The night pressed on, with Killington ruthlessly slaying countless beasts, raising Tristan's Death Shard count to forty-five. But that wasn't the only gain he acquired; his understanding of combat deepened as he continued to observe through Killington's eyes.
How Killington shifted his footing when initiating an assault, how his hand subtly adjusted its grip upon the sword, and how composed and deliberate his movements became in the midst of a strike—these were all elements Tristan carefully analysed as his warrior fought. He had absorbed a wealth of insight in a single night and now longed to transpose what he had observed into actual training. He slowly opened his eyes and attempted to rise from his meditative stance, only to be overcome by dizziness. As he tried to stand, he staggered and fell to the ground.
"I think I've reached my limit for today. Killington, you may return," Tristan said through their telepathic link.
Killington, having just driven his blade through another creature, heard his master's command and swiftly acknowledged it after yanking his sword from the lifeless body.
"Understood, my Lord. I shall return shortly," he replied, flicking the blood from his blade onto the earth.
He then dissolved into his shadow form and began his return journey to Tristan.
The crimson-haired boy could barely maintain his balance but began to drag himself toward his bed. With the last reserves of his strength, he hauled himself onto it and lay sprawled, eyes fixed upon the ceiling. A breath of weary relief escaped him just as Killington's shadow silently reappeared at his side.
'Sustaining your manifestation doesn't appear to be the issue—it's the sheer distance and the rapidity of your movement that seems to drain me.'
Despite the heavy toll it exacted, his efforts had not been in vain. He had acquired substantial strength from the beasts slain by Killington and an invaluable wealth of knowledge regarding the intricacies of combat. All in all, the night had not been wasted.
With his limbs leaden and his mind slowly slipping into unconsciousness, sleep began to overwhelm him. He succumbed to its pull, and soon, the sun would rise, heralding the dawn of a new day.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Tristan's eyes fluttered open, roused by the loud knocking that echoed from his door.
His body remained heavy with exhaustion, but not enough to immobilise him. He managed to rise, though his walk resembled that of the undead. His feet dragged along the wooden floor as he made his way slowly toward the door. Upon reaching it, he lazily lifted an arm and rested his hand on the doorknob.
"Who is it?" he mumbled, his eyelids still heavy with sleep.
From the other side came Garfield's voice.
"Did you just wake up? We're late!" he shouted.
Tristan's eyes snapped wide open as he turned to the window, only to be greeted by the blinding morning sun flooding through it.
"Damn," he muttered, attempting to move as swiftly as his exhausted body would allow.
He hastily pulled his school uniform from the wardrobe and dressed himself. Then he opened the door to reveal a visibly impatient Garfield.
"Have you truly been asleep this entire time?"
"Yes, but why are you here?" Tristan asked.
He stepped out of the doorway, closed the door behind him, then turned to face Garfield.
"You weren't with everyone else during breakfast, so I assumed you were skipping. But then, when it was time to leave and you still hadn't shown up, I came to check on you. That's why I'm here."
Tristan, eyes weary, looked down at his shoes. The laces were undone. He bent forward to tie them but was immediately struck by sharp back pain.
"Aargh!"
He grimaced. Garfield finally realised just how worn down his friend truly was.
"Didn't get enough sleep?" Garfield asked.
Not wanting Garfield to investigate further into his nightly activities, Tristan responded quickly in a soft, lethargic tone.
"You got me."
Garfield sighed.
"Alright then, take today off. I'll keep you updated on everything that happens at school."
Tristan, clutching his back, merely gave a thumbs up before trudging back into his room and collapsing once again onto his bed. Garfield shut the door and departed for class.
Garfield ran through the academy grounds, knowing full well he was already late. His objective: to avoid becoming even later than he already was.
He sped up the school's perplexing staircases and through its labyrinthine corridors until he finally reached his classroom. He opened the door to find a lesson already in progress.
Miss Eleanor's class.
All eyes turned toward him as he entered.
"Mr. Frutia, you are late. And where is Mr. Merigold?" she inquired.
Garfield initially considered fabricating a story but quickly thought better of it and spoke the truth.
"Tristan's not feeling too well today."
Miss Eleanor exhaled heavily and responded with clear disapproval.
"That's the second of my classes Mr. Merigold has missed. If he doesn't begin attending consistently, he will be in serious trouble when exam time arrives."
"I apologise on his behalf," Garfield said, bowing respectfully.
Miss Eleanor sighed again and pointed to his seat, indicating that he should take it.
As he made his way there, Benjamin looked at him with a smug grin. It was evident he was pleased by Tristan's absence. Garfield ignored him and took his seat.
"Well, since you were late, I suppose I should brief you on…" Eleanor paused, her memory seemingly slipping.
She placed her finger thoughtfully on her lips, her eyes drifting to the side. Though clearly absent-minded, her beauty seemed even more pronounced in this distracted state. The boys in the class stared, hearts alight, mesmerised as their thoughts wandered.
"Miss, you should probably tell Garfield about the Selection Game," Amelia said.
The girl's voice snapped every boy out of their reverie and pulled them back into the present.
"Oh yes. Thank you, Miss Amelia."
Miss Eleanor collected her thoughts and continued.
"So, this year's Selection Game is called King's Capture. It is a team-based competition set in a vast terrain composed of multiple biomes. Your objective is to seize the crown from the opposing teams."
"Is that all?" Garfield asked.
"There's more. Within each biome, Fallen Star Beasts roam freely. You will receive points for each one slain, but only if you return with a Remnant will your points be allocated."
Remnant—a term widely known throughout Constella. A Remnant is the fragment of a beast severed in battle. When a creature is slain by a Star Weapon, its essence is absorbed by the wielder. However, the portion of the body cleaved from it contains only a fraction of that essence.
Typically, hunters sell their Remnants to nobles, for large sum of money. Granting the nobles children an edge in progressing to the next rank, though the benefits are minimal.
Other times, they destroy the Remnant and absorb its power themselves—either way, they gain from it.
"You're also awarded a large number of points for capturing another team's crown. Each team may consist of only three members and must include a Master," Miss Eleanor elaborated.
"Master?" Garfield asked, puzzled.
"Yes—the one who will train your team and act as your primary investor. You'll be staying within the biomes for at least a week, so you'll need supplies—resources that only your Master can provide. That is all."
Garfield rubbed his temple, repeating her words mentally. His gaze hardened as a single thought surfaced in his mind.
"An opportunity to prove to 'him' that I've got what it takes."