Louis woke to a steady knock at the door.
He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds before speaking, his voice low and hoarse from sleep.
"…So this really isn't a dream."
The words left his mouth plainly. No disbelief. Just acknowledgment.
Another knock followed, lighter this time.
"Come in," he said.
The door opened, and a maid stepped inside with practiced grace. She bowed, hands folded neatly in front of her.
"Good morning, Sir Louis. Breakfast has been prepared."
He pushed himself up into a sitting position, rubbing his face once before nodding.
"I understand. Please wait outside. I'll be ready shortly."
The reply came easily—formal, courteous, exactly the kind of response expected within palace walls. The maid bowed again and exited without a word.
Louis stood and made his way into the bathroom.
It was… modest.
Clean, well-kept, clearly maintained—but not extravagant. No gilded mirrors, no excessive ornamentation. Just stone, polished wood, warm water that came when called. Not rushed, not run-down, but functional in a way that felt deliberate.
Efficient, he noted.
When he finished, he stepped back into the room and opened the wardrobe.
Inside were neatly arranged clothes—simple, well-tailored, and unmistakably chosen with care. Not flashy. Not noble attire. But decent. Clean lines.
"…They're actually thinking about this," he muttered.
He dressed, adjusted the collar, and stepped out into the hall where the maid waited. This one was different.
He noticed immediately.
So they had switched attendants.
His mind drifted—briefly—to what had happened the night before. The image surfaced, uninvited… then he pushed it aside just as quickly.
No need to dwell on it.
The maid led him through the corridors, their footsteps echoing softly against stone. The palace was already awake—servants moving with purpose, guards standing alert, the quiet hum of order settling in.
They reached the dining hall.
Inside, seven others were already seated.
Louis paused for a moment, scanning the room before choosing a seat—not too close to the front, not tucked away either.
By the time everyone had arrived, Louis had already committed their faces to memory.
Some looked tired—dark circles beneath their eyes, shoulders slightly slumped—but there was a strange light to them as well. Relief, perhaps. Or acceptance. It didn't take much effort to guess that a few of them had embraced the Empire's hospitality without much resistance.
Others were harder to read.
Their expressions were blank, guarded. Not hostile—just closed. People who were still measuring the room, the Empire, and everyone in it.
Breakfast was served shortly after.
Louis ate quietly, noting the taste with mild surprise. It was good. Properly prepared. Not extravagant, but balanced and filling.
Not what I expected from a world that leans so heavily on magic, he thought.
If anything, the meal reinforced something he'd been noticing since yesterday.
They didn't rely solely on magic.
Magic existed, yes—but it wasn't a crutch. This world still valued structure, labor, and skill. The food tasted like it came from real kitchens, prepared by real hands—not conjured out of thin air.
When the servants returned to clear the table, the atmosphere subtly shifted.
Conversations looked like they were about to start—glances exchanged, lips parting—
—but before anyone could speak, the doors opened.
A knight walked in.
Not the one they were used to.
This man had brown hair, neatly kept, and carried himself with an unmistakable air of confidence. Not arrogance. Leadership. The kind that came from being obeyed without needing to raise one's voice.
He stopped a few steps inside the hall.
Standing beside him was a woman.
Her armor marked her immediately—a paladin. Clean lines, reinforced plating, symbols etched with purpose rather than decoration. From her posture alone, it was clear she was accustomed to standing at the front. Behind them stood two others. Priests, most likely.
So that's how today's going to start, he thought.
At first, the knight's approach set everyone on edge.
His expression was stern—sharp eyes, rigid posture, the kind of face that looked like it belonged to someone about to announce punishment rather than pleasantries. A few of the summoned stiffened unconsciously. One or two straightened in their seats.
Then he stopped in front of them.
And laughed.
A loud, unrestrained laugh that shattered the tension instantly.
"Relax," he said, waving a hand as if brushing the atmosphere aside. "I'm not here to drag anyone off, and I'm definitely not here for anything nefarious."
A few breaths were released. Someone chuckled awkwardly.
The knight straightened, placing a fist over his chest.
"Name's Luke. Luke Redfox."
Louis' eyes flicked open instinctively.
The name appeared—briefly—on his status overlay.
Luke Red Fox
Level: 112
Title: Captain of the 2nd Training Division
Nothing else showed.
No stats. No skills.
Just the essentials.
Luke continued, clearly enjoying the moment. "I'm the captain in charge of training new recruits within the castle. If you're staying here, odds are you'll be seeing my face a lot."
He grinned, sharp and confident.
"As for my class—" he tapped the metal plate over his chest, "—I'm a Vanguard Knight."
A few brows furrowed.
Luke explained easily. "Self-enhancement focused. I take the front, boost my body, draw attention, break formations. Everyone else does their job behind me."
Louis understood immediately.
A knight designed to carry the team forward.
From the way Luke stood—relaxed yet grounded—it wasn't hard to believe he lived up to it.
"Some of my trainees say I'm strict," Luke added casually. "Others say I'm cruel."
His grin widened.
"But they all get stronger. And most of them stay alive. So I'd like to think I'm doing something right."
That, more than anything else, told Louis what kind of man he was.
Luke glanced around the table. "Honestly? I was hoping to drag you all straight to the training grounds this morning. No better way to wake up than pain."
A few people paled.
"But—" he said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the woman beside him, "—the Church of Light disagreed."
The paladin stepped forward.
Her presence was calm, commanding in a different way than Luke's. Where he pressed forward, she stood firm—unyielding, composed.
"Today will not involve training," she said evenly. "You will first be given foundational knowledge of this world and the continent you now stand upon."
She turned slightly, indicating the two priests behind her, then continued.
"You will be instructed by one of the castle's archmages."
Luke sighed theatrically. "See? Responsibility before bruises."
Then he looked back at them, eyes sharp but amused.
"Don't get too comfortable, though. Training starts soon."
Louis leaned back slightly in his chair.
So today is orientation, he thought.