CHAPTER 63: Hall of Knowledge (part 1)

How to Be a Knight?

“Now,” Adrian said, voice carrying clearly through the entire hall, “I want everyone here to eat, drink, watch, learn, ask, or answer if necessary as much as you want without making a commotion or disrespect. If you understand my house rule, then please read the paper for today’s agenda.”

The private training hall quieted in a way that no bell or shouted command could have achieved.

Hundreds of eyes lowered to the sheets distributed among them. Some held the paper carefully, as if the ink itself might carry a secret that could vanish if gripped too hard. Others leaned closer to read over the shoulders of those seated before them, especially the apprentices and young workers who had arrived out of curiosity rather than preparation. The knights read first with sharp attention. The mages read next with visible surprise. The household staff who had learned, by recent habit, that Adrian’s classes rarely remained within the limits of their titles began to exchange silent glances.

At the top of the page, written in clear block letters, was the agenda.

HOW TO BE A KNIGHT?
Swordsmanship, Aura, and the Structure of Will

Isaac’s eyes lit up immediately.

He straightened where he sat near the front, the previous restraint in his posture disappearing under the pressure of sudden interest. This was not an administrative lecture, nor another discussion that began with grain, stone, storage, or numbers before somehow turning into a weapon aimed at the kingdom’s ignorance. This was closer to his world. Swordsmanship. Aura. The path of those who stood with steel between the house and its enemies. For Isaac, who had spent more time measuring himself against knights than against books, the paper in his hand felt like an invitation.

Marian noticed, of course. She glanced at him once, and though she said nothing, the faint rise of her brow seemed to tell him not to embarrass himself by looking too eager. Isaac ignored it. He was too focused on the title.

The mages, however, did not receive the topic as an insult. That was one of the quiet changes Adrian’s previous lesson had already produced. Before, a class focused on knights might have felt like a division. Essence belonged to mages. Aura belonged to swordsmen. Each listened to the other only when required, often with politeness that concealed dismissal. Today, the mages leaned forward. Some had attended the previous lesson and understood enough to know that Adrian did not teach one path without touching the other. Others, who had come because rumors of the first class had spread through every sector of the South, now sensed that this was not merely a lesson for knights but another attempt to expose the shared root beneath separated disciplines.

Adrian waited until the first murmurs faded.

The training hall was full beyond its usual use. Chairs filled the central rows. Benches, crates, and spare equipment stands had been repurposed into seats. Along the walls, men and women stood shoulder to shoulder without complaint. Knights in training stood near clerks. Mages sat beside workshop supervisors. Several guards had paper folded against their palms because they were not used to writing while wearing partial armor. A few older citizens, invited through sector notices, stood quietly behind the younger crowd, drawn by the simple promise that whoever wished to learn could watch.

Servants moved silently at the sides, finishing the distribution of food, water, tea, and writing materials. No one wasted the kindness. The room ate quietly, drank carefully, and held itself beneath the rule Adrian had given. Learn as much as you want. Ask if necessary. Answer if necessary. But do not turn knowledge into disorder.

Adrian turned to the first blackboard.

“Before we begin today’s subject,” he said, “we will return to the foundation.”

Several who had attended the previous class immediately opened their notes. Those who had not looked faintly alarmed. Adrian saw that and did not soften the pace.

“Last time, the lesson began without full preparation. It was useful, but incomplete for those who entered halfway or heard only fragments afterward. Today, everyone begins from the same ground. If you cannot stand on the foundation, you have no right to pretend you understand the structure above it.”

He lifted the chalk and wrote a single word.

MANA

Then he turned back.

“What is mana?”

Hands rose.

Not timidly. Not all at once, either. But steadily, like a field realizing it was allowed to answer. Almost half the crowd participated. Knights, mages, clerks, a few young apprentices, and even one gray-haired steward at the back raised their hands as though they were students instead of soldiers, workers, or servants. The sight would have been laughable in another noble house. In the South, no one laughed. The atmosphere made the mockery feel small.

Adrian pointed to a mage first.

“Mana is the natural energy of the world, my lord. It exists in the atmosphere and can be refined by practitioners.”

He pointed to a knight.

“It is the source that becomes aura when drawn through the heart and trained through conviction.”

Another hand.

“It becomes essence when refined through the mind and formed into circles.”

Another.

“It is what gives birth to spells, strength, resistance, and sometimes healing.”

A young recruit near the rear hesitated, then said, “It is power.”

Adrian looked at him. “Incomplete, but acceptable.”

The recruit swallowed and lowered his hand quickly, though the lack of ridicule steadied him.

Adrian wrote several phrases beneath MANA: natural energy, source, refined through paths, power when structured.

“All of those answers hold pieces of the truth,” he said. Mana is natural to the world. It exists before your training. It exists before your title. It exists before your academy, tower, knight order, noble law, or family doctrine. Human beings did not create mana. Human beings only created methods of approaching it.”

He wrote two more words beneath the first.

ESSENCE
AURA

“The Arcane Kingdoms separated mana into two dominant paths. Essence and Aura. Essence became the path of mages, trained through intellectual perception and the formation of circles within the cognitive core. Aura became the path of knights and swordsmen, trained through conviction, will, and the formation of rings around the heart. That separation is useful. It creates schools, methods, language, rank, and measurable progress. But useful does not mean complete.”

A few heads nodded. Those were the ones who had heard the first lesson. Those who had not were now trying to decide whether Adrian had just challenged the oldest working standard of the continent with the tone of a man explaining weather.

Adrian continued, “Human beings like standards. Standards tell us where to place people. One circle. Two circles. Three. Advanced. Master. Grandmaster. Mythical. We make ladders and then begin worshiping the ladder as if height alone explains the climber. That is the first mistake.”

He turned and drew a ladder beside the words. At the top, he marked 7. At the bottom, 1. Then beside it, he drew two swords of the same length, one straight and clean, the other chipped and poorly balanced.

“Circle level is threshold. It is not expertise. A third-circle mage may hold greater capacity than a second-circle mage, but that does not mean every third-circle mage has better imagination, accuracy, efficiency, or judgment. A fourth-ring knight may output more aura than a third-ring knight, but that does not mean his footwork is cleaner, his blade control is sharper, or his conviction is more stable under fear.”

The knights shifted slightly at that. It did not offend them. It reached them.

Adrian’s gaze moved across the mages. “Scholars boast that Essence has a better grasp of mana utilization because it studies structure, symbol, formula, and elemental conversion. Aura practitioners insist that Aura is the correct path because it takes mana into the living body, into courage, into battle, into decisive action. Both sides are correct enough to become arrogant and incomplete enough to become foolish.”

Someone at the back muttered softly, “Both sides.”

Adrian heard it but did not look toward the voice. “Yes. Both.”

He began walking slowly along the board, chalk still in hand. “Nobles proclaim that commoners do not have the right to be mages, though no true law of nature ever gave birth to that claim. Knight orders select recruits based on aptitude and body condition, then often mistakes early compatibility for final worth. Towers classify circle count as if it alone reveals mastery. Families boast about blood, institutions boast about tradition, and all the while mana remains what it always was before humans touched it: a natural piece of the world.”

He wrote again.

COLOR
FORM
VOLUME
CALCULATION
FAMILIARITY
EMOTION

“Last time, we spoke of these. Mana has color, though perception affects how it appears. It has form, though form must be stabilized. It has volume, because excess is not mastery. It requires calculation, because larger outputs cannot rely only on wishful imagination. It demands familiarity, because a practitioner who does not recognize what he holds will waste it. And emotion influences it because power passing through a living being cannot remain untouched by that being’s inner state.”

The newcomers were already struggling. Not because they were unintelligent, but because the recap alone moved across territory many had never seen joined together before. Some mages wrote desperately. Some knights sat very still, absorbing what they could rather than pretending to understand all of it. The citizens listened with the stunned admiration of people being told that the world was wider than the schools above them had ever admitted.

Adrian gave them examples to anchor the abstraction.

“Fire is not only destruction. It is ignition, combustion, heat transfer, compression, pressure, burst, and controlled burn. Water is not only soft. It is flow, redirection, pressure, retention, and continuity. Air is not only speed. It is composure, displacement, pressure difference, silence, and balance. Earth is not only hard. It is weight, endurance, structure, resistance.”

He tapped the board twice. “If you know only the common appearance of an element, you produce the common result. If you know the principle beneath it, you can expand the use.”

Then his gaze shifted deliberately toward Enel.

It was brief. No announcement. No praise spoken aloud. Yet the hall noticed just enough to follow Adrian’s line of sight. Enel, seated among the senior mages, lowered his head in a deep, controlled bow. The movement carried no theatrics. It was an acknowledgment. Those who had heard whispers of his recent enlightenment understood a portion of what had passed between them.

Adrian said, “Knowledge knows no limit. Whoever seeks more may obtain enlightenment. Those who define limitation without proper exploration will eventually be lost inside their own certainty.”

The hall absorbed that in a silence heavier than applause.

Then Adrian placed the chalk down and let the words settle. The quick recap had consumed nearly an hour, though to those listening closely, it passed like a few breaths. By the time he finished, the newcomers looked both overwhelmed and awakened. They had arrived expecting a lesson on knights. They had received instead the lower foundation of the continent’s entire power structure, compressed and sharpened until old categories seemed less like walls and more like temporary fences.

A tenured knight near the middle raised his hand. His face was weathered, his shoulders broad, and the old scars along his jaw marked him as someone who had not learned combat from clean floors alone. He spoke with caution, but not fear.

“My lord, does that mean mana perception should also be seen the same way by a knight?”

Adrian nodded. “Yes. If you know mana, you can sense it properly. If you sense it properly, you can use it more cleanly. A mage does not own perception. A knight does not own will. Both require both, though each path emphasizes one side first.”

The tenured knight bowed his head once, satisfied and unsettled in equal measure.

Adrian faced the board again and erased only the lower portion. At the top, MANA remained. Beneath it, he wrote:

WHAT IS AURA?

“Now,” he said, “we begin today’s agenda.”

This time, the knights were the first to move.

Hands rose from the front rows, the sides, and the standing lines near the pillars. Isaac raised his hand too quickly, noticed Marian’s eyes cutting toward him, and forced himself to lower it halfway before raising it again with more dignity. Adrian ignored the sibling exchange and pointed to an older knight first.

“Aura is mana refined through the heart and strengthened by conviction.”

Another knight answered next. “It is the power of the sword path, my lord. It covers the body and weapon to strengthen both.”

A young recruit said, “It is the proof that one has the will to fight.”

A mage, surprisingly, added, “From the mage perspective, aura is mana given bodily direction rather than external spell structure.”

A citizen near the rear, perhaps emboldened by the earlier rule, said carefully, “People say aura is what makes knights different from strong men.”

Adrian wrote fragments from each answer.

heart
conviction
sword path
body and weapon
will
bodily direction

“All correct,” he said. “All incomplete.”

The knights accepted the pattern now. The phrase no longer insulted them. It had become almost expected.

“If Essence is thought to use the mind, Aura is thought to use the heart. The distinction is useful, but again, not total. A mage forms circles through cognitive structure, yet if his body cannot sustain higher output, the mind alone is not enough. A knight forms an aura through the heart, but a heart one step away from disarray due to uncontrolled emotion will not produce mastery. It will produce waste, instability, or brutality mistaken for strength.”

He turned and wrote two parallel lines.

ESSENCE: mind emphasized, vessel required
AURA: heart emphasized, mind required

“This is where the connection becomes clearer. Imagery, volume, calculation, familiarity, and emotion also apply to Aura. Perhaps not in the same visible manner as spells, but certainly in practice. That is why knights must learn elementary arithmetic and basic science.”

A low murmur passed through the knight section.

Adrian did not allow it to grow. “Yes. Arithmetic. Measurement. Distance. Weight. angle. force. Timing. The subject is not only for mages. You are not learning numbers to become scholars for decoration. You are learning them because a sword swing is geometry performed under pressure. A charge is a force over distance with timing and risk. A defensive stance is a structure against incoming energy. Blade angle determines whether an attack cuts, deflects, bites shallowly, or breaks your wrist. If you do not understand these things consciously, then you rely only on repetition and talent. That may make you competent. It will not make you exceptional.”

Some of the knights looked at their own hands as if suddenly seeing old training in a different frame.

Adrian continued, “This is also why the knight code, etiquette, and noble conduct matter, though not for the shallow reasons many instructors give. Discipline is not decoration. Etiquette teaches control of posture, timing, language, and restraint. Code teaches a knight where not to spend force. A man who cannot control his tongue will often fail to control his blade when provoked. A man who cannot stand properly before a lord may also be unable to stand properly before death.”

Isaac was writing now. Marian looked faintly pleased by that.

“However,” Adrian said, “Aura differs from Essence in one major visible aspect. A mage externalizes structure into spell form. A knight must unite body, mana, and weapon through swordsmanship. A knight and his weapon should become one. That is the mantra of a true knight. It is not poetry. It is technical instruction hidden inside tradition.”

Darius, once captain and now general after the Lord of the South’s promotion, stood near the front with arms folded. His attention had grown sharper at that phrase. His promotion had not softened him. If anything, responsibility had made him more severe. He had seen men die because their sword failed to move where intent demanded, and he had seen men survive because body and blade obeyed before thought fully formed. Adrian turned toward him.

“General Darius,” Adrian said, “what is Sword Path?”

Darius answered without delay. “The way of the sword. The feeling when you reach a realm that makes your will and sword become as one.”

“Good,” Adrian said. “That is the traditional answer, and it is not wrong.”

He wrote SWORD PATH = WILL + WEAPON + METHOD.

“If mana can be perceived, and Sword Path requires a sense of feeling, why should the two remain separate in training?”

No one answered.

The silence showed that the question had entered deeper than expected.

Adrian explained that it became uncomfortable. “Mana needs imagery. For mages, imagery is often taught through color and elemental form. For knights, imagery should begin with aptitude and combat identity. Some knights are sharp. Some are heavy. Some are fast. Some endure. Some overwhelm. Some deflect. Some pierce. Some control space. Some break lines. Yet many train as if all swordsmen should become the same shape.”

Darius’s eyes narrowed with approval.

Adrian continued, “That is a waste. A knight whose aura naturally carries weight should not be forced to imitate a speed specialist until his own advantage becomes dull. A knight whose body favors agility should not train only in direct collision because his instructor respects brute strength. Know your mana. Know your body. Know your sword. Know your temperament. Then refine what is true instead of worshiping what looks impressive in another man.”

Several recruits looked struck by the words. Older knights looked thoughtful for different reasons. They had seen exactly this failure too many times.

“Volume,” Adrian said, moving to the next term, “is equally important. A mage must know how much mana a spell requires. A knight must know how much aura a movement requires. Too little, and your blade fails to cut through reinforcement. Too much, and your swing becomes slow, your recovery weakens, your stamina bleeds away, and your enemy kills you after admiring your strength for half a second.”

A few knights laughed under their breath. Not loudly, but with recognition.

“Angle and correct power determine whether an aura slash is efficient. A wide swing with excessive aura may impress recruits. A narrow cut with correct pressure kills. A shield reinforcement with too much aura at the wrong point may crack from redirection. A measured reinforcement at the correct contact angle can preserve stamina and break the opponent’s rhythm.”

He raised one hand and moved it as though holding an invisible sword. “Calculation makes your next move practical. If you know your reach, your opponent’s reach, your recovery time, the slope beneath your foot, the resistance of armor, and the direction of incoming force, you are already fighting with more than muscle. Familiarity allows mana to answer without delay. That is why practice matters. Not mindless repetition. Correct repetition.”

The hall listened as if each phrase added weight to their own weapons.

“Aura does not need incantation,” Adrian said. “But it does require coordination. Muscle, bone, heart, mind, breath, and weapon. That is your incantation. Every stance is a phrase. Every guard is a line. Every step is a syllable. Every cut is a command. If your body speaks confusion, aura answers confusion.”

The mages liked that more than they expected. Some began writing faster.

“That is why higher circles demand more training, not less. A first-ring swordsman may reinforce his arm crudely and strike harder than an untrained man. A third-ring knight must begin controlling distribution. Arm, shoulder, spine, legs, weapon edge, and defensive layer. A fifth-ring knight who pours aura blindly into every motion becomes a furnace with no chimney—powerful, wasteful, and eventually self-damaging. At higher levels, output without control is not a strength. It is self-sabotage.”

Darius gave the smallest nod.

Adrian turned the lesson toward the broader hall again. “The same principle we applied to mages applies to knights. Circle or ring level does not prove expertise. One knight may be sharp but fragile. Another may endure but lack decisive attack. One may hold conviction but lack stamina. Another may possess excellent physical condition yet collapse under true fear. One may have talent and no effort. Another may have average talent and relentless discipline. The second may pass the first in war.”

His voice lowered slightly. “Those who never get tired of effort will not be betrayed by effort.”

That line struck the recruits hardest.

Adrian let it remain untouched for a moment, then continued. “Talent accelerates. Compatibility smooths the path. But talent with effort becomes dangerous. Talent without effort becomes decorative. Effort without thought becomes exhaustion. Effort with structure becomes growth.”

He returned to the board and wrote:

SWORDSMANSHIP

Then below it:

art
skill
technique
offense
defense
maneuvering

“Let us define swordsmanship properly. Swordsmanship is the art, skill, and technique of fighting with a sword. It includes offense, defense, and maneuvering. Not only how to swing. Not only how to block. Not only how to look brave while holding steel. Effective swordsmanship combines precise footwork, distance management, blade control, timing, reading, pressure, and recovery.”

He looked at Isaac. “Key principles.”

Isaac almost rose too quickly. He caught himself, stood properly, and answered with the seriousness of someone determined not to waste the chance.

“Footwork first. If your feet are wrong, your sword is late, even if your arm is fast. Distance second. A knight who cannot judge distance gives the enemy either his life or his stamina. Guard third. The sword must protect before it attacks. Timing fourth. A good strike at the wrong time becomes an opening. Blade control fifth. A sword should not move farther than needed unless the purpose demands it.”

Adrian nodded. “Good.”

Isaac’s expression held brightness, but he did not smile too widely. Marian’s silent approval helped him keep his restraint.

Adrian pointed to another knight. “Add.”

“Breathing, my lord. Aura breaks unevenly when the breath is wild.”

Another.

“Reading the enemy’s shoulder and hips. Many men lie with their sword but not with their body.”

Another.

“Recovery after a swing. Most deaths in training duels happen after a missed attack.”

A young recruit added, “Grip?”

Adrian looked at him. “Explain.”

The recruit stiffened but continued. “Too tight, and the wrist locks. Too loose, and the blade shifts. Grip changes depending on cut, guard, and impact.”

“Correct.”

The recruit looked as if he had been knighted.

Adrian gathered the answers and expanded them. “Footwork is not merely moving your feet. It is how you carry balance through intention. Forward step. Retreat. angle step. pivot. Slide. Weight transfer. A swordsman who steps poorly exposes his center. A swordsman who steps well makes the enemy’s correct attack arrive at the wrong place.”

He moved one hand to demonstrate a small angled shift. “Distance management determines what options exist. Too close, and long swings become useless. Too far, and quick cuts fail. The correct distance is not fixed. It changes with weapon length, body length, terrain, injury, armor, and aura output. That means every duel is a moving equation.”

The mages wrote that down with surprising enthusiasm.

“Blade control,” Adrian said, “is the management of edge, line, pressure, and recovery. A sword is not a club unless you lack dignity. The edge must meet the target properly. The line must follow purpose. Pressure must be enough to achieve the result and not so much that the blade becomes trapped. Recovery must prepare the next action before the enemy punishes the last one.”

Darius added, “And defense is not waiting.”

Adrian looked to him.

The general continued, “A proper guard threatens. A proper block steal angle. A proper parry changes the enemy’s line. If you only receive, you eventually break.”

“Exactly,” Adrian said. “Defense without intention is a delay. Defense with structure is control.”

The hall had become something different from a lecture now. It was an exchange, though still bound by Adrian’s order. Questions rose and were answered. Knights provided lived experience. Mages tried to translate principles into mana theory. Citizens listened and began realizing that knight training, which they had once viewed as noble violence or soldier hardship, possessed depth, mathematics, discipline, and philosophy hidden beneath sweat.

Adrian watched it happen with quiet satisfaction. Not emotional weakness. Not indulgence. Structural satisfaction. A divided territory could not become great. A territory that learned together could be shaped into something far harder to break.

Then a curious recruit, no older than seventeen, raised his hand. His armor sat slightly awkwardly on him, and his knuckles bore the raw marks of recent training. He had listened more than he had written, but now confusion forced him to speak.

“My lord,” he asked, voice uncertain but clear enough to reach the front, “does it mean we need to learn as a mage thinks?”