353. Better than Mages (1)
Killian moved through the streets of Veralt with a lot on his mind as usual. These days, it has become normal for him. He was never someone who overthought things. A Knight could not afford that. If he thought too much on the battlefield, hesitation would follow, and hesitation meant death. That was a lesson he had learned early during his training, long before titles and responsibilities had begun to pile onto his shoulders.
But now he was no longer just a Knight.
He had been granted the rank of a Count, and more than that, he now stood as the First Sword of the King. The weight of that title followed him everywhere, heavier than any armour he had ever worn.
Killian was used to responsibility. He had carried it for most of his life. Yet this was different. This was responsibility on a scale he had never imagined. It felt as though a farmer had suddenly been crowned king and told to rule lands he had only ever heard about in stories.
And that was exactly how it felt.
As he walked through the crowded streets, watching merchants shout prices and citizens move about their daily lives, he still struggled to believe that a city like this now existed under his authority as well. The city was called Ravenshold, and he had not even visited it yet. There had simply been too much to do in Veralt after the war.
Lord Arzan had permitted him to send trusted men instead, accompanied by several of Francis’s apprentices, to establish order and begin governance there. Reports arrived weekly—carefully written summaries detailing trade, security, and rebuilding efforts.
Killian read every one of them and issued orders in return, deciding tax structures, guard order, and reconstruction priorities.
Yet even as he gave commands, a part of him refused to accept the truth.
He ruled a city now.
And that was still difficult to grasp.
But that was not the end of his new duties. He had also been tasked with overseeing the foundation of the Enforcer Academy—a place meant to stand alongside the Sorcerer’s Tower in importance, shaping every future Knight of the kingdom. It would decide what kind of warriors protected the realm long after his generation was gone.
Once, Killian had been nothing more than a squire slowly rising through the ranks in Duke Kellius’s household, polishing armour and learning discipline one harsh lesson at a time. Now he was expected to build an institution that would define the kingdom’s strength for centuries.
The thought alone would have terrified the boy he once was.
Now, he was much more than that, but somewhere deep inside, Killian knew it was not the weight of responsibility alone that pressed down on him.
It was the fear of failure.
If he did this wrong—if he built the academy poorly or made the wrong decisions—then he would not merely fail himself or the king. He would be letting down every child in the kingdom who picked up a sword and dreamed of becoming a Knight.
And that was something Killian could never allow.
Fortunately, he was not alone in the task. Feroy, Gareth, and Clement had stepped forward to help him establish the structure of the academy, and so far, Killian was genuinely pleased with how things were progressing.
Together, they had begun shaping the academy into something more than just a training ground.
They had decided to divide the academy years according to the ranks of the Enforcers, allowing students to progress through clear stages of growth and responsibility. It created order, purpose, and a path that young fighters could understand.
But the hardest decision they had made was also the one Killian felt most proud of.
They chose not to make the academy exclusive to Enforcers.
If they had done so, Killian could already see what the future would become. In a few decades, only Enforcers would have the chance to become Knights, while everyone else would remain nothing more than common soldiers, no matter their skill or character. That was not the kingdom he wanted to help build.
So they began designing separate courses for ordinary people—those who showed talent with the sword and possessed the ethics expected of a Knight.
Killian knew very well that such students would never truly match Enforcers in raw power. But knighthood had never been only about strength. Discipline, honour, and loyalty mattered just as much, and the kingdom would need many such men and women in the years ahead.
Still, turning ideas into reality was far harder than speaking about them.
Land could be acquired. Workers could build walls and halls. But an academy required far more than stone and timber. Training structures, instructors, funding, equipment, regulations, and discipline systems—every decision seemed to branch into ten more problems waiting to be solved.
Killian was no administrator like Francis. Yet every matter eventually reached his desk.
Every approval, every disagreement, every plan required his judgment, and as those thoughts piled up, he felt a dull headache beginning to form behind his eyes.
He knew he could not delay the academy any longer.
More Enforcers would begin appearing in the coming months—he was certain of it. Awakening had already started spreading across the kingdom, and Veralt alone could not train all of them. Leaving their education to minor nobles was not an option either. Trust was still fragile after the civil war, and power placed in the wrong hands could easily rot a person from within.
Newly awakened Enforcers would be strong, faster and more dangerous than ordinary soldiers, and many of them would believe that strength alone made them superior.
They would need discipline. They would need to be broken down and rebuilt until they understood the true cost of power.
If Killian allowed others to handle that responsibility carelessly, they would ruin everything. The thought alone made his jaw tighten. He could already imagine companies of Enforcers drunk on their own strength, acting like tyrants instead of protectors.
That was the exact opposite of what he wanted them to become. He did not want weapons.
He wanted saviours.
And that meant the academy had to be built properly, no matter how exhausting the process became.
Yet the academy, his estate, and his growing responsibilities were not the only things occupying his thoughts.
Another matter lingered constantly at the back of his mind—the expedition to the Earth Plane to find an Elder Tree seed.
He had already asked Lord Arzan to allow him to accompany him, but if he was honest with himself, Killian was not certain how useful he would actually be there. He understood duels. He understood battlefields and war formations. But stepping into another plane of existence was something he had never once imagined in his life.
Still, there had never been a question of backing out.
As Lord Arzan’s Knight, he would go wherever his king went. That was not duty alone—it was a choice.
He would enter the Earth Plane beside him and do whatever was required. Yet doubt lingered.
Recently, Killian had become sharply aware of the gap between himself and Lord Arzan. It was not jealousy; he felt none of that. But he could not ignore the truth that he was not progressing fast enough.
He was a Third-rank Enforcer, already nearly halfway through its progression path, yet his abilities still felt limited. Each battle made that clearer. Each time he watched Lord Arzan fight, the difference between them felt wider than before.
And for the first time in many years, Killian wondered if effort alone would be enough to close that distance.
What he could do might seem impressive against ordinary soldiers, but against spirits from another realm itself, Killian was not certain how well he would fare.
After his meeting with Lord Arzan, he had gone to speak with Claire about the Earth Plane. As a spirit trainer, she understood other realms better than anyone else in Veralt, and what she told him had not been reassuring.
Her spirit regarded the Earth Plane as one of the most dangerous realms in existence.
It was filled with powerful spirits—ancient beings born from dense mana itself. They were not naturally aggressive, she had explained, but they deeply disliked outsiders. Any foreign presence was treated as a threat, and attacks were almost inevitable. Part of that hostility came from the Spirit King who ruled the realm, whose will shaped how spirits reacted to intruders.
Even hearing that much was enough for Killian to understand how difficult the journey would be.
Lord Arzan might be capable of standing against whatever appeared before him, but Killian knew he did not possess that same overwhelming strength. He would have to rely on caution, preparation, and discipline if he wanted to survive there.
As he walked through the streets, his thoughts returned again and again to training. He needed to push himself harder, far harder than before. Otherwise, there was no certainty he would return from the Earth Plane alive.
But soon, another thought overtook his mind as he turned around a corner.
Killian slowed, suddenly remembering why he had come here in the first place.
Lost in his thoughts, he had barely noticed his surroundings, and now he found himself only a few steps away from his destination.
His gaze settled on a three-storey house standing quietly along the street.
He let out a slow sigh as he approached it.
It was one of the properties he owned within the city—not a reward granted by Lord Arzan, but something he had purchased himself using his own salary. At the time, he had thought it necessary to have a home in Veralt, even if he currently lived within the castle grounds.
Slowly, he approached the gates of the house.
The property stood near the central square of the city, an area reserved almost entirely for wealthy merchants and influential figures. Even among them, however, Killian’s presence drew attention. A few passersby stopped to stare, clearly surprised to see the kingdom’s First Sword walking alone through the street.
A nearby patrol unit noticed him as well and immediately straightened, offering a sharp salute as he passed.
Killian acknowledged none of it.
He simply stepped forward, raised his hand, and knocked on the door.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then footsteps approached from inside, and after about a minute, the door opened to reveal Nora. The elderly woman’s face lit up instantly.
“Young master, you are here,” Nora said with a warm smile. “We have been waiting for you for so long.”
“I have been busy with work and new responsibilities. I haven’t been able to visit.”
“It’s all good,” Nora replied, stepping aside slightly. “Master hasn’t been able to stop himself from feeling excited that you are now a Count, but he didn’t want to visit you at the estate. He knew you would be busy.”
Killian’s expression faltered at the mention of his father, though he quickly forced it back into calm neutrality.
During the final battle at Hermil, the soldiers had evacuated his father and the household servants along with the rest of the citizens. One of the first things Killian had asked after the war ended was whether his father had survived. Learning that he was alive had brought him more relief than he had expected.
Afterward, Killian had personally arranged a carriage to bring him—and the servants—to Veralt. Since then, they had been living in this house.
His father had even attended the coronation.
But Killian had carefully avoided any long conversations with him, dreading what the man might say. Killian had fulfilled the lifelong dream of his bloodline rising into nobility—more than that, he had become a count—but he knew his father well enough to expect criticism regardless.
The man would certainly find something to complain about.
Trying not to frown, Killian simply asked, “Where is he?”
“On the first-floor study. He has taken it as his own.”
“Alright. I’ll go meet him.”
Without waiting further, he stepped inside the house and walked toward the staircase at the far end of the hall. The interior was quiet, well maintained, and carried a familiar scent that reminded him faintly of home.
As he began walking, Nora called after him, “I will prepare food for you while you speak with the master. I hope you will stay until after lunch.”
Killian nodded over his shoulder. “Okay. I will.”
He then started climbing the stairs.
But with every step upward, his thoughts began to spiral again. Doubt crept in where resolve had been moments ago, and he wondered whether coming here had been a good decision at all.
He had only wanted to see his father once before leaving for the Earth Plane. Now, standing halfway up the stairs, he found himself regretting it slightly.
Still, turning back now would be worse. He had already come this far.
Reaching the door at the end of the hallway, he paused briefly before knocking.
“Father,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “It’s me.”
Almost immediately, a familiar gruff voice answered from inside. “Come in.”
Killian pushed the door open.
His father sat exactly as he remembered. If anything, the man looked a few years younger than before, as though the chaos of the war had somehow lifted a burden from him rather than added one.
The moment he saw Killian, his father smiled—a rare and unexpected sight.
“Killian, you are here,” he said warmly. “I have been waiting for you. How have you been?”
Killian stood there for a moment. The man was actually… smiling. He had not seen the man smile in ages, and he had forgotten that his father was even capable of doing that. But somehow, he gathered himself to respond. “I have been well. Getting used to my new responsibilities.”
His father nodded immediately. “Good. It’s important to get used to them, especially when you have been given such a large piece of land.”
As he spoke, the older man reached beneath the desk and pulled out a parchment, spreading it open across the surface. It was a detailed map of Lancephil and he stepped forward to get a better look at it.
Killian’s eyes quickly found the marked territory. The land granted to him had already been outlined clearly on the map.
His father placed a finger firmly on the marked territory before saying, “I have already spoken with a few of my old friends. They all agree it is an excellent piece of land for cultivation—perfect for our family. It will serve us well for generations. I have simply been waiting for you to come so we can discuss the details.”
This time, Killian did not stop himself from frowning.
He stepped closer to the desk. “What details?”
His father immediately stood up and faced him. They stood eye-to-eye, and Killian noticed the same instructive expression he used to have when teaching Killian swordplay during his childhood.
“Killian, a territory needs its nobles,” the man said calmly, “and nobles must know how to grow it. The land you received is large but mostly empty. That is an opportunity. I believe we can develop it greatly by establishing the Enforcer Academy there.”
“The Enforcer Academy?”
“Yes,” his father continued, as if the idea were obvious. “Think about it.”
Killian shook his head slightly. “I planned to set it up in the Sylvan Enclave, not outside it.”
His father’s brows drew together. “Is that King Arzan’s order?”
“No, father. It’s my decision. That region is perfect for training Knights. The Vasper Forest and surrounding lands provide natural training grounds, and it’s close enough to the Sorcerer’s Tower for coordination.”
At that, his father’s smile disappeared entirely. His face hardened.
“Don’t be foolish, my son,” he said. “You should not place Mages and Enforcers together. You know they are stronger. It will only make Knights feel inferior.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice as if sharing wisdom.
“Listen to me. If the academy is built within our territory, then you—as the Count—and through my connections, we can ensure that every Enforcer in the kingdom grows loyal to our house. Perhaps even more loyal than to the new crown itself.”
Killian felt his chest tighten. Something was not right. He could feel it. He knew his father more than he let on, and he didn't like where the conversation was heading.
His father continued, unaware—or uncaring—of the change in his expression.
“I have also begun discussions with several Count families regarding your marriage. They believe the same thing—”
“What are you even saying?” Killian snapped, cutting him off, anger rising with every word. “Are you planning a coup against Lord Arzan? What on goddess Lumaris have you done?!”
His father opened his mouth to respond, but he never got to it.
A sudden flash of light burst across the windows, bright enough to swallow the room in white. For a single suspended moment, time seemed to slow.
Killian saw his father’s face illuminated harshly by the glow, every line and wrinkle thrown into sharp relief, his mouth still shaping words that never reached sound.
Silence held for the briefest heartbeat.
Then the sound came.
A loud crack tore through the air, overwhelming as if the sky above the city itself had split apart. He felt the rattle in his bones when the entire room shuddered under the force of it.
The windows rattled in their frames, glass trembling so hard he thought they might shatter.
A second later, screams rose from the streets below—shouts of panic, fear, and confusion spilling upward into the house.
***
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