"And how do you survive an aura attack?" Torat said, speaking to a room full of young adults. The oldest wasn't more than twenty-five years of age.

A room full of over twenty Order recruits stared silently at him. No answer came. Torat knew for a fact that all twenty of them knew the answer to the question. He'd taught them this enough times to expect results.

One of them raised her hand. She had copper colored hair, freckles, and pink eyes popular to the southern region of Sentic where the Eliorphatic plague of almost a century ago had almost wiped out the town. Even to this day, the people from there often had the rare mutation of pink eyes.

"Yes, Felora," he said with a nod.

Felora got to her feet, rising from her chair. "Without being at level fifty?" she asked.

Torat held back a sigh. "Are any of you at level fifty?"

Felora looked around at her fellow recruits before returning her attention to him with a shake of her head. "No, sir."

"The question was 'how do you survive an aura attack?'" Torat clarified. "You, at your level, Felora."

The young lady blushed when he mentioned her name. It was a slight thing, almost forgettable. Torat did not miss it, but he was more than happy to forget it.

When the blush was gone, Felora looked down and away. Torat read the expression for what it was.

"Sit down, child. You do not know the answer." This time, he did sigh. Turning away, he took a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "Show of hands if you can answer the question."

When he turned back to the room, no hands were up.

Aldwin, the oldest of them, but not the highest in level kept his eyes down. Not even the acclaimed genius of the class, Femi, had a reaction.

It was appalling. If the recruits that he was directly in charge of showed a display like this, he would be too embarrassed to face any of the other instructors.

What has instructor Elfworth been teaching you idiots.

"Before any of you gained your interface, show with a raised hand if you ever picked anything heavy."

All hands shot up, one for each recruit.

"Good," Torat noted. At least we can get somewhere. "And how many of you remember how it felt to lift something heavy before your interfaces?"

Only three hands were left in the air.

Torat could almost argue that this was the dumbest class of Order recruits that he had ever come across. Sadly, he couldn't say so for a fact. Eight years ago, there had been a class so bad, he had recommended their mass expulsion from the Order.

The [Master of the Order] had laughed before telling him to assist with their training. As of this moment, only eight percent of them were still alive and out in the field. One of the worst numbers in their short time as actual field agents.

"Alright, drop your hands," he instructed them, folding his arms over his chest. "Those that remember how it felt would remember that they had to hold their breaths and tighten their cores to lift heavy things properly. It is your body reacting to the weight of it. An aura attack is like a physical thing. It is the weight of the mana in the air becoming too heavy for you."

"Why?" one of the recruits asked.

Torat didn't even bother picking out who it was as he answered. "Because an aura attack is simply the presence of mana of a different level. The higher a person's level, the… let's use the word 'heavier' their mana is. There are other factors that add to the weight of mana, but that is a different subject entirely. When you stand in the presence of someone else's aura, you are forced to carry the weight of your mana and theirs. For those who haven't reached level fifty, it is like asking an infant to carry the weight of a toddler—they would not even know how to begin."

He looked across the room, made sure they were listening. "Ergo, if you find yourself under the pressure of an aura attack, react as you would under the weight of something heavy—hold your breath, tighten your core, and outlast the attack."

"And we will survive?" Felora asked.

Torat chuckled mirthlessly. "No. You will inevitably die. But you will die slower. And dying slower gives you a chance at living. But just remember that aura attacks are not invincible. They are not certain death. Unless the aura user is far more powerful than you are and wishes to kill you. A person like you can only hold their breath for so long, after all."

"What if we can hold our breaths for a very long time?" Dolnuit, a boy around the age of nineteen, asked.

"Then you can contend with getting crushed under the weight of the aura."

All heads turned to the entrance of the room, while Torat bowed his head in exasperation.

"Good day, Master," he greeted with a barely withheld sigh.

The [Master of the Order] strolled into the room with a cheery smile on his face. Standing before Torat, he assumed a stern stance.

"It is Lord Commander of the fifth battalion to you."

Torat looked past him to take in the confused expressions on the faces of the recruits. To their commendation, they were all on their feet now, standing in show of respect to the master's arrival.

Moving his attention back to the Master, Torat said in a low voice, "No, it's not."

"You're no fun," the [Master of the Order] pouted.

Torat wondered how the man who led the Order could be so childish sometimes. If he didn't know that the man was capable of killing a dragon on his own, it would be easy to forget just how strong he was.

"Anyway," the [Master of the Order] continued. "I have a pressing matter to discuss with you."

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"You could've summoned me," Torat pointed out in futility.

The man gave him a wide, impish smile. "And where's the fun in that? I'm old. I should stretch my legs more."

With a sigh, Torat dismissed the class with a wave of his hand. "Class dismissed."

"Sit." The [Master of the Order] waved his hand in the opposite direction, not even looking back.

All the recruits dropped down to their chairs immediately.

The [Master of the Order] smiled at Torat. "Power's so fun," he said like an excited child. "Don't you think so?"

Torat was not interested in a conversation about the beauties of power.

"Is this something about the children?" he asked.

The [Master of the Order] shook his head. "Nope."

"Then why are we keeping them?"

"Witnesses?"

Torat looked at the Master through narrowed lids. "What do we need witnesses for?"

"To stop you from killing me?"

Torat gritted his teeth. "And why would I want to try to kill you?"

"Just because?"

Unable to control his exasperation, he rubbed his forehead with thumb and forefinger. "What is happening? What did you do?"

There were often expensive pranks the recruits tended to play on each other that had led to a handful of fights here and there with every new batch of recruits. What the recruits did not know was that, for many years, the man standing right in front of Torat was responsible for more than half of those expensive pranks.

Being the second in command of the Order was like being the babysitter to the most powerful man-child in Nastild.

The [Master of the Order] sighed. "Not what I have done, but what the Order is about to do."

"Tell me we are not going to war," Torat begged.

"Even better." The [Master of the Order] spun on his heel and faced the class. "Who here knows what the [Sight-bound] decree is?"

All hands went up, recruits more than eager to impress the head of the Order and gain his recognition.

"You, yellow bottom." The [Master of the Order] pointed.

Three recruits pointed at themselves. The [Master of the Order] did not confirm which one. He simply stood still, hand held out, finger pointing until all three of them got up.

The one on his far right was the first to speak.

"The [Sight-bound] decree is a perk that comes with the monarch title of [King] or [Queen]," he said in a thick Seluvian accent that he would have to learn to hide. "It allows the monarch to punish anyone affiliated with their kingdom of rule with a sentence that allows any and everyone interested and capable to do the sightbound harm."

"However," the young man on the right took over, "the decree does not allow another person the right to kill the sight-bound lest the punishment be passed on to them."

The [Master of the Order] clapped excitedly. "You both get fifty marks to be shared equally between the both of you." He turned to Torat. "Give each boy twenty-five marks. Give the one in the middle five marks for participation."

Torat pressed his lips into a thin line. "We do not use a mark or point system, Master."

"Oh." The [Master of the Order] paused. "That's unfortunate. Anyway," he turned back to the class. "You both, together, are only partially correct."

That got a puzzled look from everyone present. Torat wasn't surprised.

The [Sight-bound] decree was one of the oldest monarch perks in existence, spanning as old as when the two worlds of Nastild were one. However, an important bit of knowledge had actually been lost to time. That loss was an intentional act.

The true nature of the [Sight-bound] decree was more than what people knew.

"Let me make one slight correction," the [Master of the Order] said, his tone shifting into something serious. "The [Sight-bound] decree does not pass on to whoever kills the sightbound. It only happens, if the monarch in question adds that specific clause to the decree. It is used to prevent people from killing others. In its true nature, the [Sight-bound] decree is simply used to grant the citizens of the kingdom the right to harm the culprit in place of the monarch. It puts the culprit at the mercy of the people. Even death is allowed—the level gains anyone's to claim."

There were slight murmurs through the class that hushed very quickly.

Torat couldn't blame them. The one sin on Nastild was in the killing of fellow humans. You only killed if you did not have any other option of survival. The level gain was too high and was therefore a motivation to kill more.

"Then why does everyone know that you can't kill a sight-bound?" Felora asked.

"It is the same way everyone knows not to enter a forbidden forest even though they have never entered it," the [Master of the Order] said. "Because everyone has told them not to. One monarch tells their heir that this clause of the [Sight-bound] decree is important for this reason, and the heir does the same to their heir until the people ask after many generations and they say that it is simply how the system is designed."

"Not everyone with the monarch title inherits it," Felora pointed out.

It was true, Torat acknowledged. But that was why different types of monsters exist.

"When someone inherits the title of monarch," Torat said, "there is always someone present to let them know how it should be done. How things work."

Felora looked around. Her next question echoed the minds of the other recruits. "Who?"

"Us."

"The [Sight-bound] decree is something that can be abused by its wielder, justifying deaths in droves. You don't even have to be guilty of the crimes levied against you to be bound by it. If you looked at a monarch wrong, they could bind you just because." The [Master of the Order]'s expression hardened suddenly. "In a time too long ago, monarchs abused it. Killed people endlessly. It was put to a stop by threat of bloodline. Years passed and people had no idea why it changed. No monarch used it in that way again."

This was a piece of information that the students present were not qualified to have. They were not supposed to be aware of this.

Torat shook his head in dismay as realization came to him. "Until now," he said quietly.

The [Master of the Order] turned to him, expression empty. "Yes, Tarot," he said. "Until now."

Torat met his gaze. "Dismiss them."

The [Master of the Order] locked eyes with him for a while before raising his hand and waving the recruits away.

"You are dismissed," he said, voice hard.

The recruits must've noted the steel in his voice, because they trooped out very quickly.

It wasn't until they were finally alone that Torat spoke again.

"The punishment for the crime of using the decree in its original form is death," he said. "Are we to kill a king or a queen?"

"A king."

"Does the king know the crime and its punishment?"

"He inherited the throne. He knows not to do it. He knows the moral reason for why he should not do it. He does not know the actual reason for why he should not do it. Most monarchs do not."

"Because good should not be done because of fear of the consequences of doing bad but for the ethics of doing good."

The [Master of the Order] nodded.

"I still think that we should start telling the monarchs who do not inherit the title why exactly they should not use the decree that way," Torat said. "It will serve them better."

The Master shook his head. "We leave them in the dark. There is a reason for it."

"A reason you chose."

"A reason I chose."

Torat shook his head. "War or assassination?"

"Send a level eighty-two for an assassination task." The Master paused, shook his head. "Send Fenebat."

Torat frowned at that. Fenebat was a problematic Order agent. He was careless and reckless. He was a problem in the simplest form of the word.

He was also currently close to the kingdom of Bandiv.

The moment he pieced it together, Torat's attention sharpened. "The monarchs closest to him are all over level two hundred. King and Queen both."

The Master nodded. "I am aware."

"Bandiv is to be our target?"

The Master nodded once more.

Torat frowned. "Is it the Queen? The last of the human dragon riders?"

"No. Send Fenebat. He will be killed in action, it is inevitable."

"One does not simply kill an agent of the Order, knowing who they are," Torat pointed out. "And Fenebat will have to inform his target of the reason for their demise."

"He will," the Master agreed. "And after he has, he will still die."

"Why?"

"Because the monarch in question is king Brandis, fourth of his name, and he is currently under the protection of a [Sage]."

"We have an agreement with the [Sage]s."

The [Master of the Order] rounded on Torat like a whirlwind. "NONE IS ABOVE THE LAW!!!"

Torat shrunk slightly away in response.

The Master met his gaze, calmed himself a little. "None," he said in a quieter voice. "Brandis has broken a law older than his bloodline. For that, his life is forfeit."

Torat did his best to collect himself in the presence of a being he had once watched kill a dragon. "But Fenebat will die first."

"Yes." The Master nodded. "He will."

"And then there will be war."

"There will." The [Master of the Order] turned and walked away.

"We will go to war with a [Sage]."

"None is above the laws of the Order, Torat," the Master said as he walked out of the room. "Be they [Sage]… or gods."

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