The silence in the training arena was a physical thing, thick and heavy, long after the last mote of the dissolved Demon Knight simulation had vanished. The air still crackled with the aftershock of Kaelen's display, not from residual mana, but from the sheer, impossible finality of it. He hadn't fought; he had simply… deleted.
Kaizar was the first to break, a low, guttural sound escaping his lips that was neither word nor growl. His knuckles were bone-white where they gripped his greatsword, his bravado replaced by a primal, instinctual wariness. He looked at Kaelen not as a rival, but as a force of nature he had been foolishly taunting.
Lydia slowly lowered her hand from her mouth, her face pale. The clinical ease with which he had mended her arm was one thing. The utter negation of a high-tier demonic construct was something else entirely. It was power on a scale that rewrote her understanding of the world.
Shine's silver eyes were wide, but the initial shock was already hardening into a steely resolve. She saw the fear in the others, the dawning terror. But she also saw the necessity. The enemy they faced was not something that could be beaten with courage and skill alone. It required a scalpel of divine sharpness. And she was the one who had found it, who had, against all odds, forged an alliance with it. A fierce, protective feeling surged in her chest—not for the terrifying power, but for the person wielding it.
Kaelen observed their reactions, his expression unchanging. The data was as expected: elevated heart rates, spike in cortisol, pupil dilation. Fear. It was an inefficient but predictable response to a demonstration of overwhelming capability.
"The data is clear," he repeated, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. It was the same flat, analytical tone he always used, making the terrifying display seem as mundane as noting the weather. "The simulation, while incomplete, confirms the threat profile of a Knight-level entity. Your current combat efficiency, even with the improvements of the last 48 hours, remains insufficient for direct engagement. The strategic solution is my direct intervention."
He turned and began walking toward the arena's exit. "The War Council convenes in one hour. We will brief the others en route. Follow."
The command was absolute. There was no room for debate. They followed, a silent procession through the gleaming, sterile halls of the training sector. The usual ambient hum of the academy felt muted, as if the very building was holding its breath.
They collected the others from their respective training zones. Keijos emerged from the shadows, his vulpine features sharp with focused intensity, but his eyes held a new, deep-seated respect as he fell in step behind Kaelen. Alio clanked out of his defensive ring, his dwarven frame looking even more solid, his gaze thoughtful as he absorbed the tense atmosphere. Rei and Eline arrived together, the air around them still crackling with the controlled energy of their perfected storm, their usual playful banter replaced by a silent, serious communication. Renos was the last, his face a mask of intense concentration, his mind undoubtedly still reeling from the tactical paradigms Kaelen had shattered.
No words were exchanged. A look from Kaelen, a glance at the shell-shocked expressions of Kaizar, Lydia, and Shine, was enough. The group's cohesion, forged in the fires of the entrance exam and tempered by shared classes and missions, solidified in that moment into something harder. They were no longer just classmates or allies. They were the retinue of a god of war, though none would dare voice that thought.
As they walked, Kaelen's mind was a fortress of data. He cross-referenced the simulation's performance with the spectral analysis from the border, running probability matrices on demon troop movements, resource allocation, and potential points of breach. He was building a comprehensive battle plan, a thing of flawless, terrifying logic.
But beneath the cold calculus, a flicker of something else stirred.
The feel of a keyboard under his fingers. The glow of a monitor in a dark, quiet office. The soul-deep weariness of a long, meaningless day.
Kaito Tanaka's memory surfaced, not as a dream, but as a stark contrast. That man had worried about performance reviews and rent. This man—this vessel—was preparing to brief generals on the extinction-level threat of a demonic invasion. The absurdity of it should have been overwhelming. But the consciousness that was now Kaelen simply accepted it as a new data set. The quiet desperation of his past life was just another variable in the equation of his present, a grounding point that reminded him of what was at stake—not just abstract worlds, but the simple, mundane reality of people who just wanted to get through the day.
He glanced at Shine, walking beside him. Her presence was another anchor, a tether to this new world. Her belief in him, her willingness to see the person within the power, was a paradox his logical mind was still learning to process. It was… illogical. And yet, he found the variable preferable to the alternative.
They arrived at the grand doors leading to the Aethelgard War Room. These were not the doors of a classroom or a training arena. They were massive constructs of reinforced orichalcum and deepwood, inlaid with silver wards that pulsed with a soft, powerful light. Two stone-faced guards in the full ceremonial armor of the Academy's Sentinel Corps flanked them. Their eyes, visible through their helms, held no curiosity, only an implacable duty. They recognized the group, especially Shine, and gave a curt nod before pushing the heavy doors open.
The room within was a testament to the Collision's strange synthesis. The walls were lined with traditional tapestries depicting historical battles, but floating above the central, circular table were complex, interactive holographic maps of the continent, shimmering with real-time data. The air smelled of old parchment, ozone, and a tense, metallic anxiety.
The leaders of Aethelgard were already assembled. Headmaster Valerius stood at the head of the table, his expression grim, his fingers steepled. Around him sat the masters of the various combat colleges—a stern Dwarven Armorer, a graceful Elven Spymistress, a hulking Orcish Warmaster, and others. Representatives from the major city-states and kingdoms within the Academy's alliance were also present, their faces a mix of fear, arrogance, and desperate hope.
All conversation died as Kaelen's group entered. The weight of their collective gaze was immense. They saw the Top Examinees, the prodigies, the strange group that had risen to prominence with shocking speed. And they saw Kaelen at their head.
Headmaster Valerius's eyes, sharp and intelligent, found Kaelen's. "You requested this emergency council, Adept Kaelen. The reports from your… independent reconnaissance have been disturbing, to say the least. We have also received our own confirmations from outlying scouts. They have not returned, but their final transmissions were… conclusive." His voice was heavy. "Explain what we face."
Kaelen stepped forward to the edge of the holographic table. He didn't wait for an invitation. He placed his hand on the table's surface.
"Accessing Aethelgard Tactical Network. Authorization: Kaelen-Seven-Alpha."
The system chimed in recognition, a sound that made several council members start. How did a first-year student have that level of access? The holographic display shifted, zooming in on the troubled border region. Kaelen's data, clean and precise, overlaid the map—sinister crimson tendrils indicating demonic energy concentrations, casualty reports, and projected invasion vectors.
"The entity you designate as a 'demon incursion' is a systematic, multi-phase invasion led by a structured military hierarchy," Kaelen began, his voice devoid of emotion, a stark contrast to the tension in the room. He was not delivering bad news; he was reciting facts. "The frontline troops are a bio-engineered caste, designed for overwhelming numbers and attrition. Their effectiveness is low but their resource cost is negligible. Behind them are the specialist castes—breachers, corruptors, psychic dominators."
He zoomed the map in further, highlighting three specific, powerful signatures. "Commanding these forces are Knight-class entities. My analysis, based on spectral residue and tactical patterns, confirms a minimum of three. Their power level is approximately 300% greater than the simulated construct I neutralized 47 minutes ago."
A wave of murmuring went through the council. "You neutralized a Knight-level simulation?" the Dwarven Armorer asked, his voice thick with disbelief.
"It was an inefficient use of resources to create a full simulation for a foregone conclusion," Kaelen replied, as if commenting on a poor investment. "The result was within expected parameters. The point is, each Knight represents a strategic-level threat capable of breaking fortified lines alone."
He paused, letting the gravity of that sink in. Then he delivered the final blow. "However, the Knights are not the primary threat. They are field commanders. My long-range sensors have detected ten distinct energy signatures of a magnitude that defies current categorization. They are dormant, but their awakening is imminent. I have designated them S-class threats. 'Demon Princes.' Their projected power level places them beyond the Academy's current capacity to engage."
The silence that followed was absolute. The Orcish Warmaster slammed a fist on the table, making the holograms shudder. "Beyond our capacity? What nonsense is this? Aethelgard has stood for a thousand years! We have armies! Spells! Technology!"
"Your armies will be consumed. Your spells will be negated. Your technology will be corrupted," Kaelen stated, his tone never wavering. It wasn't a boast; it was a simple projection. "The data does not support a conclusion of victory through conventional means. The probability is 0.03%."
"Then what do you propose?" the Elven Spymistress asked, her voice like chilled silk. Her eyes were fixed on Kaelen, seeing past the calm exterior to the immense, terrifying depth beneath.
"I propose a single, efficient solution," Kaelen said. "Me."
The bald statement hung in the air.
A representative from a techno-magical city-state scoffed. "You? A first-year student? We are to pin the hopes of the world on a child's boast?"
Before Kaelen could respond, Shine stepped forward. Her voice, when she spoke, was clear and carried the unwavering authority of the Sylvan Firstborn.
"You will not speak to him with such disregard," she said, her silver eyes flashing. "You have seen the data. You have heard the reports. I have fought beside him. I have seen him dismantle threats that would shatter your finest knights without effort. He is not boasting. He is stating a fact. Our only fact."
Kaizar, surprising everyone, grunted in agreement. "The elf is right. What he did in the arena… it wasn't fighting. It was… something else. If he says he can handle it, I believe him." His admission, forced out through gritted teeth, carried more weight than any eloquent speech.
The council devolved into arguments. Some were terrified and eager to grasp at any straw. Others were proud, refusing to believe their power was obsolete. Headmaster Valerius watched it all, his eyes constantly flicking back to Kaelen, who stood silently amidst the chaos, a island of perfect, unnerving calm.
The techno-city representative stood up, his face red with anger. "This is preposterous! We will not hand over the defense of our world to an unknown, unproven variable on the word of a group of children! We demand a demonstration! Show us this power you claim to possess!"
Kaelen looked at the man. The request was illogical. A demonstration would waste energy and reveal tactical data to any unseen observers. It was an inefficient, pride-driven demand.
But he also understood the variable of politics. The data indicated that without their full, unquestioning cooperation, the war effort would be hampered by inefficiency and infighting. The path to maximum efficiency required their compliance.
A memory surfaced. A crowded, noisy izakaya. His boss, red-faced and demanding, shouting about a presentation. The need to perform, to prove his worth on terms he found foolish. The quiet resentment.
Kaelen's eyes grew cold. He would not perform like a trained dog. But he would provide a datum.
He didn't move. He didn't flare his aura. He simply… allowed the Limiter and the Veil to operate at their absolute baseline tolerance for one single, focused moment. He didn't release his power into the room. He simply let the council feel the edge of what was contained. The event horizon of the abyss.
It was not pressure. It was the absence of everything.
The air was vacuumed from the room. Sound died. The holographic maps flickered and distorted, their colors leaching into monochrome. The magical wards on the doors flared violently and then sputtered, overloaded. Every single person in the room, from the lowest scribe to Headmaster Valerius himself, was driven to their knees, not by weight, but by a soul-deep vertigo, a terrifying sensation of standing on the precipice of absolute nothingness. They couldn't breathe. They couldn't think. They could only feel an ancient, primal terror of the void.
It lasted less than a second.
Then it was gone.
The air rushed back in with a gasp from two dozen lungs. The holograms stabilized. The wards on the door glowed weakly, resetting.
Kaelen stood exactly as he had, watching them coldly as they clutched the table, their faces ashen, their bodies trembling.
"The demonstration is concluded," he said, his voice the first sound to break the ringing silence. "The data is now conclusive. You will provide me with full tactical authority and logistical support. You will mobilize your forces according to the plan I upload to the network now. Any deviation will result in a catastrophic decrease in survival probability."
He turned and walked toward the doors, his group falling in behind him without a word, their own hearts hammering, but their faith absolute.
He paused at the threshold and looked back at the stunned, broken council.
"The war begins now. Do not inefficiently waste the time I have just bought you."
The doors closed behind him, leaving the most powerful people in the world on their knees, utterly and completely aware of how small they truly were. The silent god had spoken. All they could do now was obey.