That evening, the warriors gathered at Auditorium 13. Dark curtains had been drawn over the windows. The only sources of light were three dim oil lamps, their flames flickering in the vast, silent hall.
A long wooden table stood at the center, casting deep shadows against the stone walls. Whispers passed between them. Why was the lesson at night? Why was it held in such a secluded place?
Just as the tension began to rise, the doors creaked open. Kayvaan entered first, his expression unreadable. Rhianna followed behind him—carrying a long, cloth-wrapped object over her shoulder. Kayvaan shut the door behind them without a word.
Rhianna walked to the wooden table and set down the object with a thud. The sound echoed through the still room. Kayvaan clapped his hands once, drawing their attention. "Remain calm. If what happens next is beyond your comprehension, then simply think of it as the God-Emperor granting us enlightenment."
Without waiting for a response, he reached for the wall. A sharp click echoed. And suddenly—the room blazed with light. It was unnatural.
Not the dim flicker of fire, nor the cold silver glow of the moon—but something far brighter. It filled the hall instantly, banishing the deep shadows. The warriors froze. They had never seen anything like this.
Some stared in stunned silence. Others instinctively reached for their weapons, as if expecting an attack from some unseen force.
For a moment, not a single breath was drawn. Then— A sharp gasp. A warrior from the Holy See collapsed to his knees, trembling. He clutched his chest, whispering fervent prayers of thanks.
Others soon followed. They fell to their knees, heads bowed toward the source of the impossible light, their voices barely above a whisper.
"Holy… light…"
"The God-Emperor… He watches over us…"
Some wept. Others clutched at their relics, eyes wide in awe. Even Lancelot, hardened and skeptical as he was, could not mask his fear. His hand twitched over his sword hilt before he finally forced himself to stillness.
Only those who had spent time training directly under Kayvaan—those who had seen the impossible with their own eyes—managed to remain standing.
Even so, they, too, were rattled. Kayvaan said nothing. He simply watched. He had expected this. For men who had lived their entire lives by torchlight and candle flames, electricity was indistinguishable from miracle. They had seen fire before. But they had never seen daylight summoned from darkness.
Kayvaan let out a sharp exhale, shaking his head in disappointment.
"Look at you," he said, his voice laced with dry amusement. "Are you truly this shaken? This is just a high-powered electric lamp."
He gestured toward the artificial light overhead, its steady glow casting stark shadows against the stone walls. "You stand here like primitives seeing fire for the first time," he continued, his tone mocking.
"Have you forgotten my lessons? Stay calm—no matter the situation. Always stay calm." His eyes flickered with irritation. "Yet here you are, gaping like children. Some of you even knelt before it. How utterly embarrassing."
He sighed. "Tell me—if this is how you react to something as simple as light, how will you fare when faced with real wonders? When you step into the void for the first time? When you stand before a world unlike anything you have ever imagined?"
His voice hardened. "If you continue behaving like provincial farmers, you will only waste your own potential." Kayvaan folded his arms. "Now, stand up."
The warriors hesitated for only a moment before quickly rising to their feet. "This," Kayvaan said with a smirk, "is just a lamp. A basic military-grade lighting unit. Nothing more. Think of it as a large candle and be done with it."
He exhaled, shaking his head once more.
"Never thought I'd live to see the day my students knelt before an electric light," he muttered. "Truly disgraceful." With that, he stepped toward the long wooden table in the center of the room.
The cloth-wrapped bundle Rhianna had carried lay upon it, heavy and unmoving.
Kayvaan drew a dagger and sliced through the fabric. As the cloth peeled away, a body was revealed.
"This," Kayvaan said evenly, "is a corpse. Specifically, the body of a condemned criminal. A man who raped and murdered eight women before being captured and hanged. Normally, I wouldn't waste time on such details, but I understand your moral sensibilities."
His gaze swept across the warriors. "I selected this particular corpse for your sake, to ease your minds."
A murmur of unease passed through the gathered warriors. "What we will do today is simple," Kayvaan continued. "We will dissect this body. You will observe the muscles, the bones, and the organs—and I will explain their functions, as well as what happens when they are damaged."
A sharp intake of breath. "This… this is heresy," one of the warriors from the Holy See stammered. "This is a blasphemous act. Only the followers of dark sorcery practice such things."
Kayvaan turned to him sharply. "You idiot," he snapped. "Have you ever seen a sorcerer? Or are you just spouting nonsense from children's tales?"
The warrior hesitated. "I-I have not," he admitted.
Kayvaan sighed. He had anticipated this kind of reaction. The dogma of the Holy See preached that the human body was sacred, that to examine it in such a way was prohibited. "Do I look like a heretic to you?" Kayvaan asked flatly.
The warrior's gaze darted between the electric light overhead and the instructor before him—the man who had already demonstrated knowledge and power beyond comprehension. He swallowed hard. "N-no, sir."
"But the Holy See forbids the dissection of the dead," the warrior insisted, though his voice lacked its previous confidence. "They say it is an act of evil."
Kayvaan's expression twisted into something between amusement and exasperation.
"Use your brain," he said. "If we do not study the body, how can we understand it? How can we see the structure of muscle and bone? How can we learn?"
He shook his head. "Yes, the Holy See has many ridiculous rules. Ignore them when necessary."
His voice dropped into something close to a growl. "But this is why we hold these lessons here, in the most secluded hall available—why the curtains are drawn—why we avoid drawing attention. Do you think I secured this space without approval from the higher ranks of the Holy See?"
That silenced them.
"The Emperor," Kayvaan said firmly, "does not care if we examine a dead man's body." A beat of silence. "Enough talk," he said, shifting his grip on the dagger. "Now, watch closely."
He pressed the blade to the corpse's chest and, with practiced ease, opened it. Several warriors flinched as the skin parted, but none dared look away.
Kayvaan reached inside, grasped something, and carefully lifted it free. The heart. Dark red, wet with blood, its chambers splayed open. "Look closely," Kayvaan instructed, holding it up.
"It almost resembles a peach, doesn't it?" His voice remained clinical, detached. "This is the heart—one of the most vital organs in the human body."
He rotated it in his hands. "Examine it well. The structure, the shape. Remember it. Memorize it."
His voice hardened. "Because one day, knowing exactly where to strike will be the difference between killing your enemy and merely wounding them."