The stands began emptying, spectators filing out in stunned silence as attendants entered the arena to clean up what remained of Professor Shawe. Blood soaked into the sand as they worked, creating dark patterns across the battlefield.

I retracted my tendrils beneath my robes and moved with mechanical precision toward Headmaster Reins before he could depart. The golden dragon heads remained hidden, though their presence was unmistakable in the way my white and red robes shifted unnaturally.

Headmaster Reins, I called. Could I have a word?

Reins turned, his white armor catching the morning light. "Certainly, Widow. Follow me."

He led me to the preparation rooms beneath the stands, a space filled with racks of practice weapons and discarded armor pieces. The door closed behind us with a heavy thud, sealing us away from prying eyes and ears.

"What can I do for our newest executioner?" Reins asked, his smile never wavering.

I studied him, my mechanical systems detecting no change in his heartbeat or temperature. He was perfectly at ease standing before someone who had just decapitated a colleague.

You knew, I stated flatly. You knew Shawe sabotaged the teleportation circle. You knew he was responsible for trapping us in the deep levels.

Reins's smile widened. "Yes."

The simplicity of his admission caught me off guard. I'd expected denial, evasion, not immediate confirmation.

And yet you did nothing, I continued. You let him walk free after he caused Langdon's death.

"I did something quite effective," he countered, leaning against a weapon rack. "I arranged for the aggrieved party to mete out justice personally. Much more satisfying than administrative punishment, wouldn't you agree?"

My auric steel fingers tightened into a fist. You wanted me to kill him.

"And you did." He nodded approvingly. "Tell me, Widow. Didn't you feel even a flicker of satisfaction when your blade pierced his chest? When your magnificent creation tore his head from his shoulders?"

I remained silent, mentally cycling through my memory of the execution. The resistance of flesh giving way to my blade. The sound of vertebrae separating as my tendril twisted.

Yes, I finally admitted. I felt... satisfaction. But I shouldn't have.

Reins snorted. "Why ever not? Shawe was vermin. He killed promising students through negligence and malice. He tried to murder you and your friends. He's responsible for Langdon Hassel's death. Of course you felt pleasure in killing him, it's only natural."

He stepped closer, his white beard nearly touching my golden mask. "You're a warrior, Widow. Killing is what we do."

No, I countered. Protecting people is what I do. Killing is merely a consequence when necessary.

Laughter erupted from Reins, echoing off the stone walls. "How can someone so promising be so naïve?" He shook his head. "You have it backwards. Killing is a warrior's primary purpose, our function. Protection of the innocent is merely a fortunate side benefit of slaughtering one's enemies."

His words triggered something within me; a memory fragment of another warrior in white armor, speaking similar sentiments from a battlefield littered with bodies. Not Reins, but someone from before... someone whose name danced just beyond my grasp. Someone I once… loved?

"Don't ever feel sorry for these things, Vardin," he told me. "Don't forget that they are our enemy. By killing them, we make our people safe."

"I wouldn't dwell on such things right now," Kalder interrupted, his voice cutting through the fragmented vision. "You should be proud, Widow. You're the first student in the history of the War Academy to best an instructor in a duel."

I crossed my arms, the mechanical joints in my arm whirring softly. If Shawe was such a foul person, why did you keep him around to teach?

Kalder shrugged, his white armor catching the light. "He was a good teacher."

I stared at him, my silence conveying my astonishment more effectively than words could.

"Allow me to correct myself," he said with a chuckle. "Shawe was an awful teacher, but good at teaching lessons. He showed students what not to become. He gave them an enemy to work against, an obstacle to overcome." Kalder gestured expansively. "With Shawe and others like him in positions of power, we create the perfect environment to hone strong, worthy warriors. Anyone who perseveres and thrives in such an environment is destined to overcome any adversity." He pointed at me. "Like you."

That reasoning makes no sense, I replied, my mechanical fingers flexing with frustration. You're sacrificing the promise of many good warriors for the chance at producing a few excellent ones.

Confusion crossed Kalder's face, his brow furrowing beneath his white hair. "You have strange ideas, Widow."

He stepped closer, looming over me despite my mechanical frame's height. "War is never won by the mediocre. A hundred level 10 warriors cannot stand against one level 50. In the entire known history of the human race, the army with the most powerful, highest-level warrior is the one that wins." His voice grew passionate, almost reverent. "Yes, lower-level fodder is needed to secure borders and maintain order, but only the few powerful warriors truly decide victory on the battlefield."

The certainty in his voice bothered me. Something about his reasoning felt fundamentally wrong, yet I couldn't articulate why. Images flashed through my consciousness: of formations of soldiers moving in perfect unison, their combined strength greater than any individual warrior. But then again, those recollections belonged to a world where the system didn't exist. Had combat tactics under this absurd framework evolved so dramatically since my days as Vardin?

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Kalder's smile never faltered as he studied me. "You still don't believe me. I can see it in your posture."

I remained silent, my mechanical body perfectly still.

He sighed, folding his arms across his white-armored chest. "Tell me, Widow, in the eight hundred plus years of the War Academy's existence, how many warriors have reached level one hundred?"

The question surprised me, but I had received the answer from Reins himself during the entrance ceremony.

Thirty-seven, I replied.

"Correct." Kalder nodded approvingly. "And how many of those thirty-seven have come about during my tenure as headmaster of the Academy?"

I hesitated. I don't know that information.

"Five." His voice carried unmistakable pride. "Five of my students have reached level one hundred, out of thirty-seven in the entirety of known history." He spread his hands. "The results speak for themselves. I must be doing something right."

I frowned, my mind cycling through potential responses but finding none satisfactory. The statistics were impressive, but did they justify his methods? The suffering of countless students? Langdon's death?

Kalder patted my shoulder, his hand heavy against my frame. "Don't worry. When I was young, I was confused as well about the ways of the world."

He turned, pacing the small room with measured steps. "Did you know I once belonged to a prestigious family, the youngest son of a duke. My father disowned me, threw me out for being useless." His voice hardened. "I spent many years wallowing in drudgery and filth."

He stopped, looking upward as if seeing something beyond the ceiling. "But then I heard the voice of Kaldos, the God of War himself." His expression softened into reverence. "He told me I was worthless now, but I didn't have to be. I could be of great use to humanity if I only believed."

My ears detected no deception in his voice; he truly believed he'd communicated with a deity.

"And so, I took up my sword once more and fought," Kalder continued. "I joined a mercenary company, fought in any war or battle I could find. I honed my strength in the Hellzones, defeated monsters and men alike."

He gestured to the arena beyond the walls. "I attended this very Academy, and my strength only grew. I became a famous adventurer and slew an Apocalyptic Dragon single-handedly; the only human in history who has ever done so."

Pride radiated from him as he spoke, his chest expanding beneath his armor.

"I thought I had done all I could in life, but then I heard Kaldos' voice once more." His eyes gleamed with fervor. "He told me my work was not done, that my duty was now to teach coming generations about the beauty of warfare and battle."

Kalder straightened to his full height, imposing even to my mechanical frame. "So I became Headmaster of the Academy of War, on the behest of the god Kaldos himself."

The passion in his voice was undeniable. Whether or not he'd truly heard a god's voice, he believed it with every fiber of his being. This wasn't mere ambition or cruelty driving his methods; it was genuine religious conviction.

The beauty of warfare, I repeated, the phrase striking me as fundamentally wrong. Is that how you see it? As beautiful?

"Of course!" Kalder exclaimed, his voice echoing off the stone walls with genuine joy. His weathered face lit up like a child witnessing their first festival. "War is the most beautiful thing in existence!"

I remained motionless, my mechanical body betraying none of the confusion his statement triggered in my mind.

"Think about it, Widow," he continued, pacing with animated gestures. "Everything humans truly value stems from conflict. Our greatest sports? Simulations of battle. Our most cherished games? Strategic warfare in miniature. The stories that move us to tears, the songs that stir our hearts, the art that adorns our greatest halls: all celebrate warriors and their conquests."

His passion was palpable, radiating from him in waves that even my blind eyes could detect. This wasn't mere rhetoric; he believed every word with absolute conviction.

"War separates the worthy from the unworthy. It reveals truth in its purest form." He struck his armored chest. "There is no greater honesty than when two warriors face each other, knowing only one will walk away."

I tilted my head. You genuinely believe cruelty creates strength.

"Not cruelty; pressure." He stopped pacing and faced me directly. "Let me tell you something I've never shared with a student before."

Kalder's voice softened, the fervor giving way to something more contemplative. "As I told you, my father disowned me when I was seventeen. He called me worthless, then had the guards throw me out with nothing but the clothes on my back."

I nodded, hiding my reaction as he continued.

"Years later, after I'd made my name, slain my dragon, and earned my titles, I returned to his deathbed." A distant look crossed his face. "I went there intending to throw my accomplishments in his face, to make him admit how wrong he'd been about me."

Kalder's hands clasped behind his back as he stared at nothing, lost in memory.

"But when I entered that room and saw him: frail, withered, barely able to lift his head; well, something unexpected happened." His voice grew quieter. "He looked at me with such... pride. Such absolute, unconditional pride."

A heavy silence filled the room before he continued.

"That's when I understood. He hadn't cast me out from hatred. He'd done it out of love." Kalder's eyes refocused on me. "He knew I would never become what I could be while cushioned by wealth and privilege. The only path to my potential lay through hardship."

I processed his words, comparing them against what I knew of human relationships. It seemed a twisted form of affection, yet I couldn't dismiss the genuine belief in his voice.

"That's why I do what I do, Widow." Kalder stepped closer, placing a hand on my mechanical shoulder. "I love my students, all of them. Monster, human, noble, commoner; it makes no difference. I want each of you to become the strongest version of yourself possible."

His eyes met my mask, golden and intense with absolute certainty. "And like my father showed his love by casting me out, I show mine by creating an environment that forces greatness from those strong enough to endure it."

The disturbing part was that I believed him. This man genuinely loved his students. He just expressed that love through methods most would consider monstrous. In his mind, the deaths, the suffering, the discrimination; all were necessary components of forging the strongest warriors possible.

How do you argue with someone whose cruelty stems from a place of such sincere affection?

I… see, I told him, my voice resonating in his mind through Mind Speech.

Kalder's expression brightened, taking my words as agreement rather than acknowledgment. I knew then that I would never truly reach this man. His worldview was too rigid, his convictions too absolute. Whether his philosophy represented madness or genius wasn't for me to determine. All I could say with certainty was that his belief in his methods was unshakable, and no argument I could make would dissuade him.

"You see it now," he said, nodding with satisfaction, "but you'll understand it fully later, when you've walked further down the warrior's path." He clasped my shoulder again, the gesture almost paternal. "Congratulations again on your victory today. The first student to defeat an instructor! It's truly remarkable."

He turned toward the door, his white armor catching the torchlight. "I have duties to attend to. We'll speak again soon, Widow."

I watched him leave, the door closing behind his confident stride. Something uncomfortable settled in my mechanical chest, a strange mix of emotions I couldn't properly name. Envy, perhaps. Kalder Reins possessed something I lacked: absolute conviction. He moved through the world unburdened by doubt, secure in the knowledge that his actions were justified, even righteous.

My existence, by contrast, was riddled with uncertainty. Who was I? What fragments of the man named Vardin resided within me? Was I truly him? What purpose should I serve in this world? These questions haunted me daily, while Kalder lived free from such burdens.

Yet beneath that envy lay something else: pity. For all his strength and certainty, Kalder would never know growth through self-questioning. He would never experience the revelation that comes from recognizing one's own errors. He would walk through life believing himself eternally correct, even when evidence suggested otherwise.

In that moment, I realized something important about conviction: its strength could also be its greatest weakness. My doubts and questions might burden me, but they also kept me adaptable, open to change. Perhaps that represented its own kind of strength. One Kalder, for all his power, would never know.

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