After the chief instructor's lecture, the remaining time was dedicated to self-practice.
Victor Wang noticed that most of the reservists were already practicing how to chain the five sword techniques together. Only a handful were still breaking them down individually.
The Knights of Favonius held a new recruit selection once every quarter. To participate, candidates had to register two months in advance. Formal training began one month before the trial. Though this cycle's schedule had been shortened due to the dragon disaster, most had still trained in Favonius Bladework for at least two weeks.
And those who were serious about joining the Knights had often trained in martial arts from a young age. At the very least, they had some kind of foundation before applying.
Shaking his head, Victor Wang refocused and began swinging his sword.
This was his second life, and his first time learning swordsmanship—he needed to build a solid foundation. The hour of basics earlier was far from enough.
What worried him most was forming reflexes and muscle memory through hard work, only to lose it all if his body was ever restored or reset.
But the techniques stored in his mind—they wouldn't vanish.
Elsewhere, Sidney found two unskilled lackeys and whispered instructions.
"You two—go find the one wearing the cloak. Confront him publicly. Ask why he's hiding his face in front of everyone, then—no matter what he says—force him to take it off."
"Oh, oh."
The pale, gaunt youth nodded earnestly. His dim eyes swept the area Sidney had just pointed to, searching carefully. But after several checks, he found no trace of the so-called cloaked figure.
Frustrated, he asked his companion, "Did you see anyone wearing a cloak?"
The companion double-checked the area too, then shook his head.
Sidney had already walked away, confident his instructions would be followed. The two had eagerly agreed, but now that they couldn't even identify the target, going back to Sidney would clearly damage their standing.
But acting without confirmation might make things worse.
Left with no choice, the two approached Sidney, who was still practicing swordplay.
"What is it?"
Sidney paused, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. These kinds of weaklings who clung to him for favor were exactly the type he loathed—but he wasn't ready to discard their usefulness just yet.
"We… we couldn't find the guy you mentioned. The one with the cloak."
"What?"
Sidney began to question whether it was his eyes or ears failing him—or maybe both.
He lifted his chin, pointing in Victor Wang's direction. "Isn't he right there?"
The two lackeys looked over. But Victor Wang's cloak, masked by a field of spiritual concealment, caused them to subconsciously overlook his attire.
"You really don't see him?"
The lackeys could sense Sidney nearing the edge of fury. They strained their eyes, scanning the area as hard as they could. Still, nothing.
But Sidney didn't explode. Instead, he draped an arm around each of their shoulders and steered them directly toward Victor Wang, asking sweetly, "See the guy over there practicing with the golden sword?"
"Y-yeah, we see him."
"Then do you see the black cloak he's wearing?"
Both heads shook simultaneously.
Sidney licked his lips. He hadn't failed the Knight trials twice due to stupidity—his weakness was physical, not mental.
So, the cloak and the sword must both be enchanted.
He took extra time to confirm his theory with another Vision holder he was on speaking terms with, and eventually deduced that only those with Visions could see the cloak.
Summoning the two lackeys again, he issued fresh orders.
"Go confront that guy with the golden sword. Demand to know why he's dressed like that in public. No matter what he says, force him to take the cloak off. Make a scene. If you can, brush up against his sword. Make it look like he started it."
"Uh…"
The lackeys hesitated. They were fine flattering, fetching, and playing errand boys—but risking injury? That was a hard sell.
"You two know you've got no shot at passing the trial. I have a Vision. Once I'm in the Knights and have a foothold, I won't forget your help. Pull this off, and you'll be my top two aides. As for who's number one… your sacrifices won't go unnoticed."
The Vision—a dream so near to mortals, it could arrive on a pillow overnight or appear in the midst of doing something with conviction.
Yet that arbitrary, illogical bestowal was the last, unreachable stretch between them and divinity.
The Knights recruited, on average, ten Vision holders a year. This cycle, excluding Victor Wang, five had already appeared.
To most, having a Vision meant climbing to the very top—whether as a Knight or an adventurer.
With Sidney's promise dangling before them, the two lackeys instantly became rivals. Their earlier hesitation vanished. Each now burned with eagerness to reach Victor Wang first and prove themselves.
"Hey! Why are you dressed like that? You think you're special?"
"Yeah, why're you all covered up? Got something to hide?"
Victor Wang was deep in sword training when the voices reached him. He turned to see two newcomers—one was a pale, sickly-looking pretty boy; the other a hulking musclehead with a dull gaze.
"What did you just say?"
"I said, why're you wearing a cloak? Hiding something? You deaf?"
The musclehead raised his voice like he was shouting at a grandpa with hearing loss. It immediately drew everyone's attention.
The pale boy followed up, "You look shady as hell. How'd you even get into the reservists?!"
The onlookers stared with confusion. They couldn't understand what the two were talking about—but human nature loves a spectacle.
"Me? What about the way I'm dressed?"
Could the cloak have stopped working?Alice wouldn't scam me like that, right? If the concealment failed, then walking around in this getup would be way too conspicuous.
Victor Wang scanned the crowd. The spectators didn't linger on him—they looked more curious about the two hecklers.
Oh? So, the cloak still works. Then how can these two see it?
The pale boy noticed the growing crowd and began to waver, but the musclehead pressed on.
"What about it? Don't play dumb. Take that cloak off—now!"
Victor Wang sighed and glanced toward the ten resting instructors and the chief instructor by the field's edge. They were simply watching—clearly not planning to intervene.
Another sigh.
"You want me to take it off? Fine. You tell me—what does this cloak look like?"
"Uh… black, I guess?"
"...Does it have any patterns?"
"Trying to trick me, huh? It's pure black! Quit dodging—take it off or you're not leaving!"
"Heh. Why would I run?"
Victor Wang closed his eyes in thought. Besides the chief instructor, only five other Vision holders were on the field—two Anemo, one Electro, one Geo, and one Pyro. The same ones who trained with him earlier.
Could the instructor be messing with me? Doesn't seem like it. A special test? Or is someone trying to set me up?
Either way, there was no point engaging these two pawns.
"Get lost. Don't interrupt my training."
Victor Wang summoned two gusts of wind and pushed the provocateurs back two meters. He might not be able to fight the instructors—but against regular people, it was no contest.
The musclehead turned pale. He'd never expected this guy to have a Vision. If he had, he'd never have agreed to Sidney's plan.
The pale boy had the same realization. But he knew regrets were useless now. In panic, he glanced around for Sidney—only to lock eyes with Sidney's furious, jaw-clenched glare.
Great… now both sides hate me.
The spectators had never seen Victor Wang before. His display left them stunned. Seeing the two bullies pushed away, they quickly dispersed and returned to training.
No one wanted to be remembered by someone with a Vision.
The musclehead bolted in fear. The pale boy, left standing awkwardly, looked lost. Victor Wang, now calm again, resumed his smooth sequence—thrust, chop, sweep, slash...
But rage gave the pale boy courage. If this failed, he'd be ousted from Sidney's circle and had already provoked someone with a Vision. To him, there was only one option left.
He charged at the gleaming golden sword.
It caught Victor Wang completely off guard.
The sword was mid-thrust. The boy was rushing toward it. The tip was aimed straight at his chest. And Victor Wang—three hours into training—had no practiced control.
What do I do?
In a flash of instinct, Victor Wang reacted. The sword was already at full extension—too late to pull back—but with an unnatural twist of the wrist, he tilted the blade slightly, just enough to avoid the boy's chest.
Instead, the edge sliced past the inside of his left arm, spraying a fine arc of blood.