The sterile scent of herbs and antiseptic lingered in the air, mingling with the faint flickering light of magic lanterns hanging from the well maintained stone walls. Shadows danced along the curved arches of the infirmary, their movement eerily synchronized with the steady breathing of the young nurse who sat beside a small, wooden-framed bed.
The boy lying there had not moved.
His silver-gray hair lay in messy tufts against the pillow, a few strands brushing over his pale, almost ghostly face. His expression was blank, eerily still, like a porcelain doll forgotten on a dusty shelf. But what unsettled the nurse the most were his violet eyes.
They were empty.
Not in the way that exhaustion dulled a man's gaze or grief hollowed it—no, this was something else entirely. Those vacant eyes were an abyss, devoid of even the most basic flicker of awareness or fear. They stared straight ahead, unfocused, unblinking, as if the very concept of sight was foreign to him.
She swallowed, suppressing a shiver. "Do you feel alright? Can you tell me your name?"
No response.
"Do you remember anything? Your parents, where you came from?"
Still, nothing. Just that hollow, soul-piercing stare.
Her fingers instinctively tightened around the clipboard she held. There was something deeply unsettling about the child—not in an unnatural way, but in a way that made her feel… small. Insignificant. As if she were standing before an endless void that could swallow her whole.
Her chest tightened. Poor thing… he's suffered so much.
Before she could say anything more, the door to the infirmary slid open with an audible creak. The sound echoed sharply in the silence, making her flinch. She turned, startled, as a burly, broad-shouldered man stepped inside.
His steel armor clanked against his heavy movements, the dark fabric beneath it rustling as he adjusted his posture. A heavy, leather-bound sword sheath was strapped to his waist, the polished hilt gleaming under the lantern light. His deep-set eyes, shadowed beneath a heavy brow, scanned the room before locking onto the boy.
The tension in the air thickened.
"Is he really awake?" the man demanded, voice rough as gravel.
The nurse hesitated before nodding. "He is, but… he won't speak. He just stares."
The knight's frown deepened. His boots thudded against the stone floor as he approached, looming over the bed like a predator inspecting its prey. "What's your name, boy?"
Silence.
The boy didn't react. He didn't even blink.
A heavy tension settled in the room as the seconds dragged on. Eventually, the knight exhaled sharply through his nose and straightened up, his irritation barely concealed.
"He's useless like this," he muttered.
The nurse bit the inside of her cheek. How could he say such a thing? The boy is clearly suffering
It wasn't long before others arrived—more knights, followed by a man draped in a flowing robe, his very presence exuding experience. The air itself seemed to still as he stepped forward, the insignia of the magic knight commander, behind him, the grand magus entered, his piercing golden eyes scrutinizing the child with clinical detachment.
"All of you, leave," the commander ordered.
The knights obeyed, filing out one by one. The nurse lingered, casting one last worried glance at the boy before reluctantly following. Once the door shut, only the commander and the magus remained.
A cold silence filled the room.
The magus took a step closer, examining the child with the detached curiosity of a scholar observing a strange specimen. "We waste time with words," he said sharply. "If his lips won't move, then we'll look directly into his mind."
Raising one hand, he began to chant. Arcane symbols materialized in the air, glowing faintly before sinking into the boy's forehead.
The moment the spell connected, the grand magus found himself standing in an abyss.
A vast, infinite blackness stretched in every direction, swallowing everything into its silent embrace. There was no sky, no ground, no horizon—just an overwhelming nothingness that seemed to stretch on forever.
He glanced down, only to realize he couldn't even see his own hands.
His heartbeat quickened. What… is this?
Then, a breath. Slow and measured. Right behind him.
His spine stiffened. An eerie chill licked at his neck, primal fear sinking its claws into his ribs.
With deliberate caution, he turned.
A pair of glowing, predatory purple eyes stared back.
A creature loomed before him, monstrous in its presence, its form obscured by the suffocating darkness. Though its shape was indistinct, the gleaming sheen of blood-soaked fur shimmered in the void.
It did not speak.
It did not move.
It only watched.
A suffocating dread wrapped around the magus, and before he could react, the creature raised a massive, clawed hand.
In a single motion, it slashed downward.
Pain never came.
Instead, the grand magus was violently expelled from the boy's mind, his body jolting backward. He staggered, nearly collapsing as his breath came in short, erratic gasps. His skin had paled to an unnatural shade.
The commander frowned. "What happened?"
The magus swallowed, attempting to regain composure. His fingers trembled. His very soul felt as though it had been brushed by something that should not exist.
"This child… is dangerous," he muttered. "It would be best if we disposed of him now."
"Disposed?" The commander's lips curled into a smirk. "Why waste something with such potential?"
He had seen it in the boy's eyes—the emptiness of a puppet waiting for a master to pull the strings.
"If I can control him," the commander mused, "then perhaps one of the Seven Great Commanders will soon lose their seat to me."
His mind raced with ambition, plotting which domain he would claim—Infantry? Archery? Cavalry? Or perhaps even the title of Grandmaster itself?
The magus scowled. "Do as you please," he muttered. "I have duties in Eldoria."
With that, he turned and left, leaving the boy in the commander's hands.
A mind without chains
A month passed.
Koku, as he had always been called, had been allowed to recover in the city's hospital. He worked tirelessly, assisting nurses and doctors with medical procedures, absorbing knowledge at a terrifying rate. In just a few short weeks, he was as informed as the most seasoned healers.
But the knights did not intend to leave him there forever.
Two weeks later, they came for him.
He did not resist.
Under the knights' watchful eyes, Koku's training began—not with direct lessons, but through observation. He watched the magic knights spar, read their reports, memorized tactics both old and new. And in his own quiet time, he practiced, wielding a small wooden sword with increasing precision.
The knights noticed.
"Do you think he'll be ready for the entrance exams?" one murmured.
"Maybe," another replied. "But he only has six months. We need to start training him properly."
A third knight, Sabito, folded his arms. "The kid's already a genius with books. Might as well teach him how to fight for real."
Sabito had seen his type before—fighters who needed to be taught how to fight, also ones who didn't need a reason.
With a smirk, he made a decision.
So while Koku did not resist when the knights took him, this man looked down at the scene with content..
As for the reason Koku didn't put up a resistance… it was simple, he didn't care, he had no feelings to protest with, not just that but because he lacked the will to fight, and he knew it would be pointless. He had seen enough of their movements, their formation, the way their hands hovered close to their weapons even when they spoke casually. If he tried to run, they would cut him down before he took three or maybe five steps. If he fought, he would die.
So he followed.
The fortress of the magic knights was nothing like the sterile white walls of the infirmary. It was built from dark stone, towering spires reaching toward the sky like jagged spears. Magic-infused torches burned along the walls, their flames casting shifting shadows along the cobbled pathways. Even at night, the fortress was alive with activity—knights training in the courtyard, squires rushing between barracks, scholars hunched over scrolls in candlelit halls.
Koku was led through the corridors without a word. No one explained what they wanted from him, nor did they offer any reason for bringing him here. He did not ask.
Eventually, they stopped before a large set of doors. The knights pushed them open, revealing a vast training hall. The scent of sweat, metal, and polished wood filled the air. Rows of weapons lined the walls, racks of swords, spears, and training dummies scattered throughout the space.
Koku barely had time to take it all in before a voice called out.
"So you're the quiet brat everyone's talking about."
A man stood in the center of the hall, arms folded over his chest, acting cool. His shoulder-length hair was a messy shade of reddish-brown, strands falling over sharp green eyes that gleamed with amusement. A thin scar ran along his cheek, a permanent reminder of some long-forgotten moments. His stance was casual, relaxed—yet something about the way he held himself made it clear he was not to be underestimated.
Koku recognized him.
Sabito.
He had seen the knight before, watching from the edges of the fortress grounds as he watched other knights train recruits. Unlike the others, who barked orders and punished failure with merciless drills, Sabito's attempted to teach once, it was met with failure and others never allowing him to train again, the reasons were, in his teaching. It was… different. He was loud, sarcastic, and, above all, annoyingly smug.
Yet, despite his carefree demeanor and inability to teach, he was one of the deadliest Knights present.
Sabito looked Koku up and down, then sighed dramatically. "Well, aren't you just a bundle of joy? No complaints? No questions? Nothing?"
Koku said nothing.
"Pfft!" he at least expected a response, knowing he wasn't mute.
Sabito clicked his tongue. "Figures. I swear, you kids think silence makes you cool. Alright then, let's not waste time."
He turned, gesturing toward the training grounds. "You're here because someone thinks you have potential. Now, I don't know if that's true, but I do know that staring at people like a haunted doll won't make you a knight."
Koku blinked.
Sabito smirked. "Ah, so you do react to things. That's progress."
Ignoring the knight's mocking tone, Koku turned his attention to the training weapons lined against the far wall. He stepped forward, fingers grazing the hilt of a wooden sword. The weight was familiar.
Sabito watched with interest. "Alright, let's see what you know."
Without warning, he lunged.
Koku barely had time to react. He jerked to the side, narrowly avoiding the strike aimed at his shoulder. His grip tightened on the wooden sword as he instinctively pivoted his stance, bracing himself.
Sabito grinned. "Not bad. You're quick."
He moved again, this time sweeping Koku's legs out from under him. The boy hit the ground hard, breath knocked from his lungs.
Sabito crouched beside him, resting his chin on his palm. "Lesson one: If you're gonna dodge, commit to it. Hesitation gets you knocked on your ass."
Koku pushed himself up, refusing to show pain.
Sabito nodded approvingly. "Good. You don't whine. That's rare." For the next hour, Sabito tested him—short, sharp attacks meant to gauge his instincts. He wasn't teaching him yet. He was learning him, mapping out how Koku moved, how he reacted, where his strengths and weaknesses lay.
And Koku learned too.
Sabito was fast. Not just in movement but in intent. His strikes had no wasted motion, no hesitation. Every attack was measured, precise. He feinted often, forcing Koku to second-guess his responses. It was frustrating.
But it was also fascinating.
The more they fought, the more Koku began to understand the rhythm of combat—the push and pull of movement, the subtle shifts in weight that signaled an incoming strike.
By the end of the session, Koku was bruised and exhausted, his limbs heavy with fatigue.
Sabito grinned. "Well, you're definitely not normal."
Koku blinked.
The knight chuckled. "You adapt too fast. Most kids take weeks just to stop flinching when a sword comes at them. You're already countering my feints."
Koku remained silent, waiting for the next command.
Sabito sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "Right, I forgot. You're all serious business. Fine. Tomorrow, same time. And get some sleep, or you'll start looking like one of those mages…or worse, an undead."
With that, he turned on his heel and walked off, leaving Koku alone in the dimly lit training hall.
Koku stayed where he was for a long moment, fingers flexing around the hilt of his training sword.
Then, slowly, he lifted it again.
He would not rest yet.
It wasn't yet enough.
Not until he understood the sword a little more.
He trained a little more, and some hours later, he was on the ground, back against the floor. He stared at the ceiling, fatigued and feeling the exhaustion creep up on him, he closed his eyes, sighing a word before he fell asleep.
These days became typical for a while, made into a daily routine, training in all sorts of fields.
Monday was dedicated to building Koku's core strength. The day began with a morning jog, followed by planks and flexibility training to ensure his body remained both strong and limber. The afternoon involved another jog, after which he rested for two to three hours before resuming with a night run. Throughout the entire day, he wore weighted gear—wrists, torso, ankles—and dragged a twenty to thirty pound sandbag tied to a rope as he ran. Right after, he'd clean off and rest.
Tuesday pushed Koku's stamina to its limits. He started with a long-distance run over rough terrain, all while bearing his usual weighted restraints. Afterward, Sabito had him sprint repeatedly up steep inclines, forcing his legs and lungs to endure extended stress. The afternoon was spent in water—either swimming against a current or treading for extended periods while keeping his breathing steady. The night concluded with meditation, but this wasn't just for relaxation; he had to balance weights on his limbs, ensuring he maintained control over his body even in stillness.
Of course, he also repeated parts of Monday's regimen, meaning every day he was working his core and agility.
Wednesday focused on speed, reaction time, and dexterity. The day began with an obstacle course—leaping over logs, weaving through trees, ducking under swinging branches, all at full speed. Later, he trained blindfolded, relying on his other senses to dodge and counter attacks from Sabito. The afternoon consisted of precise footwork drills, forcing him to land softly, move swiftly, and maintain perfect balance. The night ended with an unconventional yet demanding task—catching falling leaves with his fingertips, training his precision and reaction time.
Thursday was all about raw power. The morning began with weight training, lifting, pulling sandbags with stones in them, and doing bodyweight exercises under extreme conditions—push-ups with extra weight, one-legged squats, and upside-down sit-ups. The afternoon was spent striking reinforced logs, hardening his knuckles and sharpening his striking force. The night session was an endurance march, where he carried a weighted pole across his shoulders, forcing his body to adapt to sustained pressure.
Friday was entirely dedicated to refining Koku's technique. The entire day revolved around swordsmanship—perfecting slashes, mastering defensive maneuvers, and ensuring every movement was sharp and efficient. Sabito drilled him endlessly, correcting even the smallest flaws. Afternoon sparring sessions tested his application of these techniques under pressure, increasing in difficulty with each match. The final test of the day required him to strike a single target with absolute precision, proving his mastery of control.
Saturday was the most unpredictable day. Sabito designed it to challenge Koku in unexpected ways. Some days, he'd fight multiple opponents; other times, he'd have to navigate through harsh weather conditions or battle in complete darkness. He was tested on all his skills at once—endurance, agility, strength, and technique—all under unplanned circumstances. The goal was to teach him to remain calm and effective no matter what was thrown at him.
Sunday was Koku's only "rest" day, though it was anything but easy. Instead of physical challenges, Sabito assigned mental training—meditation, deep reflection, and problem-solving exercises. Koku reviewed his progress, analyzed his weaknesses, and studied tactics and strategies. He was also given riddles, puzzles, and hypothetical combat scenarios to solve, sharpening his mind alongside his body.
Having his days set this way, Koku woke way before most of the fortress stirred. He trained alone in the courtyard, refining his footwork, practicing forms with the wooden sword that had become an extension of himself. When the first light of morning painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, the knights began their own drills. Koku watched them closely, memorizing their movements, their breathing patterns, the way they shifted their weight before a strike.
By midday, he was dragged into training under Sabito.
"Alright, kid," Sabito called one morning, twirling his own wooden sword lazily in one hand. "You've got the reflexes, the instincts, and the creepy silent thing going on, but you lack intent."
Koku tilted his head slightly, wordlessly asking for clarification.
Sabito smirked. "You move well, there's bite to your strikes. But It's like you're holding back."
Koku said nothing.
Sabito sighed. "You're not gonna tell me why, are you?"
Silence.
The knight rubbed his temples dramatically. "Fine. Guess I'll just beat it out of you."
He lunged without warning.
Koku had learned to expect that by now. He sidestepped smoothly, angling his wooden blade to counter—only for Sabito to disappear from his line of sight.
Fast.
A sharp force struck Koku's ribs, sending him sprawling. He caught himself on one knee, gasping slightly.
Sabito tapped the side of his wooden sword against his shoulder. "That's the difference between you and me, kid. You react. I decide."
Koku exhaled, pushing himself back to his feet.
Sabito grinned. "Better. Now try again."
For hours, they trained again. Sabito pushed Koku, forcing him to do more than evade, forcing him to commit to his movements.
The first time Koku struck back with full intent, Sabito grinned like he had been waiting for it all along.
And then he knocked Koku flat on his back.
"Much better," Sabito said cheerfully, offering a hand. "You almost looked like you wanted to kill me there for a second."
Koku ignored the hand, standing on his own.
Sabito snorted. "Alright, alright. Mister Independent ass. Let's call it for today."
As Koku turned to leave, Sabito spoke again.
"You're getting stronger, kid. But remember…"
Koku glanced back.
Sabito's expression was uncharacteristically serious. "Strength without purpose is just wasted potential. Figure out what you want before someone decides it for you."
Koku stared at him for a long moment before walking away.
But those words lingered.
Koku's training continued for weeks. His progress did not go unnoticed. The knights whispered about him—about the boy with unnatural instincts, the child who never seemed to tire, the silent sponge that absorbed every lesson and was able to keep up with Sabito's banned training methods.
And then came his first test.
It was a simple mission: a group of knights was sent to clear out a band of rogue mercenaries that had been causing trouble near the outskirts of the city. Sabito had been assigned to lead a squad of recruits. Koku, despite his unofficial status, was brought along as an observer.
"Stick close," Sabito had told him. "This isn't training. People actually die out here."
Koku understood. He had seen death before.
But watching it and being in it were two different things.
The mission turned bloody fast.
The knights had expected common bandits—weak, disorganized, easy to overwhelm. Instead, they found a cloaked individual pleading for help as he was hurt.
A few cadets took a step right before Sabito extended his arm out, pausing the few who moved.
"Stand. And tell your buddies to come on out." Sabito demanded, knowing this type of play, an ambush.
As the cloaked person began to stand, but was very quickly met with Sabtio's blade. Severing his neck instantly.
Koku had no time to think as through the trees men jumped out.
A man lunged at him, blade flashing.
Instinct and thought, both together took over.
He dodged, faster than he had ever moved before. His now steel sword snapped up, catching the attacker's wrist with pinpoint precision. The mercenary's weapon flew from his grip.
But Koku hesitated.
It was the first time he had fought against a real opponent. Someone who could bleed. Someone who could die.
The hesitation cost him.
A second mercenary appeared behind him, dagger poised for a killing blow.
Then Sabito was there.
The knight's real sword flashed, cutting the man down in one clean motion. Blood sprayed across the grass. Sabito didn't even flinch.
He turned to Koku, expression unreadable. "Lesson two, kid—"
Koku barely had time to react before Sabito grabbed him by the collar and threw him out of the way of another incoming strike.
"—if you hesitate, you die."
Koku rolled, coming up just in time to see Sabito counter the next attacker with ruthless efficiency.
The battle was hectic to say the least. The remaining knights rallied, pushing back the mercenaries with brutal force. Koku forced himself to move, to act. He picked up his fallen blade, its familiar weight feeling foreign in his hands for some reason. But when another enemy rushed at him—this time, he did not hesitate.
His sword found flesh.
The mercenary staggered, eyes wide. Koku stepped forward, blood dripping from the steel in his grip.
The fight ended not long after.
When the battlefield fell silent, Koku stood amidst the bodies, staring at his still hands.
Sabito approached, wiping his blade clean. He glanced at Koku's bloodstained weapon, then at the boy himself.
"First kill, huh?"
Koku didn't respond.
Sabito sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You handled yourself well. But you need to figure out if this is something you can stomach."
Koku spoke. "When I killed a rabbit, I felt guilt, and sadness. It was necessary to eat. But when I killed that man, I felt nothing."
Sabito's expression was yelling, "He finally spoke to me!"
"I expected it to feel the same." Koku continued.
Sabito studied him for a long moment before patting his shoulder—lightly, not unkindly.
"Come on, kid. Let's go home."
Koku followed.
But something had changed.
Something had stirred, maybe he could get closer to the kid now.
And for the first time, Koku wondered—who was he meant to become?
He felt something hug him, not physically but in some other way. It wasn't good per say, and it wasn't bad either. A chill ran down his spine as he watched the all now cheerful Sabito march on.
The journey back to the fortress was a quiet one. The weight of Koku's first real battle clung to him like a shadow, silent and suffocating. His hands had long since been cleaned of blood, but he could still feel the ghostly sensation of warm liquid dripping from his fingers. This reminded him of the scene back at his house, where his mother died.
Sabito didn't press him on it. He had seen enough recruits struggle with their 'first' kill, some breaking under the weight, others starting to harden, some into something unrecognizable. Koku, however, was different. He wasn't crying. He wasn't shaking. He wasn't seeking comfort or validation.
He was simply thinking.
And that, in many ways, was far more dangerous.
Koku's training changed after that mission. Sabito noticed it immediately.
Before, Koku had trained with diligence but without a clear direction. Now, there was a shift. He no longer hesitated when attacking. His movements carried intent—not aggression, not rage, just certainty.
That certainty unsettled some of the knights.
"He doesn't flinch," one of them muttered during a sparring session. "Even when we go all out, he never looks afraid."
"He's not capable of feeling fear," Sabito corrected, "Boss man told me some time ago, the old magus believes him to be incapable of emotions now. Boss man believes it too." The other knights listened as Sabito called the general, 'boss man.'
"A tool with no feelings, is a tool with loyalty, if it's only purpose is to be used." He pondered, watching Koku deflect a flurry of blows with precise efficiency. "He's learning and adapting quicker."
And that was exactly what he did.
Day by day, Koku refined his skills. He studied the weaknesses in his opponents' stances, their habits, their breathing. He no longer just copied techniques—he dismantled them little by little, and rebuilt them into something uniquely his own.
His speed increased. His reflexes sharpened.
And most importantly—his presence changed.
The other trainees started avoiding direct eye contact with him. It wasn't hostility. It wasn't fear, either.
It was recognition of sorts hinged with a pinch of uneasiness.
They knew Koku was different.
Sabito saw it too, but unlike the others, he wasn't unnerved—he was intrigued.
And so, he pushed harder.
"You're holding back again," Sabito said one afternoon, resting his training sword against his shoulder.
Koku, breathless from their latest bout, tilted his head slightly.
Sabito smirked. "Oh, don't play dumb with me, kid. I know when you're limiting yourself." He pointed his sword at Koku's chest. "You're faster than this. You're sharper than this. You're better than this. So why aren't you using everything?"
Koku didn't hesitate.
Sabito's smirk widened. "Ah. There it is."
In a blur, he closed the distance. Koku barely had time to react before Sabito struck, aiming for his ribs. Koku twisted, dodging by a hair's breadth.
But Sabito didn't stop.
He kept pressing forward, each strike faster, heavier, more unpredictable.
Koku adapted, countered, deflected—until suddenly, Sabito vanished from his sight.
Then—pain.
A sharp crack to the back of his legs sent him collapsing to one knee. Before he could recover, Sabito placed the tip of his training sword against Koku's throat.
"Dead," he announced cheerfully.
Sabito crouched in front of him. "See? You are holding back."
Koku stared at him, expression unreadable.
Sabito leaned in slightly. "Hm you don't feel things…but could you start feeling things again? The old man never specified that, but if so…"
Sabito leaned in closer, annoyingly.
"Is the stuff you said the other bothering you?"
Silence.
"Oh, I mean restlessly intruding into your mind?"
Then—Koku shook his head.
Sabito raised an eyebrow.
Koku spoke, "No."
Sabito studied him for a long moment before sighing dramatically. "You really don't like making things easy for me, do you? After a while, you finally talk, but then you are so vague." Sabito complained playfully.
He stood, offering a hand. Koku ignored it, rising on his own.
Sabito chuckled. "Alright, fine. If you won't answer, then I'll just have to beat it out of you eventually."
Koku simply picked up his sword again.
And that, Sabito thought with amusement, was answer enough.
Months passed. Koku's growth continued at a staggering pace.
The knights no longer questioned his presence among them. He wasn't officially a recruit, but they all knew—he was one of them. Stronger than most, faster than many, and endlessly evolving.
Then, one evening, Sabito approached him with a rare, serious expression.
"Soon," he said. "You'll take the academy entrance exams."
Koku blinked.
Sabito grinned. "What? Surprised? You didn't think I was training you just for fun, did you?"
Koku considered this.
Sabito laughed. "Okay, fair. It is fun messing with you. But seriously keep in mind—you're already stronger than all the recruits, and half the knights here. All that's left is proving it."
Koku said nothing, his eyes pale violet, still void-like, lifeless.
No matter how lifeless his eyes were, he did tilt his head slightly, taking in the news again, something he had forgotten for some time.
Sabito clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. Get some rest, kid."
Koku nodded.
As he walked away, he could feel it. His training was paying off.
The training, the skill being forged, all of it.
With his own hands.
With his own strength.
And nothing—nothing—would stop his advancement.