Time passed.
One month after joining the Order, Samo and the other recruits found themselves in a large stone hall, sitting on the floor in a semicircle. In front of them stood an elderly man with a distinct appearance, a monocle over his right eye, and a voice as calm as a murmuring brook. He lectured with slow, deliberate gestures.
"...and that is why diverse knowledge is essential. Take the gods, for example. The Kingdom of Sestri permits the worship of multiple deities — from [Primordial Artrax], regarded as the supreme god, to [Cernnunos], the god of forests and wildlife."
The professor's tone was hypnotic. As expected, most of the students had already succumbed to sleep — Samo among them. Lying on his side, he breathed deeply and rhythmically. Once the proud owner of fiery red hair, he now bore the smooth shine of a shaved head. A string of drool dripped from his lip.
With a soft sigh, the professor reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver coin. Without hesitation, he dragged it along the stone wall.
SCREEEECH!
The piercing sound cut through the air. Like they'd been struck with pain, the cadets screamed and clutched their ears. Even the sleepers snapped awake in a panic. All except Samo, who merely yawned and stretched, like someone waking from a lazy summer nap.
"Good. Now that everyone is properly awake, I can continue."
The professor slowly opened his book, as if the ritual itself was more sacred than the lesson.
"Though the kingdom allows for belief in many gods, there is one organization whose entry is restricted to those blessed with the [Aura] of Belenus, the Lord of Light. That organization is known as the Knights of Aurora."
The name made Samo raise his eyebrows. His drifting thoughts now fully anchored in the room.
"The reason is simple," Cornelius continued. "Those not touched by Belenus are either vulnerable to demonic corruption… or already bear the Aura of another god."
[Aura]. The vital energy that flows through all living things. All beings can use it — whether to strengthen their bodies or project it outward — a gift and a weapon alike.
"The current leader of the Aurorians is Samuel Nikitich, the avatar of Belenus."
Samo furrowed his brow and hesitantly raised his hand.
"Professor Cornelius... what exactly does 'avatar' mean?"
The old man looked at him over the rim of his monocle, a slight tone of reprimand in his gaze.
"Ah, young Samo... that explanation was given in the last lecture. Seems someone was sleeping."
A few quiet chuckles echoed among the students. Samo shrank slightly, blushing.
"But a question is still a question." Cornelius closed the book for a moment.
"According to the Primordial Law, gods are forbidden from directly interfering in the mortal realm. That's why they choose avatars — humans touched by their essence, capable of acting on their behalf, though in a limited capacity. Understand now?"
"Yes... yes, sir." Samo nodded and sat up straighter.
But before silence returned to the room, a female voice rose.
"Professor, are there any records of a god ever breaking the Primordial Law?"
It was a young female cadet — something rare among the knights of the Order.
Dark-skinned, long hair tied with a leather strap, firm posture. Her name was Layla.
As Samo looked at her, a fleeting thought crossed his mind:
Why do the men have to shave their heads and the women don't...?
"Excellent question, Cadet Layla."
The professor flipped through his book carefully until he found a marked page.
"Ah, here it is." His eyes narrowed as he read.
"There is one account of a god who was mysteriously... forgotten. His records erased, his memories wiped from everyone — even his own followers. Not even his name was preserved."
Samo shuddered.
A forgotten god...?
He remembered his father's words — how he couldn't recall ever being a follower of any god.
Could it have been this one...?
"Alright," Cornelius announced, closing the book firmly.
"Class is over. You have three minutes to be on the training field."
The warning worked like a starting pistol. Cadets sprang to their feet and rushed toward the narrow door, jostling for position.
"Training field, huh..." Samo muttered, watching the chaos.
If I wait for everyone to leave, I'll never make it in time.
So, without a second thought, he turned toward the open window.
Cornelius was calmly gathering his books when something darted past the edge of his vision. He turned just in time to see a figure leaping through the window.
"WHAT?!" he exclaimed, dropping his bag to the floor.
He rushed to the window, heart pounding.
"Is he trying to die?! This classroom is on the third floor!"
But when he looked down... nothing. No body. No trace. Only the quiet, untouched courtyard below.
"Am I... hallucinating?" he murmured.
Shaking his head, he picked up his bag and left the room, still shaken by what he thought he'd seen.
What he didn't know was that, at that exact moment, Samo was already standing on the training field — arms crossed, calmly waiting for the others to arrive.
It was the second class of the day: Postures and Movement.
The sun blazed high, its heat distorting the horizon over the training field.
Samo wore the standard cadet uniform — a white tank top soaked with sweat and black fitted trousers. In his hand, a long wooden training sword, which he swung vertically in a repetitive, mechanical motion alongside the others lined up.
"This month has been hell…" he thought, the grip already burning his hands.
"I started off on the wrong foot... lucky for me, these uniforms are identical. At least no one can tell I only have one set. And if I've gotten three hours of sleep total this week, I'd be surprised. Damn instructors... attacking us in the middle of the night."
His body followed orders, but his mind was faltering.
Suddenly, a voice cracked through the field like a whip.
"Hey, you! Useless lamppost!"
Samo looked up and saw Instructor Grant — the same man who had called out the names during the selection.
Tall, imposing, with eyes that seemed to pierce bone.
"You are, by far, the worst person I've ever seen wield a sword!" he bellowed.
"You look like a rag doll! Tighten that stance or a sneeze'll knock you over!"
Before Samo could respond, Grant was already wielding a short wooden sword. Without warning, he began striking Samo with corrective blows each time the boy slipped up. The cracks of impact echoed across the empty field.
WHACK!
CRACK!
Another sword broken.
Time passed. One by one, the cadets were dismissed for lunch.
Only Samo and Grant remained under the punishing sun.
A small pile of broken wooden swords had formed beside them — a monument of frustration.
"You're not leaving this field until you learn how to hold that damn sword properly!" Grant growled.
"You choose a longsword and swing it like it's a spoon! Come on — Ochs position!"
Samo clenched his jaw, raising the sword beside his head, tilting his body slightly forward.
His breathing was heavy, but his eyes stayed locked in.
"That's it!" Grant said, raising his eyebrows in surprise.
"I thought I'd have to break every damn training sword in the Order on you, you bastard."
He sighed and jerked his chin toward the exit.
"Go to the mess hall. Now! And don't forget: next is hand-to-hand combat class. I want to see if you're better at taking a beating without a sword."
"Yes, sir!" Samo replied, before launching into a sprint, vanishing down the dirt path in seconds.
Grant stood in silence for a moment. Then he looked at the pile of broken swords and grumbled, mostly to himself:
"How can someone be so physically gifted... and so damn bad with a sword?"