System Update: Class Path Divergence Triggered]
New Class Unlocked: Phantom Tactician (A-Rank | Unique)Synthesized From: [S-Class Commander] + [S-Class Assassin]
Traits Acquired:— Layered Intent: Actions gain bonus efficiency when part of a hidden strategy— Disguised Execution: All techniques appear untrained unless observed by elite combat-analysis class
Visibility to Others: F-Class SwordsmanshipInternal Read: Hidden Progression – Evolution Path Unknown
Even with the Academy's bells marking the new tournament round, people still hadn't decided what they saw the day before.
"It was a fluke.""Rodric overcommitted and lost footing.""The baron's son got lucky with a panic swing.""Maybe he was possessed by a skill crystal or something…"
Renard heard all of it.
No one asked him. Not directly.
That made sense.
People didn't question ghosts.
They just made up stories to explain what passed through them.
He sat on a sun-warmed bench behind the northern dueling grounds. Birds chirped from the upper archways, but his eyes were on the match roster posted outside the scribe's hall.
Next Match: Marius Velcross (5th Seed) vs. Leto Krann (Unranked – Minor House)
Leto was already doomed. But Renard didn't come to watch a duel.
He came to watch a pattern.
Marius Velcross entered the ring like a siege engine wrapped in muscle. His armor clanked with every motion—not ceremonial, but heavy, real. His blade was wide enough to use as a door.
He didn't salute. He didn't bow.
He simply rolled his shoulders, adjusted his grip, and charged.
Leto barely blocked the first blow—and the second broke his stance. The third threw him to the ground. The fourth ended it.
The referee called the match in under thirty seconds.
But Renard didn't leave.
He watched Marius after.
The way he reset his stance. How he breathed through his nose like a bull. The way his sword dragged just slightly to the left when he turned.
"Strike angle too wide. Centerline exposed when chasing.""Footwork aggressive but momentum-dependent. Overswings on near-misses.""Left shoulder injury? Movement reduced after impact."
Recommended Strategy: Drain stamina. Circle wide. Let him overextend by sequence four. No need to counter—just collapse the terrain.
He mentally mapped the ring tiles. Measured wind. Crowd noise. Weight delay from Marius's armored boots.
Elric arrived just as Renard stood up.
"Did I miss anything?" Elric asked.
"You missed a man killing a wasp with a sledgehammer."
Elric gave a low whistle. "Yikes. That bad?"
"That loud."
Renard started walking. Elric followed.
"You think you can beat him?"
"No," Renard said. "I think he'll beat himself."
Elric blinked. "That's ominous."
"He reacts. Doesn't track."
"So, what—you're going to out-think him?"
Renard didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
They passed by two servants scrubbing blood off the ring edge. Elric glanced back over his shoulder.
"You didn't say what your system told you. After Rodric."
"I got a new class."
Elric stopped walking. "Wait, what?"
Renard turned slightly.
"Phantom Tactician."
"…I don't even know what that means."
"Commander thinking, assassin execution."
Elric looked at him like he'd sprouted antlers.
"Wait, those merge?"
"Apparently."
"No wonder that last move didn't make sense. It looked like a bad parry."
"It wasn't."
Elric exhaled. "Okay. So you're a walking misdirection."
Renard didn't correct him.
That evening, Renard trained alone near the old ruins behind the east tower.
Not striking.
Walking.
He practiced patterns—footsteps like music, spiraling rotations that looked clumsy if viewed from the wrong angle.
He didn't need to practice hitting things.
He needed to master how to lead people into hitting the wrong place.
"Most swordsmen go forward."
The voice was soft. Familiar.
Lysette.
She leaned against a weather-worn column, arms crossed, moonlight brushing her hair silver.
"You circle," she added. "But not to flee. You're corralling."
Renard didn't stop pacing.
"You were at the match?" he asked.
"I came late. Watched from above. Most people just saw Marius crush a name they already forgot."
"And what did you see?"
"A man trying to end things quickly because he doesn't trust himself to last."
Renard stopped.
"That's exactly what I saw."
She stepped closer. "You're not reacting to opponents. You're reacting to maps."
"I'm responding to terrain."
"That's Commander talk."
He didn't respond.
She tilted her head. "You're not dueling. You're playing chess with blades."
She circled around to face him. "Your movements—they're intentionally inefficient. Just a little too slow. A little too awkward."
"To the crowd," Renard said.
She smiled. "To everyone but me."
He finally met her eyes.
"You've seen hybrid classes before."
Her smile faded, just slightly. "I've seen… things. Far from here. Techniques that didn't fit into anyone's neat little menu. But nothing like what you did yesterday."
She stepped back into the shadows.
"I don't know what you are, Renard Valtierre. But I don't think the Academy's ready for it."
Then she was gone.