Infirmary was a long, spacious hall lined with rows of neatly arranged beds. The only spaces between them were narrow walkways, creating a sense of clinical order. The moment Madam Celavan saw Simon with blood streaming down his face, she was visibly startled. She hurried over to her medicine cellar, returning quickly with the necessary supplies.
"Don't let him tilt his head back! Keep it straight and press this cloth against it," she directed Kai. Kai nodded instantly, following her instructions to the letter.
Since Simon's nasal bone was fractured, she applied a specialized medicinal ointment. Infused with magic, the medicine began to work its charm, slowly knitting the bone back together and dulling the sharp throbbing pain. As she worked, she couldn't help but grumble under her breath.
"Bloodshed on the second day of school! Honestly, you children are too much!" she exclaimed. Yet, despite her frustrated tone, her hands remained incredibly gentle as she tended to his wounds.
Madam Celavan had instructed Simon to rest for a while, and Kai remained seated by his bedside, keeping watch. While Simon's outer uniform was heavily stained with blood, his white inner shirt had luckily remained untouched. With rolls of paper stuffed into his nostrils to staunch the bleeding, Simon could actually hear the faint, rhythmic clicking of his bones as the magical ointment worked to knit the fracture back together.
"Are you holding up okay?" Kai asked, his voice thick with concern. Simon offered a small nod.
"Thanks for everything, man."
"Don't mention it. I've memorized that guy's face. I'm going to break his bones for what he did to you."
Simon looked at Kai and slowly shook his head. "Don't. I don't want you getting into trouble because of me."
"But you were treated unfairly! There's no reason to just take it lying down."
"It's better this way, Kai," Simon replied softly. "My father is a murderer. If you go and punch him, they'll just say you're acting on the orders of a murderer's son. They'll drag you into the mess too. It's best to just let it go."
Kai clicked his tongue in frustration, running a hand through his shock of red hair. He found Simon's unwavering peacefulness both admirable and exhausting. Just once, he wanted to see Simon explode with rage—to use his father's infamy to make people fear him instead of mocking him. But he knew Simon would never do that.
"Fine... fine. Since you're the saint here, I guess I have to listen to the saint's orders," Kai teased. A faint, genuine smile finally touched Simon's lips.
At that moment, the sound of footsteps echoed at the entrance. Looking up, they saw Jack walking into the infirmary. It seemed he had come straight here after class ended. He looked first at Simon, then briefly at Kai, before making his way toward the bed.
"Are you okay?" he asked simply. Simon nodded in response.
"Much better. Once the Madam gets back, we're heading back to the dorms."
Jack gave a small nod. Kai, however, remained with his arms crossed, pointedly ignoring Jack's presence.
"You Old-Bloods sure are something else, aren't you?" Kai remarked bitingly. "Mocking someone isn't enough; you have to go and physically injure them too. I honestly can't believe the Gods chose people as cruel as that."
Jack let out a long, weary sigh. "Not even all fingers on a hand are the same length," he replied calmly, walking closer to Simon's bed. He pulled a notebook from his bag and handed it to him.
"Today's lessons. I figured you two might want to review what you missed."
Simon took the book, offering a sincere thank you, though Kai remained silent.
"Did the Master let that guy off without any punishment?" Kai suddenly blurted out.
"He said he'd recommend expulsion. But the Headmistress probably won't actually expel him. It would cause too much of a stir with the Old-Blood factions and might put Master Marrick in a difficult spot. However, she'll definitely teach him a lesson so he never tries something like that again."
Kai snorted, but he seemed somewhat satisfied with Jack's answer.
A short while later, Madam Celavan returned and told Simon he was fit to rest back at the dorm. After offering his thanks, the Madam gave him a firm warning to avoid any more bloody incidents. She strictly forbade him from attending the next class, Fundamentals of Magic, explaining that the magical essence in his medicine was still at work and required him to remain still. Consequently, Jack and Kai headed off to class together, leaving Simon at dorm alone.
Once he was alone, he collapsed onto his bed. With one hand draped over his forehead, he stared up at the ceiling, lost in the heavy silence of the room. The cool breeze drifting in through the window did little to soothe the storm in his mind. He replayed everything—the biting mockery, the public humiliation in front of the entire class, and the way Kai had nearly gotten into a fight just to defend him. The realization of his own perceived weakness weighed heavily on his heart.
The tears he had fought so hard to suppress finally broke free. Shifting his hand down to cover his eyes, he let out a choked, barely audible whisper.
"I'm so useless... I really am..."
Simon had been letting his emotions out in the quiet of his room, and just as the weight in his chest began to lift slightly, a knock sounded at the door.
"First-year! It's me, Dean. The one who showed you the way to Master Valandor's class."
Simon's eyes snapped open. He quickly got off the bed, hurried down the stairs, and made his way to the door. After wiping away every trace of his tears, he pulled the door open to find Dean standing there. His golden-brown hair was half-tied up as usual, and the prominent scar running from the center of his forehead to his left eyebrow was as striking as ever. When his gaze fell upon Simon's swollen, red-rimmed eyes, a look of deep sympathy crossed his face.
"Are you holding up okay? I heard about what happened. Lucas asked me to come check on you since he couldn't make it himself. You know how it is..as the Chamber Leader, he feels responsible for looking after everyone in this house..."
Simon nodded slowly, his voice barely a murmur.
"I'm... I'm alright."
Dean knew Simon was lying about being "alright," but he chose not to press the issue. Unlike most students, he wasn't in full uniform; instead, he wore a long-sleeved orange shirt emblazoned with the Fyrnic crest—two crossed spears.
"Well then, how about helping me out with something? I've got some weapons that need moving. Want to come along and clear your head instead of staying cooped up in here?"
Simon hesitated. "But Madam Celavan said I should stay still..."
"Oh, that's just the Madam. She'd have everyone staying still forever if she could. You've had that medicine on for a while now, so a bit of walking won't hurt."
Simon nodded slowly, though doubt still lingered in his eyes.
"Are you sure it's okay? I already skipped class... and following you around like this..."
"It's fine, really," Dean reassured him with a warm smile. Finally, Simon agreed. He needed this—needed to escape the suffocating silence of his thoughts and find some measure of peace, even if it was just for a little while.
The armory stood within the northern gardens of the castle—a massive, sturdy wooden structure that hummed with the sound of industry. Even from the outside, the rhythmic clang-clang of hammers against anvils filled the air. Rows of various weapons, from jagged spears to polished broadswords, were meticulously organized by type along the exterior walls.
Inside, several students were hard at work, their faces glowing in the amber light of the glowing forges. Like Dean, they wore practical tunics instead of formal uniforms, each sporting the distinct colors of their respective Chambers. At the center of the chaos stood a formidable Dwarf master, his frame broad and muscular, barking out instructions on the art of smithing.
"This is the Armory. It's where the Weapon-Crafting class is held," Dean explained as he stepped inside. "Master Stonefist is the instructor here."
Simon trailed behind him, eyes wide with wonder. For a boy who had spent his life within the cramped, gray walls of an orphanage, the sheer scale and raw energy of the forge were breathtaking.
"Why isn't this class on our first-year schedule?" Simon asked, intrigued by the intense focus of the older students.
"Well, this is actually an elective subject you choose once you reach your fourth year,"
Dean explained. "If you find you have a passion for smithing, it'll be added to your timetable then. In the third year, you start with the basics..theory and observation. You don't get to do hands-on work like this yet, but you can shadow the seniors. First and second years are still a bit too young to be handling molten metal and heavy forges safely."
The atmosphere felt less like a formal lecture and more like an extracurricular club, similar to a music or art club in the Ordinary World. Several students paused their work to nod or wave at Dean as he passed.
"Master Stonefist, I'm here to pick up the weapons for training," Dean announced to the dwarf instructor.
Master Stonefist barked a laugh, wiping soot from his brow. "Starting already? The school year is only two days old!"
"You know our Captain," Dean replied with a knowing grin. "He wants to get the training sessions started as early as possible."
"Alright, they're in the storage room. My students' finest works are kept there. Take Emery with you; she'll help you pick out the best gear," Master Stonefist grunted.
"Thanks, Sir," Dean replied, and Simon hurried to keep pace with him.
As they moved through the forge, Simon noticed that it wasn't just swords being crafted. There were bows and arrows that required no heat, worked on by specialists carving the shafts and stringing them with precision. It was a diverse hub of weaponry. Eventually, they approached a glowing forge where a girl stood. Her curly brown hair was pulled into a high, practical bun, and she wore black goggles as she worked—alternating between hammering a blade with rhythmic force and plunging it back into the coals to reheat.
"Emery"
The girl looked up at Dean's call. She wore a half-sleeved red shirt, but unlike Dean's crossed-spears crest, hers featured the bold, black profile of a lion's face—the emblem of Kealen Chamber. She slid her goggles up onto her forehead and gave a casual chin-flick toward Dean in greeting.
"Hey."
"Hey," Dean replied, before turning to Simon. "This is Emery Geller. A fifth-year student from Kealen Chamber."
Emery approached Simon with a playful, crooked smirk. She was significantly taller than him, forcing Simon to tilt his head back to meet her eyes.
"This is Simon Blackburn. First-year. I brought him along to help him clear his head a bit." At the mention of the name, Emery's eyes widened slightly and her eyebrows shot up. Every Chosen knew the weight of the Blackburn name—though not for anything good. She quickly masked her surprise, however, and offered him a genuine smile.
"Nice to meet you. I think I caught a glimpse of you during the Sorting ceremony. You're a lot smaller than I expected. You should definitely eat more, kid," she teased, giving him a friendly wink.
Simon blinked in a daze for a moment, momentarily caught off guard by Emery's teasing, before giving a shy, small nod. Emery smirked and turned her attention back to Dean.
"So, what brings you here?"
"Captain wants to start training sessions with live weapons already," Dean explained. "That's why I'm here to pick them up."
"Again?" Emery sighed, crossing her arms. "Why don't you guys just train with your own personal weapons?"
"Well, those are being saved for the big matches," Dean replied with a shrug. Emery rolled her eyes at his response.
"Tell your Captain that even training weapons are valuable, so he'd better not break them. If he does, I'm kicking his ass."
"I'll pass the message along... except for the part about kicking his ass," Dean joked, making Simon let out a small, relieved smile.
They stepped into the vault—a cavernous hall where the walls were lined with an incredible array of weaponry. Swords, spears, bows, and shields were displayed alongside exotic arms Simon had never even dreamed of. He could only stare, his mouth slightly agape as he took it all in.
"Um... why aren't there any guns here?"
Simon asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. Both seniors turned to look at him. Emery was the one to answer, looking up from the inventory she was checking.
"Well, guns are for soldiers. We are warriors... so we don't use them. Besides, it's nearly impossible to channel magic through a firearm. We focus on crafting weapons that can act as a medium for our magic..tools that can harmonize with our own energy."
Simon nodded. Dean began picking up the weapons while Emery pointed out which ones were of the highest quality. With both seniors occupied, Simon felt a bit out of place, so he decided to wander around and explore the room on his own. He moved from one display to another, inspecting the craftsmanship.
He tried to lift a broadsword leaning against the wall, but it was so heavy he nearly dropped it, struggling just to prop it back up. Even the smaller daggers felt surprisingly weighty in his grip. Giving up on the blades, Simon moved toward the archery section. He picked up a finely crafted bow that felt much more balanced in his hands. As he pulled back the string, aiming toward a far corner of the room, something caught his eye.
Right in the path of his aim was a spear, encased in a pristine glass display case. Its presence was so commanding that Simon immediately set the bow back on its rack and drifted toward the case, drawn by an unexplainable pull.
The spear was starkly plain, lacking the ornate engravings of the other weapons in the room. Its tip was a simple, sharp point, and the shaft was made of worn wood, scarred and weathered by time. At the joint where the blade met the wood, an old, frayed orange cord was wrapped tightly. Despite its simplicity, it held Simon's gaze captive.
"That is Fyrnic's spear," Dean said, stepping up beside him. "The legendary Chosen of our Chamber."
Simon looked at Dean, then back at the relic.
"It looks so... ordinary."
"Yeah," Dean replied, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
"But that 'ordinary' weapon has claimed the lives of countless monsters."
He sighed, staring into the glass case.
"Actually, there were two of them. When Fyrnic went to strike down the monster known as Gaudan, one of the spears was lost. According to the legends, Fyrnic's right-hand spear is still embedded deep within Gaudan's scales."
"Gaudan?"
"Yeah, an ancient subterranean monster. After Fyrnic wounded him, he went into hiding. He hasn't been seen for hundreds of years. Sadly, Fyrnic succumbed to Gaudan's venom shortly after the battle..."
Listening to Dean's explanation, Simon could almost envision the epic battles and sacrifices etched into the weathered grain of that ancient spear.
"It's... truly interesting," he whispered.
"Yeah," Dean agreed, patting him on the shoulder. "Now, let's get weapons moving. You're still up for helping me out, right?"
"Of course," Simon replied earnestly, following Dean. As they headed for the exit, he couldn't resist stealing one last lingering glance at the spear in its glass case.
Emery was waiting for them with a small cart piled high with weaponry. Because the weapons were made of heavy, authentic steel, the cart sat low and looked quite formidable. Dean took the lead, pulling the cart by a rope, while Simon stayed at the back, putting his weight into pushing it. Emery stood by her glowing forge, waving them off as they disappeared out the door.