How could a person's combat level be determined?
If you asked a commoner, they would likely reply,
"Isn't it just one's control over mana that defines it?"
They wouldn't be entirely wrong.
Beginners could harness raw mana, but their control was chaotic and unstable.
Advanced practitioners could shape mana freely, bending it to their will.
Experts refined that control into deadly precision.
That was the first step, the Flow.
Masters transcended mana manipulation, projecting their will as a tangible aura.
Grandmasters commanded that aura with absolute dominance.
That was the second step, the Will.
Saints could manifest their Intent into an Avatar, a miniature domain where their will reigned supreme.
That was the third step, the Manifest.
Apotheons shed their mortal shells entirely, merging with their domain until body and soul became one.
That was the fourth step, the Transcendence.
And beyond them were the Eternals, the fifth step, the Eternity.
But they were spoken of only in myths.
These five steps were known by many names,
The Fivefold Ascent.
The Divine Sequence.
The Path of Ascension.
A standard agreed upon by all professions.
Yet not all of the same rank were equal. Skill, experience, and battle arts often tipped the scales.
For example, a master swordsman held the advantage over a master hunter or assassin in close combat, even without aura.
Just like now,
"I... need to... wake..."
The knight raised his sword, ready to strike.
"Sir Ewan?" Grace froze mid-step, confusion written on her face.
"Are yo—Wh!?"
_Whir!
Before she could finish, the knight appeared in front of her in an instant.
_Grab!
But just as his sword came down, a hand caught her shoulder from behind and yanked her away.
Grace's breath hitched.
The blade sliced through the space where her neck had been a heartbeat ago, cutting a strand of her hair instead.
_Screeeech!
Steel scraped against marble, sparks flaring as the sword bit into the floor.
"Be careful. He's not in the right state of mind," I said, stepping forward.
Ewan's eyes glowed faintly crimson.
His voice came out strained and broken, like a record stuck on repeat.
"I... need... to wake..."
I steadied my stance, breathing slow.
'Even without aura, I can't find a single opening.'
A knight was still a knight, after all.
'What's wrong with him?'
[His senses have dulled. He recognizes nothing except that this is a dream, and that he must wake everyone up.]
'Can we fix it?'
[Not now. It's psychological. You'll have to restrain him first.]
'Got it... then we immobilize him.'
The knight raised his sword again.
"...Wake…"
"Yeah?" I muttered. "Now that I think about it, we've got a score to settle, don't we?"
I activated [Feather's Steps].
The knight's next swing came down like a guillotine.
I rolled aside, grabbed a broken sword from the floor, and met his next blow head-on.
Clang!
The sound roared through the hall, sparks bursting between us.
He pushed down; I pushed back, muscles screaming as my blade cracked under the pressure.
The blow was heavy, but not as heavy as before.
Suddenly, I loosened my stance, letting his sword slide off mine, and stepped in,
slamming my head into his.
_Thud!
He staggered back a few steps.
'Alright… I can do this.'
I dashed forward before he could recover, swinging upward to unbalance him.
_Clang!
He caught it mid-swing, driving his sword down hard.
The impact numbed my fingers.
He lunged again, the air cracked with his motion.
I sidestepped, his blade grazing my shoulder. Pain flared through my arm.
I ducked low and drove my knee into his side, it was like hitting a wall of iron.
He didn't flinch.
Then his gauntlet shot forward.
_Grab!
He tried to catch my collar, but I slipped back, creating distance.
'The hell, is he even huma—'
The next swing came faster than before.
I rolled as his sword slammed down, shattering the stone beneath me.
Cracks spidered across the marble floor.
I kicked out, striking his knee. He stumbled, and I followed up with a downward slash,
but he released his sword and countered with a flying kick.
I barely raised my arm in time.
_Thud!
The blow sent me sliding backward, boots screeching against the floor.
My arm throbbed from blocking that hit.
Ewan straightened, retrieving his sword. His crimson eyes glowed brighter, unfocused.
"…Wake… wake up…" he muttered.
I groaned, pushing myself up. "You sure as hell look awake to me!"
_Whir!
His sword whistled through the air as he lunged,
_Clang!
A flash of silver intercepted it.
Grace.
Her sword locked against his, the fragile blade trembling under the sheer force pressing down on it.
"Sir Ewan! Please, it's me, Grace! Wake up!" she cried, her boots skidding backward under the weight of his strike.
Her plea went unanswered.
Her stance broke.
He kicked her aside like a ragdoll and advanced again.
_Clang!
Their blades clashed once more, the shockwave rippling through the floor.
Stone cracked beneath their boots.
"AGHH!"
Grace roared, forcing him back a step, but he twisted and swung low.
She caught it with the flat of her blade, metal screaming, then drove her shoulder into his chestplate.
He didn't move.
_Crack!
His gauntlet shot up, striking across her face.
She reeled back. The next swing would've cleaved her open, but I moved first.
_Clang!
My blade deflected his, sparks bursting as steel met steel.
I rolled, grabbed another fallen sword, and hurled it.
_Clang!
The knight turned, deflecting it midair, unfazed.