Requeim of Reverence

JAMES EMPORIO – BARRACKS, CITY OF TRITINE

A mountain... No, an ocean of paperwork. At this rate, I'd be sucked dry before I even stepped onto the battlefield. But even amidst such a task, I can't help but ponder what has gotten to Audel, my little brother who is in his early 20s. Wait no, he is not even 20 yet, 19 perhaps. Too young to be running off into the night. And yet, I knew he had left the apartment at midnight, only to reappear at the doorstep of Mr. Vestiron's estate hours later. There was only one conclusion.

"He's in his rebellious stage," I muttered under my breath.

A soft chuckle came from across the desk.

"Worried about your brother, Mr. Emporio?" My assistant, Miss Klara, teased, her voice laced with amusement.

I flushed slightly. "Who in their right mind sneaks out at 4 a.m.? And to think—Wait, wait, wait." My eyes widened. I get it now.

"What?" Ms. Klara didn't seem surprised at my crashout.

I almost slammed my desk. "Maria. It's her. Oh god, my brother has given in to his temptations—!"

Before I could finish my dramatic outburst, a firm knock at the door silenced us.

That was unusual. No one ever bothered me here.

"Come in," I said, quickly composing myself.

The door swung open, revealing a War Sergeant clad in full uniform. His mere presence put me on alert. A sergeant wouldn't be here unless something significant was happening.

I straightened my posture instinctively.

"Lieutenant James," the sergeant began, voice crisp and formal. "You are invited to the General's Meeting. The meeting will commence in six hours at the National Barracks."

I frowned. The General's Meeting? Why would I—?

"Who called it?" I asked, my tone steady but laced with suspicion.

The sergeant met my gaze, his expression unreadable.

"The King himself."

Silence weighed heavy in the room.

I felt Miss Klara's worried glance, but I gave her a slight nod.

"Understood," I replied, my voice calm despite the tension creeping into my bones.

"I'll be there."

MARY EMPORIO – INSTITUTION OF MELEE ENHANCEMENT AND MANA REFINEMENT, TRITINE

Carrying my books against my hip, I walked past the academy training yard. It buzzed with intensity - sparring partners moved with calculated precision, their mana-infused strikes echoing into the open field.

It was a far cry from the chaos that used to be here. Mr. Williams has worked hard to transform this group, once considered hopeless delinquents, into a class preparing for the Tritine Tournament, one of the most prestigious competitions of all Wikesland.

Yet, amidst these blood and black eyes, my eyes fell on a sight much less glorious.

A young man stood cornered, panting, his stance faltering. His opponent seized the moment, driving a hard kick into his ribs before slamming him onto the ground.

The sight was—satisfying.

Because that poor excuse of a fighter was my brother.

"Saint Mary! What brings you here?" A voice nearly startled me.

I turned to find Myre, one of my classmates and a competitor in the upcoming tournament. Her wide grin betrayed her excitement.

"Are you here to spar? Please spar with me next!" she insisted, practically bouncing on her feet.

I shook my head. "Sorry, next time, Myre. I was just passing through."

Myre's eyes flickered toward my brother, her lips curling into something close to amusement.

"It's your brother, huh? Are you worried about him?" she asked, her tone dripping with faux concern.

I scoffed. "Worried? That man is going to get obliterated by the other academies. I can't wait to see his face when it happens."

Myre let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head. "How considerate!" Then, with a shift in her expression, she added, "Speaking of brothers—how's Mr. James? I heard he got promoted last week."

"Uhh, he's fine," I replied, shrugging. "His post is still here in Tritine. Apart from a higher paycheck, I don't think much has changed."

Myre smiled. "Lucky. At least he won't be sent to the battlefield anytime soon."

"For now," I murmured, watching my desperate brother struggle against the dirt.

Seated on the grass, I watched my sister chuckling with Miss Myre. Judging by their expressions, they were either gossiping about something amusing—or more likely, making a mockery of my pathetic state.

Not that I could blame them. It wasn't that I was particularly weak—it was just that everyone else was too damn competent.

I pushed myself off the ground, dusted off my pants, and returned to my sparring session.

Across from me stood my opponent: Jerome Kruger, 19, a noble, and one of the strongest fighters in our class. He was like a ticking bomb, constantly radiating a tension that made even the simplest match feel like a duel to the death. His green eyes gleamed at me, urging me to take my fighting stance again.

Jerome wasn't much of a talker. I had long since learned to translate his silent expressions into words. Right now, they screamed: Try harder. Or don't bother at all.

Just as I was about to adjust my footing—

"Stop."

The sharp voice nearly made me jump. I turned to find Mr. Williams approaching, his commanding presence casting a long shadow over the field.

"Jerome, step aside," he instructed, his tone firm yet unreadable.

Jerome obeyed without question. That's when I realized what was happening.

I wasn't about to spar with my classmate anymore.

I was about to spar with Mr. Williams himself.

Swallowing hard, I tightened my grip on my sword and took my stance, both hands firm on the hilt.

This was going to hurt.

Without warning, Mr. Williams charged at me. His blade sliced through the air with terrifying speed. It was as if he did so with a murderous intent. My body reacted before my mind could catch up. Instinct kicked in.

*Clang*

The clash of swords reverberated through the air, the impact forcing my arms to shudder. I barely dodged the blow, which caused sparks to erupt between us. He held me in place, ever so firmly, locking my position while forcing my sword to cross with his using a phenomenal amount of strength, and whispered,

 "So, Lord Vestiron did train you. Amazing instincts!"

 Before I could respond, he shoved me back. I staggered but quickly regained my footing, adjusting my stance. My grip tightened around my sword as I studied his every movement, searching for an opening.

I knew the truth—this fight wasn't just a test of skill.

It was a test of secrecy.

 I took an oath to hide my relationship with Lord Westiron, the man who secretly trained me. It was an agreement that meant to keep me hidden from the noble eyes, to delete any mark of my true abilities. For years, I deliberately dulled my own swordsmanship.

 But not everyone had been fooled.

 Some had their suspicions. Some had noticed.

 And Mr. Williams was one of them.