The concept of "morning" is relative. For normal people, it starts when the sun decides to grace the world with its presence. For bakers, it starts when the dough needs kneading.
For me, Rias von Leonhart, a man currently trying to outrun a plot that wants him dead, morning started at 4:00 AM.
It was an ungodly hour. The kind of hour where the sky isn't blue or black, but a bruising shade of purple that suggests the universe itself is still asleep and resents you for being awake.
My body, as usual, lodged a formal complaint the moment my feet touched the cold stone floor. My muscles felt like they had been replaced by rusty cables, and my mana core hummed with the dull ache of yesterday's exertion. But I ignored it. If I listened to my body, I'd be in bed until noon, and then I'd be dead by the end of the semester.
Priorities.
I washed my face with freezing water—a terrible substitute for coffee, but effective—and slipped out of the dormitory.
The academy grounds were silent. Not the peaceful kind of silence, but the heavy, expectant silence of a massive beast holding its breath. Mist clung to the cobblestones, swirling around my ankles as I walked toward the training sector.
Today, I wasn't heading to the dirt field where I usually swung a stick at the air.
Today, I had a reservation.
I walked past the main armory and approached a sleek, separate building constructed from white marble and reinforced mana-glass. This was the Special Training Hall.
It was an architectural flex. While the rest of the academy looked like a medieval castle, this building looked like it had fallen out of a sci-fi novel. It hummed with active barrier magic.
I approached the heavy metal door. A mana scanner blinked red on the wall.
I pulled out my student ID card.
Beep.
The light turned green. The heavy doors hissed—actually hissed—and slid open.
"Fancy," I muttered, stepping inside.
The Special Training Chamber.
In the novel, I wrote this place as a way to show off the academy's obscene wealth. It was a high-maintenance facility where mana-constructs—artificial intelligences built from logic crystals—were summoned to simulate real combat. It burned through mana stones at a rate that would make a treasurer weep.
Because of the cost, students were limited to one session a day, capped at three hours.
I walked down the hallway, the lights flickering on automatically as I passed. It felt sterile. Clinical.
I reached Chamber 04.
Taking a deep breath, I entered.
The room was a white void. No corners, no furniture, just a grid pattern on the floor and walls that glowed with a soft, ambient luminescence. It looked like the inside of a computer program.
"Alright," I whispered, walking to the weapon rack near the entrance. "Let's see if the author can survive his own creation."
I picked up a wooden sword. It was weighted perfectly, likely enchanted to mimic the balance of steel.
As I stepped onto the grid, a mechanical, gender-neutral voice resonated from everywhere and nowhere at once.
[Welcome to the Artificial Training Chamber.]
[Please select your difficulty level.]
A holographic interface materialized in front of me.
[Low] [Medium] [High] [Nightmare]
I stared at the floating blue text.
My pride, the little voice in my head that sounded suspiciously like the arrogant noble I replaced, wanted to pick 'Medium'. It whispered, You have a Sword Aura now. You defeated a golem. Show them.
My brain, which preferred being alive, slapped my pride across the face.
I have the constitution of a wet paper towel. If I pick 'Medium' and the AI decides to run a stamina marathon, I will pass out and wake up in the infirmary with Seraphina laughing at me.
I raised a finger and tapped [Low].
I'm not miserable. I'm tactical.
[Low Difficulty - Accepted.]
[Initializing Combat Unit...]
The air in the center of the room shimmered. Particles of light gathered, swirling together like digital dust, knitting themselves into a humanoid shape.
A moment later, it solidified.
It was a mannequin. A featureless, gray humanoid made of some smooth, matte material. It held a wooden sword identical to mine. But despite having no face, its posture was unmistakably hostile.
"Right," I muttered, shaking out my shoulders. "Let's dance, calculator."
I unsheathed my sword and stepped forward.
The mannequin didn't roar. It didn't posture. It just… shifted.
It began to circle me.
Its movement was uncanny. It didn't bob up and down like a human; its head stayed on a perfectly level plane, gliding across the floor.
This was the gimmick I had written for these things. They possessed a High-Memory Analysis System. They didn't just fight; they learned. Every time I swung, it would record the angle, the speed, and the timing. If I used the same move twice, it would punish me.
It was designed to be annoying.
To force students to stop relying on muscle memory and start using their brains.
I circled with it, keeping my distance.
"Come on," I taunted softly.
It lunged.
Fast.
For 'Low' difficulty, it moved with terrifying speed. It closed the gap in a single step, thrusting the sword toward my chest.
I side-stepped, parrying the blade.
Clack.
The impact vibrated up my arm.
Heavy.
I didn't let the recoil stop me. I riposted immediately, aiming a horizontal slash at its ribs.
The mannequin didn't block. It didn't duck.
It simply… leaned.
It bent backward at the waist at an angle that would snap a human spine, letting my blade pass harmlessly over its chest. It defied physics. It defied logic. It was like fighting a glitch.
"Tch!"
I clicked my tongue and jumped back as it snapped upright, swinging for my head.
I ducked under the swing, feeling the wind of the wood rushing over my hair.
Analyze, I commanded myself. Don't just react.
The mannequin pressed the attack. It was relentless. Slash. Thrust. Overhead smash.
I dodged. I parried. I retreated.
My breath was already coming in short, ragged gasps. My chest burned. The weakness of Rias's body was a constant tether, dragging me down.
Slash.
I barely leaned out of the way. The tip of its wooden sword grazed my shirt, tearing a small hole in the fabric.
"Okay," I huffed, wiping sweat from my eyes. "Playtime's over."
The mannequin paused. Its faceless head tilted, processing the new data. It knew my reach now. It knew my dodge speed.
It prepared to lunge again.
"You analyze patterns," I whispered, tightening my grip on the hilt. "So let me show you something you don't have data for."
I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second.
I didn't reach for strength. I didn't reach for speed.
I reached for the Line.
The concept.
[Judgement of Heaven]
The atmosphere in the room grew heavy. It wasn't mana pressure—it was intent.
The mannequin launched itself at me.
It was a perfect thrust. Mathematically optimized to catch me mid-breath.
I didn't dodge.
I amplified my movements with a burst of mana from the [Rune of Compression], coating my blade not just in energy, but in Authority.
I spun.
[Judgement of Heaven - Second Form: Sky Severance]
It wasn't a complex move. It was a single, vertical rising slash.
But the intent behind it was absolute.
Separate.
The wooden sword in my hand hummed with a sound that wasn't of this world.
My blade met the mannequin's descending strike.
There was no clack.
There was a BOOM.
The force of the Sword Aura exploded outward. It didn't just hit the mannequin; it tore through the space the mannequin occupied.
The artificial construct froze mid-air.
A thin line of white light appeared down its center, from the top of its featureless head to its groin.
Cr-crack.
The mannequin split perfectly in half.
The two halves flew past me, crashing into the wall behind me and dissolving into pixels of blue light.
[Target Destroyed.]
[Training Successful.]
The holographic text flashed green.
I stood there for a moment, holding the follow-through of the swing. Then, my legs turned to jelly.
"Hah… hah…"
I collapsed onto the floor, my sword clattering beside me.
My lungs were on fire. My mana core was throbbing from the sudden, violent output. The Sky Severance was powerful, but it drained me like a vampire at an open buffet.
I lay on the cool floor, staring up at the white ceiling lights.
"One hit," I wheezed. "I'm a one-hit wonder."
I stayed there for ten minutes, just breathing, letting the floor suck the heat out of my back.
Eventually, I checked the time on the wall.
7:00 AM.
"Time to be a student," I groaned.
Getting back to the dormitory was a blur of sore muscles and regret.
I washed the sweat off in the shower, the hot water feeling like a blessing from the gods. I dressed in a fresh uniform, making sure every button was aligned.
Then, I stood in front of the full-length mirror.
I ran a hand through my damp blonde hair, pushing it back to reveal my forehead. I checked my profile. I checked my jawline.
"Damn," I whispered to the reflection. "You are terrifyingly handsome."
I winked at myself.
"Crimson eyes, tragic backstory, mysterious power upgrade… if I wasn't me, I'd date me."
It was shameless narcissism. It was pathetic. But hey, when the world is trying to kill you, you have to be your own biggest fan.
I gave the mirror-Rias finger guns and walked out the door.