Cletta Couldn't Believe Ashytara's Tale
Cletta couldn't believe Ashytara's story. The fierce and terrifying Ludenberg Lavante came across in her tale as the world's kindest friend. If it hadn't been Ashytara—someone who always spoke bluntly—she would have dismissed it as a ridiculous joke with zero realism. But seeing that wistful expression and the way Ashytara reminisced about that day, no one around could accuse her of lying.
Her usually sharp features softened into an astonishingly gentle look the moment that distant gaze appeared, drawing everyone in. Then, as Ashytara's expression returned to normal, it was like the curtain falling on a play—every student snapped out of their immersion, staring at her in a daze as if they'd misheard everything.
Maybe Ashytara has a talent for acting? Cletta even found herself thinking such idle thoughts.
Not many knew it, but Ashytara's talents weren't limited to swordsmanship. She had the power to captivate people—one word, one expression had made countless others laugh and cry over the years. Swaying immature kids like these? She could do it with her eyes closed.
She'd simply never needed to flaunt it before. The goodwill of others meant little to her anyway.
"You think it's real?"
"Nah, has to be a lie. Telling a fib that innocently would make her a natural-born con artist."
"True. It's not a lie. We've heard forever that those two were super close."
"Then why'd they end up like this?"
"Who knows... Maybe because he couldn't awaken any divine power?"
Ashytara sensed things unfolding more or less as she'd planned. She wasn't aiming for a dramatic shift in how they saw Ludenberg right away. Her goal was subtler: plant the seed of Why did Ludenberg change like that?
In her story, he'd shown diligence and kindness in equal measure—and a shift in such a person naturally sparked curiosity. Her aim was just to toss out the topic, so she was quite satisfied with today's results.
With a hint of pride, she turned to Cletta, who still looked at her like she couldn't quite buy it.
"Anyway, that means you can do it too. Start over from the basics, step by step."
"Uh... yeah. Got it."
"Get into stance first. I'll check that, at least. I can't help often, but I've got time today, so it's fine, right?"
"This is more than enough. Thanks. Oh, Ashytara—should I thank Ludenberg too for setting this up?"
Cletta spoke her deep gratitude to Ashytara for the help, then felt the same toward Ludenberg for making the introduction.
Ashytara leaned in, whispering something into her ear.
"...do that. ...Got it?"
"...!"
Cletta's face flickered with uncertainty at the whisper, but she nodded in understanding.
Silently, night retreated as dawn crept in, the world hushed in tranquil early morning. Ludenberg stood alone in the training grounds, swinging his sword.
No one around—the amplified senses he'd honed picked up not even the chirp of a single cricket. In that profound silence, he allowed himself a faint smile.
Lately, his mind had been a storm of chaos, so these quiet sessions were rare. He savored the satisfaction deeply.
Each swing was ferociously powerful and savage. Compared to before the events with Raha, his skill had leaped to another level entirely.
Well, last time I even cleaved a blade wrapped in divine power.
Rare for him, he smiled even mid-training, pleased with his growth. Yet every strike channeled his full power. Self-satisfaction was fleeting; the road ahead was long.
To prove himself without falling behind, he had to grow stronger still. Slack off now, thinking he outpaced other students, and he'd sink to the bottom in an instant.
How long had he focused solely on the blade? As the hazy dawn fully broke, his morning practice ended.
He shed the heavy armor weighing him down, returned the training sword, and reviewed his schedule: Lanur theology, Erosion studies, and rank-specific training continuing from yesterday. Nothing special.
After washing off the sweat, checking his textbooks, and grabbing a light breakfast, he headed to the White Pavilion.
On the way, he felt countless blatant stares aimed his way. They persisted even after he reached the theology classroom and took his seat.
What's going on?
He was used to glances, but not this overt. Pondering briefly, he shrugged it off.
Probably Mion or Eden spreading nonsense again.
Curious what rumor this time, but they were all the same anyway—nothing new. Better to preview the material than dwell on gossip. He opened his Fundamentals of Theology and reviewed the day's content.
Of course, the suspicious stares didn't vanish.
The professor for Lanur theology was Irina Jericho, whose very appearance brought instant calm. Her large round glasses and dark purple hair evoked fluffy sheep's wool, matching her gentle nature. Her classes were infamous for letting exhausted students nap without a care.
On the first day, she'd peered sympathetically through her glasses at the weary Innocence ranks adjusting to Solemnute Adem life and said,
"If you're sleepy, go ahead and sleep. Lanur theology isn't much different from what you learned as kids. Just read it like a fairy tale, and you'll keep up fine."
The Innocence students had looked at her like a savior. Things hadn't changed.
In the drowsy morning theory slot, facing dull theology, Irina seemed the embodiment of Lanur—merciful and innocent. Her slightly drawling speech only deepened the spell, lulling them one by one into sleep like a Lanur sacred law.
Rather than scold, she smiled warmly at their nodding heads and continued in her languid tone. She never called on students either, so tension evaporated naturally.
All Lanur doctrines stemmed from one simple premise: unbound freedom. View phenomena without chains of common sense, culture, or society—shedding all preconceptions.
Not "How could that happen? Unrealistic!" but "Could that really be? Fascinating!"—approaching without bias. That was Lanur theology.
Built on this, studying it wasn't as arcane as other theologies. The myths she covered were surreal tales, as she said—like wandering a fairy-tale world. With her soft delivery, Innocence ranks forgot their hectic academy life, drifting into perfect slumber.
Lanur, the freest and most whimsical god, granted endless liberty even in learning—most students succumbed to dreamland under that grace.
Even Ludenberg couldn't resist Lanur's indiscriminate "sleep" sacred law.
...Later, the first-year Innocence ranks learned that over 70% of students typically face-planted on desks in her class—a daily spectacle.
Thus blissfully supplementing sleep in the languid morning, they faced Professor Calvin's grueling Erosion studies lecture in the afternoon and lost their minds entirely.
Afternoon training. Professor Hainkel Hereis announced they'd continue acclimating to illusion erosion beasts as yesterday.
The Innocence ranks now eyed the beasts before them with far steadier gazes.
They recalled Hainkel's words from yesterday:
They saw yesterday's defeat as humiliation. Once hailed as geniuses before enrolling, they couldn't stomach losing to mere low-grade erosion beasts.
After the training grounds defeat, they'd composed themselves and begun serious study of erosion beasts.
Conveniently, the prior class was Erosion studies, and today's brutal session with Calvin had covered low-grade variants. They knew the beasts' mutation patterns roughly.
Staying calm, never letting guard down, they hounded the beasts until their hearts shattered—proving their skill as the foes crumbled to black ash with ease.
Hainkel couldn't hide his surprise at the overnight change. He'd never expected such rapid adaptation.
Not one of the 40 Innocence ranks fell to a low-grade erosion beast.
"Impressive. I didn't think you'd master low-grades this quickly. In adaptation speed alone, you're far ahead of your seniors."
His unintended praise swelled their confidence. Of course, Ludenberg and the few who'd beaten theirs yesterday showed no change.
"At this rate, we can advance the curriculum a bit."
Advance it? Unease rippled through the Innocence ranks.
"Starting tomorrow, multiple erosion beasts."
Their faces darkened instantly. Freshmen eager for fun despite everything, none relished speeding ahead.
They'd avenged their defeat successfully—only to trip over their own feet.