Constructed atop the tallest hill at the capital's heart, was a walled city within the city—twenty circular towers linked by gleaming stone walls, rising like the fangs of a fortress dragon.
From a distance, it looked less like a district and more like a separate world. That illusion wasn't far from the truth.
The physical height mirrored the separation of its people—nobles, royals, and high-ranking bureaucrats—from the common populace. Its towering presence above the rest of Re-Estize wasn't just architecture.
It was hierarchy made manifest.
On the western slope of this hill stood an open-air arena: wide, domed, and ancient. The venue for the annual "Imperial Trial."
An official event. A celebration of national strength. A recruitment tool. A chessboard for nobles.
And today... the site of a legend.
Crash!
Crash!
The thunder of the crowd echoed like waves crashing against a cliff.
Minori pushed through the entrance tunnel and reluctantly slid into a hard, sun-warmed seat near the back.
The worst seats in the house. Outer ring. Fifth tier.
His vision just barely reached the elevated platform where the duel would take place. From here, the combatants were little more than blurred shadows, figures moving like ghosts behind the shimmer of heat.
And it had cost him five silver coins.
"...What a ripoff."
His lips tightened. Five silver was nearly a week's meals if you shopped smart. For one seat this far away?
Still, part of him understood. This wasn't just a tournament.
It was history in motion.
And watching history had a price.
His eyes swept the crowd.
Packed. Shoulder to shoulder. Thousands of heads in every direction, buzzing with speculation and excitement.
A part of him couldn't help but mutter: "It's a profitable business."
All around, spectators chatted, traded coins, argued over outcomes.
But Minori just leaned forward, elbows on knees, silently watching the stage.
From here, he could barely make out the vague outlines of the figures walking on the platform—referees, announcers, perhaps arena officials. But two names had yet to appear.
The Warrior Captain.
And the Nail Clipper.
His gaze shifted northward, locking onto the lone round tower that jutted above the rest of the arena like a king's crown.
No need to guess.
That was the royal stand. Reserved for the kingdom's nobles and the royal family.
There was something eerie about its stillness. The tower stood too quiet, like a tomb placed in the center of a celebration.
And slowly, like a chill creeping across the skin, that silence spread.
The noise around him—chatter, laughter, debate—faded into hushed murmurs. One by one, spectators quieted.
The nobles had arrived.
And with them, the weight of politics.
Minori sighed and pulled slightly at the rough collar of his linen shirt. It was getting warm.
He already knew why the atmosphere had shifted.
The Imperial Trial wasn't really about finding talent. It was a tool—a theater.
A stage for nobles to parade their retainers and solidify their power base.
Commoners were rarely allowed to win.
And yet, that façade had started to crack.
Thanks to men like Gazef Stronoff, and now, Brain Unglaus, the "Trial" had been forcibly reclaimed from its aristocratic purpose.
They weren't noble-born. They weren't rich.
But they were strong.
And strength, when displayed in front of the entire capital, carried a political weight that couldn't be ignored.
He knew the system.
In the Kingdom of Re-Estize, the second sons of noble families couldn't inherit land or title. In response, a separate, one-generation title had emerged: "Knight."
No fief. No inheritance. But the prestige and salary were considerable.
The Imperial Trial existed, in part, to distribute these titles. A noble son could fight, gain glory, and walk away a recognized knight of the realm.
But lately, things had changed.
More and more, civilians—adventurers, mercenaries, unaffiliated swordsmen—had started to win.
And the nobles didn't like that.
The arena had become too dangerous.
Too unpredictable.
And now, with Gazef and Brain fighting center stage, the entire purpose of the event had collapsed.
"The nobles must be fuming."
Minori smirked faintly.
After Gazef's victory today, the kingdom would be forced to award him something. And they would.
A new title. A new office. Warrior Captain.
And then the Imperial Trial... would cease to exist.
No more chances for commoners to rise.
No more threats to noble pride.
And yet, it would be too late.
Ten minutes later.
The arena's sound changed. Something in the air shifted.
Minori's posture straightened.
Two figures stepped onto the ring. Unmistakable.
Gazef Stronoff.
And the man dubbed the Nail Clipper—Brain Unglaus.
From this distance, Minori couldn't hear their conversation, but their movements were clear.
They clasped hands in greeting, exchanged brief words, then stepped apart.
Swords drawn.
Twenty meters between them.
The crowd held its breath.
Whoosh!
In a blink, they charged.
Their speed was unreal—barely visible even to a trained eye.
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
Steel met steel, again and again. Sparks flew like lightning trapped in a cage.
Minori's eyes widened, barely able to follow their movements. Not even the swords were visible—only the brief flares of light when they struck.
"Monsters…" he muttered under his breath. "These aren't humans anymore."
It was one thing to read about the battle.
Another to watch it in person.
Each strike, each dodge, each perfectly timed movement—this wasn't training. This wasn't a duel.
It was a collision between philosophies of swordsmanship.
"Level 20s… they're this strong?"
The realization hit like ice water.
This wasn't even close to the ceiling. The real monsters—those like Shalltear, or Cocytus—stood so far above these men, the difference was laughable.
And yet… already, this strength seemed unreachable.
Whoosh—!
A burst of light.
Brain moved. His entire body flashed with blue radiance, and he vanished from sight.
"Teleport—? No. That's…"
A flicker of realization struck him as Gazef rolled forward, evading the backstrike just in time.
A unique technique. Not a spell.
A Martial Art.
The blue glow faded.
Minori's heart pounded as the realization clicked into place.
"So that's what martial arts look like in person…"
A technique not from YGGDRASIL.
A warrior's equivalent of magic—fuelled by focus and will, rather than mana.
They consumed concentration, a resource that didn't exist in the game. But here, it was very real.
The longer a fight dragged on, the more drained the mind became. Tactical fatigue.
It made sense.
A fighter couldn't just spam techniques endlessly. This wasn't a game anymore.
Buzz!
A sudden vibration flickered through Minori's vision.
A translucent panel blinked into place.
[System Notification]
"Skill: Water Acceleration" discovered. Requires Basic Warrior-class qualification. Current condition: Not Met.
"Genius" job detected. Skill assimilation route active. Requirements bypassed.
—Skill eligible for acquisition.
Consume 1 Skill Point to learn "Water Acceleration"?
[Yes] / [No]
Minori stared at the glowing panel.
His lips parted.
"…So this is how it works."
One skill point.
An elite martial art, observed directly from a master.
"This is how I grow."
The path was clear.
He didn't need to grind monsters.
He didn't need a quest marker.
He just needed to witness power… and steal it.
This was the strength of the Genius class.
[Skill Learned: Water Acceleration]
Effect: Greatly increases movement speed for 3 seconds. Cooldown: 30 seconds. Requires Concentration.
He exhaled slowly, a grin twitching at the edge of his mouth.
And he whispered:
"Thanks for the lesson… Nail Clipper."