction before running your mouth?"
He smiled faintly.
"I'm pretty sure that's basic courtesy."
"…My name is Eldric Veyne," the teacher finally said, straightening his robes as though forcing dignity back into his posture.
"I am a senior instructor appointed by the Third Palace, and from this day onward, I will be responsible for educating this… unfortunate class."
His eyes swept across the room with unmistakable disdain, lingering on certain faces longer than others.
"Good," Kael said casually. "Now that introductions are over, teach—you can carry on with the lecture."
Without waiting for permission, Kael walked past the rows of desks and dropped into the seat directly in front of me. He leaned back, hands folded behind his head, completely at ease—as though he hadn't just dismissed a palace-appointed instructor like an afterthought.
"Tch…"
Eldric clicked his tongue sharply, veins visible at his temple, before turning toward the board.
"As you all know," he began coldly, "every living being possesses a Form. Since the beginning of time itself, Forms have existed alongside life."
He paused, ensuring the room was silent.
"A Form is the physical manifestation of one's soul—an amalgamation of life-force, will, intent, and identity. These elements converge to take shape, most commonly as a sword."
He raised a hand slightly.
"However, understand this: the Form already exists within you. That is why, when a Form user picks up an ordinary sword, that blade becomes nothing more than an extension of their Form. It borrows from what already exists."
He turned, eyes sharp.
"This is fundamentally different from creating a sword."
A few students stiffened.
"Not everyone can manifest their Form physically. In fact, only those of the Twelve Great Palaces, who rule this finite universe, possess the authority and capacity to fully manifest their Forms into reality."
He continued, his tone clinical.
"The difference between an extension of one's Form and the physical manifestation of it is simple. The former is merely the use of a fragment—an aspect. The latter is the deployment of the Form in its totality."
Silence hung heavy in the room.
"A Form can only be countered by another Form user," Eldric said.
"When members of the Great Palaces battle, victory is determined not by technique alone, but by will. The stronger the desire to win, the more one's Form grows. Power is directly proportional to intent."
His lips curled.
"Which makes all of this," he gestured vaguely at the class, "entirely irrelevant."
A few students shifted uncomfortably.
"After all," he continued, voice dripping with contempt, "you are the shame of the Palaces."
Then he pointed.
"Especially you two."
His finger first settled on me.
"You, Nullen—despite the privilege of being born into one of the Twelve Great Palaces—are a failure. An abnormality of the world… no, of the universe itself."
The room went dead silent.
"You were born with no Form at all."
A ripple of unease spread through the class.
"And then," Eldric's finger moved, landing on Kael, "we have another abnormality. A commoner in the truest sense of the word—yet born with the highest affinity for physical manifestation, a right that should belong exclusively to the Great Houses."
His jaw tightened.
"Even your presence in this school is insanity."
Kael smiled.
"Well," he said lightly, "if you hadn't lost to me, I wouldn't be here."
He shrugged.
"So maybe blame your… skill issue."
The teacher's composure shattered.
With a sharp turn and a swirl of robes, Eldric Veyne stormed out of the classroom, the door slamming shut behind him.
"I take it classes are over," I thought.
"Hey."
I flinched.
I looked up to find Kael already standing beside my desk. He leaned in close—far too close—his face inches from mine, dark eyes studying me with unsettling interest.
"You're Nullen, right?"
"Yes… I am," I replied carefully. "Do you need something?"
I met his gaze, forcing my expression to remain calm.
Inside, I was panicking.
This was a commoner who openly challenged a palace instructor—and won. Someone reckless enough to mock him afterward. That alone meant he possessed frightening skill.
Or worse.
A psychopath.
"Nothing for now, I guess."
Kael straightened and turned toward the door, his steps unhurried, almost lazy. The classroom felt strangely smaller as he moved away, the space he left behind somehow louder than his presence had been.
Just as his hand touched the doorframe, he paused.
He didn't turn around immediately.
Instead, he spoke over his shoulder, his voice light—almost amused.
"See you around, Nullen."
Then he smiled.
It wasn't wide.
It wasn't friendly.
It was the kind of smile that lingered in your thoughts long after the moment passed.
The door slid shut behind him.
Only then did the class begin to breathe again.
Several minutes passed before I finally stood. No one stopped me. No one said a word. As usual, I was invisible—useful only as a contrast, a reminder of what failure looked like when wrapped in palace blood.
The walk home was quiet at first.
Too quiet.
The streets narrowed as I moved farther from the academy grounds, the stone beneath my feet uneven and cracked. The air smelled damp—old water, rusted metal, neglect. I noticed the footsteps behind me almost immediately.
Not subtle.
Never were.
"Oi."
I didn't turn around.
The first punch landed between my shoulder blades, knocking the air from my lungs. I stumbled forward, barely catching myself before another blow struck the side of my head.
Then another.
And another.
I hit the ground hard.
Boots followed.
Kicks.
Blunt.
Unrestrained.
Each impact sent dull pain rippling through my body. Ribs screamed. My arms came up on instinct, though I knew it wouldn't help. It never did.
"Still can't fight back, huh?"
Laughter.
A kick to the stomach made me curl inward.
"Palace trash without a Form—what a joke."
More laughter.
I tasted blood.
"They've gotten stronger," I thought distantly, my vision blurring as I stared at the ground.
"Their punches… their timing… even their coordination."
A bitter realization settled in.
"They're improving."
And I wasn't.
The beating didn't last long. It never needed to.
Eventually, the footsteps retreated, their voices fading into the distance, bored now that the entertainment was over.
I lay there for a while.
The ground was cold.
My body felt heavy—every limb weighed down by bruises blooming beneath my skin. My chest rose and fell unevenly as I forced air back into my lungs.
"Get up," I told myself.
Nothing happened.
"…Get up."
I rolled onto my side, pain flaring sharply as my ribs protested. My hands trembled as I pressed them into the ground, fingers slipping against the dirt.
Slowly—agonizingly—I pushed myself upright.
My legs wobbled, threatening to give out, but I clenched my jaw and forced them to hold. Every movement sent fresh waves of pain through me, but I remained standing.
Barely.
I looked down at myself.
Bruises.
Dirt.
Blood.
I straightened my back.
No one was watching.
So I walked.
Each step hurt.
But I walked anyway.