Night before the coronation fell over Grand Aurelis like a curtain of black velvet slowly drawn by unseen hands.
The city, usually glowing with magical lamps, seemed quieter than ever, as if every marble stone, towering spire, and endless corridor of the castle was holding its own breath.
Tomorrow morning, the surviving students would be crowned as heroes.
But that night—the last night before the title was given, not a single one of them truly felt like a hero.
Some were still haunted by the shadow of the Blood Dungeon.
Others were still trying to understand how the world had changed so quickly from an ordinary classroom into a battlefield filled with corpses.
In a training hall on the western side of the castle, the sound of footsteps and light impacts echoed between stone walls.
Rina stood in the center of the room in a firm stance.
Her fists clenched.
Her body leaned slightly forward.
Yogi stood in front of her, trying to imitate the stance, though he looked awkward—like a bear trying to learn how to dance.
Rina let out a small sigh.
"Not like that."
She stepped closer and tapped Yogi's knee.
"Feet wider."
Yogi shifted his stance.
"Knees slightly bent."
Yogi bent them too much and nearly fell.
Rina shook her head slowly.
"This isn't a squat."
Ilham, sitting at the edge of the room while sharpening his daggers, chuckled softly.
Satrio, who was polishing his massive axe with an oil cloth, smiled faintly as well.
Rina stepped back in front of Yogi.
"This is called a basic stance."
She tapped her foot against the floor.
"There are many styles of karate, but the one I used to learn was Kyokushin."
The name sounded like an echo from a very distant world.
Yogi tilted his head.
"Kyo… what?"
"Kyokushin."
Rina slowly raised her hand.
"A style of karate famous for harsh training and fearless combat."
She inhaled, then demonstrated a straight punch.
The fist shot forward like an arrow.
Fast.
Clean.
Precise.
"This technique is called Seiken Tsuki."
Yogi tried to imitate it.
His large fist swung far too wide.
Rina immediately slapped his arm lightly.
"Too far."
She held Yogi's arm and corrected his movement.
"A punch isn't only about strength."
She stared straight ahead.
"It's about direction… breathing… and balance."
In the corner of the room, someone watched with bright eyes.
Kafka.
He stood near the wall, observing every movement Rina made like a child who had finally found the book he had been searching for his entire life.
When Rina finished demonstrating one move, Kafka slowly raised his hand.
"May… I try?"
Rina blinked.
Yogi turned as well.
"Of course," Rina said.
Kafka stepped into the center of the room.
He copied the stance she had shown.
His posture…
was almost perfect.
Rina looked slightly surprised.
"Eh?"
Kafka inhaled.
Then he launched a straight punch.
The movement was clean.
Precise.
As if his body had long understood that language.
Yogi whistled softly.
"Hey, where did you learn that?"
Kafka smiled shyly.
"I… like reading books."
"All kinds of books?"
"Many martial arts books."
He lowered his head slightly.
"Back at the orphanage library… those were the books I borrowed the most."
Rina looked at him with disbelief.
"You learned just from reading?"
Kafka nodded.
Rina raised an eyebrow.
"Then try this move."
She demonstrated a low kick.
Kafka watched for a moment.
Then he copied it.
The kick sliced through the air with a soft whistle.
Satrio and Ilham exchanged glances.
Satrio, who had been silent until now, finally spoke.
"He learns fast."
Ilham nodded.
"Faster than I thought."
But deeper than that, both of them were thinking the same thing.
So he actually understands martial arts…?
Man, good thing he ain't never whoop our asses back in school. This guy will beat the shit out of us for real.
Their gazes met again,both realizing that Kafka had probably never intended to hurt anyone.
On the other side of the room, Nadia stood with her bow.
She released an arrow toward a straw target.
The arrow flew swiftly.
When it struck, small roots crept from its tip.
Her nature element reacted like a gentle whisper of the forest.
Nadia exhaled slowly.
But occasionally she glanced toward Kafka as he trained.
There was something in the way Kafka moved.
Not power.
Not speed.
But… hunger.
A hunger to learn.
Like someone who had just discovered the world he had always dreamed of.
***
far from the training hall.
Inside the silent corridors of the cathedral
Mr. Rahmat walked alone.
The small lantern in his hand cast long shadows across the marble floor.
Ancient archive shelves stood like old trees that had kept secrets for centuries.
He opened one book.
Then another.
The same name appeared again.
Eldric Vaelorian.
And another name.
Azhraviel.
Mr. Rahmat swallowed.
Pieces of the puzzle began to connect.
"So… that's how it is…"
Suddenly—
Footsteps echoed.
Mr. Rahmat immediately turned.
"Show yourself."
His hand moved swiftly into his pocket.
Three cards appeared between his fingers.
He took a fighting stance.
But the corridor was empty.
Only shadows.
And the sound of wind slipping through stained-glass windows.
Mr. Rahmat narrowed his eyes.
"Come out."
No answer.
Several seconds passed.
He lowered his cards slightly.
Maybe it was just—
Suddenly,
CRAAK!
A blade of blood pierced through his chest from behind.
"It seems… you were reading something you shouldn't have."
Mr. Rahmat's eyes widened.
His body stiffened.
He looked down at the crimson blade emerging from his chest.
Warm blood began flowing over his robes.
The lantern fell.
Its light flickered wildly.
Mr. Rahmat tried to turn his head.
"A blood… blade…?"
His breath trembled.
"Kaf… Kafka?"
But before he could see his attacker—
The sword was pulled out.
Blood burst out like a crimson fountain.
Mr. Rahmat collapsed to the floor.
His vision blurred.
But one final thought pulsed inside his mind.
No…
Not Kafka…
Darkness swallowed everything.
Minutes later,
A nun's scream shattered the night.
"AAAAH!!"
Alarm bells rang.
Guards rushed into the cathedral corridor.
The students arrived as well.
Arga.
Elara.
Adam.
Yogi.
Rina.
Satrio.
Ilham.
Nadia.
Kafka.
And the sight before them made the world seem to stop spinning.
Bodies scattered across the floor.
Maids.
Nuns.
Guards.
Blood flowed like a small river across the marble floor.
And in the center,
Mr. Rahmat's body.
Motionless.
The teacher who had guided them.
The teacher who had cared for them.
The teacher who had become their parent in this place.
Nadia's eyes filled with tears.
"Sir…"
Elara covered her mouth.
Arga froze.
Adam looked at the wound in Pak Rahmat's chest.
Then at the slash marks around the room.
And the blood trails shaped like blades.
Adam laughed coldly.
"Blood blade."
All eyes slowly turned toward one person.
Kafka.
Kafka stepped back.
"I…"
Magnus stepped forward.
His face was as hard as a stone statue.
"Demon."
His voice was cold.
"You are a user of blood techniques."
Kafka shook his head quickly.
"It wasn't me!"
But Magnus raised his hand.
"Guards."
Dozens of swords were drawn.
"Kill him."
Rina immediately stepped in front of Kafka.
"Wait!"
Yogi stepped forward too.
"He was with us earlier!"
Ilham and Satrio drew their weapons.
Nadia pulled her bow.
Elara gripped her healing staff.
Adam stepped forward.
His eyes burned with fury.
"I said it from the beginning."
He dashed forward.
"YOU FUCKING DEMON!"
His spear thrust toward Kafka—
CLANG!
Ilham's dagger deflected it.
Satrio's axe blocked his path.
"Back off," Satrio said.
"Shit… I know you got beef with him, but he been rollin' with us this whole time." Ilham added.
"You guys defend him?" Adam changed his stance.
"I rather followed him, than a bald bitch who always think he's right all the time." Satrio blocked his path.
Adam moves. "THEN DIE YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"
CLANG!
Ilham blocked his attack with his daggers "Try me first, motherfucker!"
Tears streamed down Kafka's face.
"I didn't do this…"
But his words drowned beneath the guards' war cry.
His friends fought desperately to protect him as Kafka stood there, head lowered, crying.
Swords flew from every direction.
Kafka closed his eyes for a moment.
Then blood flowed from his arm.
Crimson blades formed in both his hands.
He moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
His movements looked like shadows painted with blood.
Guard swords were cut.
Shields were pushed aside.
Bodies fell.
Not dead.
Only disabled.
But the silence afterward felt more terrifying than the battle.
Kafka stood in the center of fallen guards.
And from the crowd—
Arga stepped forward.
His sword of light slowly ignited.
Like a small sun being born in the middle of the night.
"Enough."
His voice was heavy.
But inside his head another voice roared.
Kill him.
He's a demon.
Arga clenched his teeth.
He stared at Kafka.
His childhood friend.
His enemy.
His shadow.
"I don't want to do this. I never killed anyone,"
Kafka lowered his head.
But the sword of light was already raised.
"Kafka, you better have good reason for this."
Arga moves.
The fight was inevitable.
The next second,
Both of them vanished.
CRASH!
The sword of light and the blood blade collided in midair.
Energy waves slammed into the cathedral walls.
Marble pillars cracked.
The floor shattered.
***
Memories surfaced.
A small patch of sky above the orphanage courtyard.
Two little boys sitting on a set of wooden stairs already worn by time.
Young Kafka held an old book about martial arts.
Young Arga held a loaf of bread he had just stolen from the kitchen.
"Half for you," Arga said.
Kafka smiled softly.
"Thank you."
They ate together.
Laughing.
***
Arga's sword came down like lightning.
Kafka blocked.
The impact hurled both of them backward into the wall.
Marble shattered.
Cracks spread across the stone like the roots of an ancient tree.
Arga attacked again.
Kafka evaded.
His blood blades danced through the air.
But Arga's strength was still greater.
Step by step, he pushed Kafka back.
***
Another memory appeared.
Rain poured heavily over the orphanage.
Little Kafka sat in the corner, hugging his knees.
The other children laughed at him.
Then Arga came.
He punched the boy who mocked Kafka the loudest.
"If you want to mock someone," little Arga said,
"Try to mock me if you dare."
***
The sword of light slashed again.
Kafka was thrown backward into a stained-glass window.
CRASH!
Colored glass shattered like a rain of stars.
Kafka's body was blasted out of the cathedral.
He landed hard on the stone courtyard outside.
Arga jumped out after him.
The thunderous crash stopped the fighting between the students and the guards.
All eyes turned toward the battle between Arga and Kafka.
The cathedral courtyard became the new arena.
The night sky watched silently.
The wind carried shards of glass through the air like drifting snow.
Arga landed with his sword raised.
"Use your power."
Kafka shook his head.
"I don't want to fight you."
"Liar!"
Arga attacked again.
The next collision cracked the ground beneath them.
Stone dust burst into the air.
The guards rushed out from the cathedral and watched from afar.
No one dared to approach.
That battle had already surpassed the limits of ordinary humans.
***
Another memory surfaced.
Young Arga stood in front of Kafka.
"I'm going to become strong," he said.
"Why?" Kafka asked.
"So no one will pity us ever again."
Kafka smiled.
"Then I'll become strong too."
Arga laughed.
"Haha… you can barely bring yourself to hurt anyone."
Kafka smiled again.
"That's exactly why I believe it's strength."
***
Arga's sword struck Kafka again.
Kafka was sent flying.
Blood trickled from the corner of his lips.
Arga approached.
"You hid your strength all this time?"
Kafka slowly stood up.
"No."
Blood blades formed again in his hands.
But his eyes were empty.
"I don't even know how this power works."
Arga attacked again.
This time faster.
More brutal.
"Sword Light of Judgement."
Every strike felt like punishment that had been buried for years.
Kafka began to fall behind.
But suddenly,
His movement changed.
His blood blades spun like a vortex.
Arga's attack was deflected.
Arga was pushed back several steps.
For the first time,
Arga looked surprised.
"So you can fight."
His sword of light burned brighter.
"Then this time…"
"I won't hold back."
Kafka stared at him.
***
Another memory surfaced.
The orphanage.
A cold night.
Arga and Kafka lying on the wooden floor.
Arga whispered in the dark.
"If one day we have to fight…"
Kafka laughed quietly.
"Why would we fight?"
Arga didn't answer.
"I would never hurt someone who has become my brother." Kafka smiled.
"Right, Arga?"
***
Back in the cathedral courtyard—
Blood, sweat and tears collide.
The sword of light and the blood blades shot forward at the same time.
Two flashes.
Two destinies.
The collision shook the entire courtyard.
The ground split open.
Wind spiraled violently.
Kafka dropped to one knee.
His blade was knocked away.
Arga stood before him.
His sword of light glowing brightly.
Kafka looked up at him.
"If this is the only way to stop everything…"
He slowly closed his eyes.
"Then finish it."
In the distance,
Elara's tears fell.
"Please… stop…"
Her voice was hoarse, as if it carried unbearable pain watching the two friends fight.
The night wind stopped blowing.
Arga raised his sword.
His hand trembled.
The voice inside his head screamed.
Kill him.
Kill him.
KILL HIM NOW!
Elara looked at them through tears.
"Kafka… Arga…"
Her body collapsed, unable to bear the sorrow any longer.
Arga finally stepped forward.
"Get up."
The voice in his head roared again.
Kill him.
He's a demon.
What are you doing?
Arga clenched his teeth.
Then,
He threw his sword to the ground.
The sound of metal striking stone echoed across the courtyard.
Every pair of eyes widened.
No one dared to speak.
Arga had lowered his weapon.
What was he thinking?
The night sky felt unbearably cold.
Empty.
As if the world itself was waiting for a warmth that might never come.
~To Be Continued~