Knight meandered through a meticulously decorated garden zone, heading southwest. The further he moved from the main academic buildings, the more the architectural opulence faded, replaced by a tranquil, "aged" atmosphere. Finally, he stopped in front of a five-story concrete building with fading paint and vines creeping across parts of its walls.
Dormitory No. 13
"It really is as old as the instructor said," Knight muttered, tapping his digital keycard against the main door. The entrance hummed low before sliding open. The interior hallway was dimly lit and devoid of people. Afternoon sunlight filtered through dust-caked windows, making the air feel stagnant. Knight climbed the stairs to the fourth floor and stopped in front of Room 404.
He swiped his card. The steel door clicked and slid open slowly.
As Knight stepped inside, the faint scent of old wood and mustiness hit him. It was a compact room with only the essentials: a single wooden bed, a desk, a lamp, and a wooden wardrobe in the corner. Though weathered, it was strangely clean, as if someone had been maintaining it for a forgotten guest.
Knight dropped onto the bed, the springs creaking softly. He unfastened the cloth-wrapped sword and placed it beside him before lying flat on the coarse mattress.
"This is it... our new home."
He stared up at the ceiling and exhaled deeply. The tension accumulated from the trials to the recent duel began to melt away. In the silence of the room, he began to re-examine his internal state.
He noticed that the "Silver Aura" he had manifested was becoming more stable when he remained still. It was different from the mana he saw in the nobles which felt like a surging current of energy. His aura felt more like a "concentrated mass of cold." The calmer he remained, the stronger and sharper this power became.
'I see... I understand now.'
Knight finally grasped the difference between Aura and Mana. The origin of Aura was the blood circulating throughout his body, much like the Golden Aura from the trial, and it responded specifically to emotions. Mana, however, originated from the heart and dispersed through the muscles rather than the veins.
Both, however, fell under the same category: Energy.
'Finally, I get it...'
But his next challenge was how to utilize both simultaneously and efficiently. He reached out to touch the edge of the blade peeking through the bandages. Its nicks were a reminder of the now-destroyed slum forge. To others, it was junk; to him, it was his final gift.
Knight tucked himself against the rough pillow, exhaustion hitting him rapidly. The wind whistling through the window of Room 404 became a lullaby that finally pulled him into a deep sleep.
The chime of his digital keycard woke Knight from his slumber. He got up, washed his face, and donned the grey scholarship uniform he had been issued. It was simple but well-tailored enough to ensure he no longer looked like a beggar.
Knight left Dormitory 13 and headed for the Central Auditorium. Morning sunlight hit his face as he watched other students walking in large groups, segregated by the colored ribbons on their wrists that denoted rank and status.
At the auditorium entrance, Knight paused. A group of teenagers in lavish gold-trimmed blue uniforms, the same nobles who had glared at him with malice the day before, were blocking the way.
"Hey... look, the famous 'Scholarship Student' is here," a red-haired youth mocked, stepping forward to intercept Knight.
Knight stood still, one hand gripping the hilt of the sword at his waist. His gaze, once dull, was now eerily calm.
"Excuse me," Knight said flatly.
"If you want to pass... bow your head. This isn't the slums where you can just walk around with your head held high," the red-haired boy hissed, a faint red mana beginning to radiate from him.
Knight didn't back down. He allowed the Silver Aura to flow into his feet, causing the surrounding temperature to drop.
"This is your one warning... move," Knight said coldly.
"I won't…" Before the boy could finish, Knight's blade lunged toward his throat, ready to sever it without mercy.
Clang!!
Knight's silver blade stopped mere millimeters from the boy's neck. The intense cold from the condensed aura caused frost to form on the opponent's skin; the boy stood frozen, face pale with the shadow of death looming over him. However, what stopped Knight's blade wasn't his own hesitation; it was the index and middle fingers of a woman who had pinched the crude blade with pinpoint accuracy.
"Easy now, boys. Do we really want to paint the auditorium plaza red with blood on the very first day?"
The voice was gentle and kind, yet the strength in her fingertips was immense, making Knight feel as though his sword were locked in a vice of solid concrete. Knight shifted his gaze to the newcomer. She was a woman in a crisp white suit, wearing thin-rimmed glasses that accentuated her warm yet dangerous eyes.
"A-Professor Eve!" the noble students stammered, quickly scrambling backward.
"To pass the Pioneer Scholarship with the highest score only to be expelled on day one for brawling... that would be such a waste, wouldn't it?" Professor Eve smiled at Knight, releasing her grip on the blade.
Knight remained silent for a moment before slowly lowering his sword and sheathing it. "...I'm sorry."
"It is I who should apologize for the lack of order," she said, turning to the red-haired boy who was still trembling. "As for you all... get inside. Unless you want me to report this to the District One dorm office."
As the nobles dispersed, Professor Eve looked back at Knight, her eyes lingering on his bandaged sword.
Knight's hand on the hilt was shaking not from fear, but from a sudden realization. He used to be a calm person. But what just happened was a killing instinct; the blade had lunged before his brain could process the thought. It was a visceral, reactive reflex, and it made his skin crawl.
'Damn it... is this a side effect of the memories?'
Knight slowly realized that as someone who absorbed "fragments" of those he killed in the trials, he hadn't just gained skills and experience. He had absorbed their habits, their logic, and their worldview.
It was a double-edged sword.
He wasn't just getting stronger; he was being overwritten. The memory of Uriel, for instance, possessed an unyielding sense of justice that viewed the world in binary black and white no grey area, no mercy for those deemed "wrong." If he absorbed too many distorted memories, he would become distorted too.
'I need to be careful with this...'
Knight let go of his sword and met Eve's eyes. She watched him with a spark of curiosity.
"A silver aura so 'cold' it's bone-chilling... and a scent of experience no child your age should have," she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. "Go on in, Knight. Today is your big day, Mr. Top Scholar."
Knight frowned. "pardon...?"
"The student who passes the scholarship exam with the highest score gives the opening speech," she winked at him before leading the way into the auditorium. "Follow me. The special scholarship seating is in the front row... you need to stand out today."
Knight stood stunned by the sudden burden. 'A speech? I'm an expert at that... an expert at ruining them,' he complained internally as he followed Professor Eve into the massive hall.
Inside, the auditorium was decorated with cutting-edge holographic technology. A shimmering blue simulation of the Tower of Infinity rotated above the ceiling. Thousands of seats were arranged in tiers. And just as Eve had said, a seat in the dead center of the front row bore a nameplate: "No. 099 Knight."
"Wait here. I'll signal you when it's time," Professor Eve patted his shoulder before heading onto the stage.
Knight sat down, feeling a thousand pairs of eyes piercing his back, especially the nobles, who looked ready to devour him. He chose to ignore them, closing his eyes to re-familiarize himself with the Silver Aura flowing through his veins. He tried to synchronize it with his heartbeat to begin practicing Mana. Within minutes, he grasped the mechanism of how Mana worked, but he still couldn't manifest it. It felt like a missing link was still absent.
"Now... let the 2030 Zenith Academy Orientation begin!"
A booming voice echoed through the hall. The Academy Director, a formidable-looking elderly man, stepped out for a brief opening before reaching the moment Knight dreaded most.
"And next... I invite the representative of the new students, the one who achieved the highest score in the history of the Pioneer Scholarship, to share his vision with his peers... Please welcome, Mr. Knight!"
A smattering of applause came from the other scholarship students, while the noble side remained deathly silent. Knight took a deep breath. He adjusted the crude sword at his waist, his only anchor and stepped firmly onto the stage.
The spotlight hit him. His cold, indifferent face and the white-bandaged sword, so out of place against the uniform, made the entire audience hold their breath.
Knight stood before the microphone, looking down at the crowd divided strictly by class. He hadn't prepared a fancy speech, and he didn't intend to.
"My name is Knight..." he began, his voice flat but resonant. "I want to climb the Tower to the very top. Therefore, within this school, I will also stand at the summit."
He spoke with a confidence so absolute it felt like an inevitable fact.
"Furthermore, I will not use the power of the 'Box' I possess," Knight added, looking directly at the red-haired boy from earlier. "Thank you."
The words were short but struck like a hammer on an anvil. The auditorium fell into a stunned silence before erupting into a frenzy of whispers.
"Not use the power of the Box? Is he insane?"
"Just a slum scholar, yet he dares declare war on us from the Velorder clans?"
"Arrogant brat... he'll be crawling back to his rat hole the moment he faces reality."
Knight ignored the noise and walked off the stage with a calm gait.
He didn't even realize how monumental or insulting his declaration was. In a world where the Tower bestows Boxes to find the worthy, the rank of a Box is everything. Even thousands of lower-ranked Boxes cannot compare to a single higher-ranked one.
The Tower's system classifies Boxes into ranks: Acolyte, Disciple, Penitent, Ascendant, and the pinnacle, Saint.
A thousand Acolytes equal one Disciple. Five hundred Disciples equal one Penitent. One hundred Penitents equal one Ascendant. And nothing even comes close to a Saint, a rank held by only ten people in the entire world, those known as the 'Saints,' the highest rank of the Velder forces.
In a world defined by this massive power gap, Knight had chosen to forgo his Box's power.
Theoretically, it was possible. A Box isn't just a weapon; it's a key to the Tower's system that refines the holder's body, allowing them to generate their own power, physical enhancement, rapid healing, and the creation of Mana and Aura.
But practically, it was deemed impossible because the raw power of a Box is too vast for a human to match without a Box of their own. Knight's words were a direct insult to everyone who relied on that power which was everyone "normal."
Knight, however, was far from normal. And he wasn't aware of the weight of his words. 'It's not that I don't want to use it,' Knight thought as he sat back down, 'it's that I can't.'