As moonlight spilled gently through the upper windows of the old tavern, the rookies slept undisturbed in the rooms above, their dreams likely filled with the echoes of today's trials.
The silence was broken only by the soft creak of wooden stairs.
A pale figure descended.
Her platinum-blonde hair fell in loose waves, still tousled from sleep. Clad in simple, sleep-rumpled attire that rustled faintly with each step, she moved with a fluid grace—too effortless, too precise to be accidental.
In the heart of the tavern, flickering candlelight danced across timeworn stone and wood. Despite being a tavern—a place meant for revelry and noise—it was subdued here, hushed by the weight of those who frequented it. Division 4 Knights were not the rowdy kind. Even in rest, they carried the air of battle.
Her feline-blue eyes, half-lidded yet sharp, swept the dimly lit room. Unreadable. Piercing.
They landed on a table.
Truth and Marko sat across from each other, halfway into their fourth drink. The golden liquid in their mugs shimmered with the low flamelight, casting mellow shadows on their faces.
She walked past Marko without a word and took the seat beside him—directly opposite Truth. No greeting. No explanation. She didn't need one.
She was Blade.
And the room adjusted around her, not the other way around.
"How were they?" she asked, her voice a velvet whisper, still heavy from sleep.
Truth leaned back slightly, a subtle smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He gave his drink a swirl, then lifted it lazily.
"You'll be surprised," he said, his tone teasing but sincere. "They held their own against Arion. Even lasted a few rounds against the Captain."
Marko nodded slowly, just once. His eyes didn't linger long—just a shared glance with Truth. Enough to confirm the claim.
Blade's eyes narrowed. Doubt flickered behind them like a breeze brushing candlelight. Fresh recruits? Standing against Captain Lucas Alexandrite?
Impossible.
Truth could see it in her expression. He chuckled softly.
"I'm serious," he said. "Captain wasn't pulling punches, either."
Blade exhaled through her nose. Not quite disbelief, but not quite acceptance either. She folded her arms, her posture relaxing just a touch.
"Who's the leader?"
Truth didn't answer right away. He studied his cup, watching the light ripple across the surface.
"Takahiro's fast. Clean with a blade. Sharper than expected," he began. "But Kenji..."
He paused.
"There's a weight to him. When he went down, the others—" Truth looked up, "—they shifted immediately. Their entire dynamic changed."
Blade's interest stirred. "Shifted how?"
Truth leaned in, his voice low. "Kenji gave a single order. And just like that, they stopped reacting and started moving. Purposefully. Coordinated. Like a real unit."
For the first time, Blade looked mildly impressed.
"And the third one?"
Silence.
Truth glanced sideways at Marko. The man raised a hand halfway… then shrugged.
"Can't say," Marko muttered. "Couldn't even tell if it's a guy or a girl."
Blade blinked, stunned for a brief second. "You don't know?"
Truth sighed and rubbed his temple. "Unorthodox. Skilled, but... odd. Doesn't fight like a knight. Not quite an assassin either."
He let the silence hang for a beat.
"I'd call them a ghost," he said finally.
Blade sat still for a moment, digesting everything.
"Kenji's the leader," she stated, not asking.
Truth simply lifted his cup in silent agreement.
Stretching her arms lazily over her head, Blade let out a faint sigh. Her slender frame shifted with feline poise as she stood up again, clearly ready to disappear into the dark hallways upstairs.
But just as she turned—
"Er, Blade…" Marko began, hesitant, hopeful.
Blade paused. Her head turned slightly. Her eyes—cool and unwavering—met his.
"No."
She didn't wait for him to finish.
Marko slumped with a heavy sigh, muttering something under his breath.
Truth grinned and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"Better luck next time."