Ethereal moonlight seeped through the crystal glass, casting pale streaks across the patterned carpet. Noah sat stiffly on a chair, his new clothes only a shade finer than what he'd worn that morning. Outwardly, he looked calm—but his mind wouldn't stop racing.
'Tsk. Couldn't even wait until I had dinner.'
An hour ago, another carriage had arrived at the Academy. This time, the envoy hadn't even bothered with pleasantries—just stepped into his room, left him no choice but to change quickly, and brought him here. Now he'd been left to wait, like baggage set aside.
'Didn't think there'd come a day when I'd sympathize with the Revolutionary Army.'
His gaze drifted to the window. The grounds outside looked emptier than before. He unlatched the glass, letting in a warm gust of night air that brushed through his hair. A rich aroma—roasted meat, herbs—carried up from somewhere below.
'So everyone else is at dinner, huh?'
The thought sparked another, and his jaw clenched. "Wait—don't tell me he's eating right now? Seriously?!"
Before he could vent further, the door creaked open.
Leon himself stood in the corridor. His eyes fell on Noah—sharp, unreadable—shrinking him without a single word. Yet unlike before, there was no crushing aura, no suffocating weight. Maybe it was because Leon wore only plain training clothes, stripped of ceremony. Or maybe it was something else.
"Follow me," Leon said, his voice cold as ever.
He didn't wait for a reply, just turned and strode down the hall. Noah scrambled up and trailed after him.
The corridor swallowed them in silence. Neither spoke, the only sound their footsteps echoing off stone. Noah fixed his eyes on Leon's back, searching for intent in every movement—but the only answer he found was the emperor's proposal from a week ago.
They passed through an archway into an open courtyard. In its center lay a sparring ring, surrounded by wooden dummies and training gear. Against the far wall stood a rack lined with weapons, their steel catching faint glimmers of moonlight.
Leon's gaze flicked toward the rack. "Choose whichever you feel most confident with."
Noah hesitated, then blurted, "Can you at least tell me why I was called on such short notice?"
He'd tried to keep his tone polite, but it came out sharper, edged with defiance. Strangely, Leon didn't seem to care.
Hands clasped behind his back, Leon said, "I heard the Emperor promised you an opportunity—to become my disciple."
Noah's throat tightened. Unsure how to answer, he gave the smallest nod.
"Then prove it."
The words landed heavy, confusing. Noah frowned. "Prove… what?"
Leon turned toward the ring, his voice slicing through the night air.
"That you're worthy of the opportunity."
The words struck Noah like a blade dipped in poison. Rage spiked through his chest, hot and bitter.
'How much longer are you people going to push me around…'
Ever since his visit to the Imperial Palace, he'd felt off-kilter. Before, at least he'd had a choice in what he did; now it was like being shoved from one place to the next, a puppet dancing on someone else's strings. No one asked his opinion. No one gave him the chance to offer it.
He didn't think of himself as special—but he was still a person. Wasn't he?
His hand closed around a longsword from the rack. Silver light rippled across the blade, glinting like ice. Without another word, he stepped into the ring. Leon was already waiting at the far side, still as a statue, his face unreadable.
Leon's gaze shifted to him at last. His hands remained clasped behind his back.
"Come at me with the intent to kill," he said, his voice flat, unyielding. "Anything less won't suffice."
Noah blinked. He'd expected Leon to demand he go all out—but the way he said it, so casual, as though ordering tea, made something twist in his chest.
He forced the feeling down. Lowering his blade, he slipped into a back stance. Aether flared inside him, warm and electric, threading through his veins. His pulse quickened. Muscles thrummed. Veins rose along his arms and legs. His focus narrowed until Leon was the only thing left in the world.
'Let's see if you can say the same once this is over.'
He moved. One moment he was there—the next, gone. His body blurred, leaving only afterimages in his wake.
Leon didn't so much as turn his head. His eyes lingered on the spot where Noah had stood.
Noah flashed behind him, leg snapping out for a vicious roundhouse at his neck. A clean, killing blow—except it was never meant to land. The kick was a feint, the strike hidden inside the motion.
Even as his leg swept wide, Noah's body twisted, vanishing again—reappearing in front of Leon. His sword came down in a silver arc, the edge slicing for the throat.
He knew he couldn't overpower an Ascendant. The only way to land a blow was to fight dirty, stack every trick he had. Even then, the strike wouldn't wound Leon—but it would hit. He was sure of it.
And then Leon looked at him. Slowly. Calmly. Like he'd been watching all along.
Time dragged, the world thickening like syrup. Noah's blade stopped inches from Leon's throat—and then his vision tilted.
He was falling. No—he was floating.
He saw the floor spin into view. Leon's azure eyes stared down at him, cold, impassive, as if he wasn't even worth the effort of a glance.
He realized, in that moment, he'd been beheaded.
No pain. No blood. Only silence, darkness swallowing him whole.
Leon raised a hand and snapped his fingers.
Noah gasped awake, clutching his chest. His back was soaked with sweat. His breath came ragged, eyes darting wildly. His heart hammered like it might burst.
'What… just happened?'
Leon stepped aside, his voice cutting through the haze. "What you just experienced was inevitable death. If you choose to be my disciple, you'll live this hell every day—death in ways you've never imagined."
Noah raised his head, still trembling.
"Now is your chance to quit," Leon continued, turning his back. "No one will question you if you refuse the Emperor. Go home, Noah Hale. You're not fit to be a knight."
With that, Leon descended from the ring and disappeared into the manor without another glance.
Noah stayed where he was, the phantom of the beheading still echoing in his mind. No pain, but his hands trembled, and his chest ached as if his soul itself had cracked.
He didn't even notice the escort waiting behind him until the man cleared his throat.
***
In the head office of House Valcrest, Leon stood by the tall window, his gaze fixed beyond the glass. Outside, a lone carriage rolled through the gates, its silhouette shrinking into the night.
Edric followed his line of sight, his brow creasing. With a quiet sigh, he spoke.
"I heard what happened. Did you really have to push him that hard? He's already been through enough these past few days."
Leon didn't answer right away. His eyes lingered on the fading carriage until it disappeared into the distance. Only then did his voice cut through the silence.
"It was necessary. If he stepped into our world chasing fame or honor, he would break—sooner or later. No matter how strong he became."
Finally, Leon turned from the window, his expression unreadable.
"Death strips everything away. It shows you what you truly want… whether you're willing to keep living, or surrender. Even the strongest are laid bare in that moment."
He paused, his words hanging heavy between them. Then, with quiet certainty, he finished:
"Now the choice is his. If he comes back, it means there is something he desires more than comfort, more than safety—something he's willing to endure hell itself to reach. And if that is the case… then neither his ambition nor his convictions will ever be in question."