Despite his severe injuries, Knight Klaus regained consciousness later that same day.
“――――”
He woke up in the school’s infirmary. True to its name, the room was reserved for students who had fallen ill or been injured on campus, and Klaus now occupied one of its beds.
As he sat up and took stock of his surroundings—
Memories of the fight came rushing back.
For Klaus, it was a harrowing recollection. It was the memory of the sheer violence inflicted by Albert von Kronstadt.
The impact he should have parried with his shield hadn’t slowed in the slightest; the phantom pain of his left arm shattering returned with agonizing intensity. Then came the memory of the fist driven into his gut. His ribs had collapsed like a sandcastle, and he could still feel the sickening sensation of his internal organs being crushed. What little consciousness he had managed to cling to had been snuffed out by a third blow to the side of his head—a strike that had sent the impact of splintering bone echoing through his mind before everything went black.
“Ugh...!”
The vividness of the sensation triggered a sudden wave of nausea. Klaus clamped a hand over his mouth, barely managing to keep his stomach in check, though a cold shiver continued to rack his body.
As he held his face, his hand brushed against his left cheek.
Though it should have been smashed to pieces by Albert’s punch, his cheek felt perfectly normal. The skin was smooth, and the bone beneath felt solid and intact.
Confused, he looked over the rest of his body. There wasn't a single trace of the life-threatening injuries he had sustained.
“This is...”
“Saint Seraphina healed you,” a female teacher in charge of the infirmary said as she approached. “If Lady Seraphina hadn't been here, you would have been looking at three months for a full recovery. Actually, no—you likely would have died.”
“This is... the Saint’s power...”
Klaus had heard the rumors, but he never imagined her magic could be this potent.
“How are you feeling, anyway?” the teacher asked.
“I’m fine. I feel perfectly healthy.”
“The Saint’s power is truly something else, isn't it? She’s going to put us all out of work at this rate.” The teacher gave a helpless shrug, looking somewhat exasperated. “Make sure you thank her the next time you see her.”
“Yes, I will.”
“I think you’ll be okay, but we need to keep you under observation for today. You’re to stay here and rest. If nothing changes, you can go back to your room tomorrow morning. Your family’s shield is over there—don't forget to take it with you.”
“...Um, will I still be allowed to participate in the training camp?”
“After an injury like that? You really don't learn, do you? Well, as a professional, I don't have a specific reason to stop you. You can make that call yourself tomorrow. Now, get some sleep.”
With that, the teacher turned and left.
Learn my lesson? Hardly, Klaus thought. I have to become stronger—
His heart felt as though it would burst with the sheer weight of his frustration.
That mock battle had been a disaster from start to finish. From the very first time their blades clashed, he had realized he was inferior to Albert. That realization alone had been a devastating blow.
Klaus had absolute confidence in his swordsmanship. He had inherited the talent of his father—the current Knights Order Captain and a master in his own right—and had been hailed as a child prodigy since he first picked up a blade. He didn't have a lick of talent for any magic besides body reinforcement, but he hadn't cared.
He had decided that the sword was his life.
Because of that, he refused to lose to anyone on the path of the sword—especially not to a peer who split his time between martial arts and magic.
And yet, Albert’s technique was superior to his own, despite Klaus having sacrificed everything else for his craft.
Refusing to accept defeat, Klaus had unleashed the power of his family heirloom, Tria Petal, determined to win at any cost. A victory was a victory. To a man who lived for the struggle, the result was the only thing that mattered. He could worry about his shortcomings after the win.
But Albert had surpassed even that trump card.
There were very few people who could make Klaus feel so utterly outclassed while he was using the Shield Tria Petal. His father was one, along with a handful of elite knights his father respected.
In fact, he had never felt so completely overwhelmed in his entire life.
His desperate attempt at defense had been nothing more than a final, pathetic stand for his pride—a pride that refused to acknowledge the reality of the situation.
But Albert had crushed even that meager resistance. He had quite literally smashed Klaus’s body to pieces.
Klaus didn't even want to remember the details. Because his body was so miraculously free of pain, he wanted to believe it had all been a nightmare. But his soul remembered.
Was that truly the strength of a human?
To Klaus, his father had always been the pinnacle of strength. His father’s technique and power were leagues beyond his own. And yet, Klaus was certain of one thing.
Even his father couldn't have beaten that version of Albert.
Klaus felt a mixture of shock and profound humiliation that someone his own age had already reached such a level.
To lose... to someone from my own generation!
And to lose so pathetically. To be trampled by Albert von Kronstadt, a man known only for being a degenerate, delinquent noble!
For Klaus, this reality shook the very foundation of his self-worth.
I will win next time. I have to.
He couldn't afford to be second best in swordsmanship. If he lost in magic and in the sword, then what value did he have left?
That was why he was so determined to return to the camp. He couldn't miss any opportunity to grow. But even that wouldn't be enough.
To surpass Albert, effort alone won't cut it.
Albert would be training just as hard. As the one who was lagging behind, Klaus needed something more.
He had heard whispers of "Forbidden Medicine." Substances that could erase fatigue to allow for endless training, or drugs that could force the body to develop muscle mass far beyond human limits.
...It might not be so bad to try them.
He had never considered such a thing before. But to defeat a monster like Albert, "honorable methods" were useless.
If this had been a normal loss, he might have eventually moved past it. But having his pride as an elite so ruthlessly ground into the dirt had caused something in Klaus’s mind to snap. The crushing defeat—a defeat he shouldn't have even survived—was too vivid. It had altered his entire worldview.
Vengeful delusions and a singular obsession now reigned over his mind.
I’ll get stronger. I’ll get stronger. I’ll get stronger... Albert, I will surpass you! That pain—this humiliation! I’ll make you taste every bit of it!
He was prepared to do anything to hone himself. And if that still wasn't enough...
Klaus turned his gaze toward the Winterfeldt heirloom, Tria Petal, leaning against the wall.
On the day the shield was entrusted to him, his father had explained the "three petals" of reinforcement, but he had also mentioned a fourth and fifth. At the time, his father’s warning had been stern.
“I will never permit you to draw out the power of the fourth and fifth petals. Keep that in mind.”
To surpass Albert, Klaus realized he would have to break that taboo.
Father, this is to protect my pride. Please understand.
No matter the cost, Klaus swore to himself that he would surpass Albert von Kronstadt.