# THE BORED GOD

## Chapter 1.2: The Warriors' Assembly

The Grand Hall buzzed with life. Tall marble columns reached up to the high ceiling.

Magic crystals hung above, casting warm light on the crowd below.

Along the walls, colorful banners showed the rankings of famous warriors. These ranks changed often. Some warriors moved up, while others fell down.

The best fighters in the land gathered here. Each one hoped to climb higher in the rankings.

Their whispers and footsteps echoed through the vast space. Everyone waited to see who would rise to glory today.

Commander Elena Vale, fourth Rank Elite warrior and head of ceremonies, stood at the podium with perfect posture and a carefully practiced smile. Her voice rang through the hall, carrying the weight of her authority.

"Today, we celebrate the advancement of three warriors to the elite ranks. Their dedication to our system, their unwavering—"

A loud yawn interrupted her speech.

All heads turned toward the source: a plain-looking man in a simple white tunic and loose pants, who had somehow wandered onto the main floor. He scratched his head, looking around with mild confusion.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice carrying a hint of boredom, "but is there a cafeteria around here? I've been walking for hours."

Elena's perfect smile cracked slightly. "Sir, this is a restricted ceremony. How did you even get past the guards?"

"Oh, there were guards?" The man tilted his head. "I just walked in through the door."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. The elite warriors' faces darkened at this breach of protocol.

Commander Voss, the second highest-ranked elite warrior present, rose from his seat. His ceremonial armor gleamed as he approached the stranger, power radiating from each step.

"You dare interrupt our sacred ceremony?" Voss's voice thundered. "State your name and rank!"

The stranger blinked slowly. "Kasian. No rank. Speaking of rank, something smells rank in here. Too many perfumes maybe?"

Several gasps echoed through the hall. A young warrior in the front row barely suppressed a laugh, earning him glares from his seniors.

Voss's face reddened. "You mock our traditions? Perhaps a demonstration of our power will teach you respect!" He raised his hand, gathering energy for his signature technique.

Kasian's expression didn't change. "Oh? Are you actually strong?"

The attack came without warning – a blast of concentrated force that could shatter stone. Several spectators screamed as the energy went wide, heading straight for a group of lower-ranked warriors.

Kasian sighed, reached out with one hand, and caught the energy like someone catching a gently thrown ball. He looked at it with mild interest, then crushed it between his fingers.

"Hm. Not as strong as I hoped." He turned back to Elena. "About that cafeteria?"

The hall fell silent. Voss stood frozen, his perfect composure shattered. The young warrior who had laughed earlier was now leaning forward, eyes wide with fascination.

Elena cleared her throat, professional mask slipping. "The... the cafeteria is down the left corridor."

"Thanks." Kasian started walking, then paused. "Oh, and sorry about interrupting your thing. Carry on with the..." he waved his hand vaguely, "whatever it was."

As he left, the great hall erupted into chaos. Warriors debated the spectacle, politicians whispered frantically, and the ceremony was left to fade into oblivion.

The young warrior who had laughed slipped away from his seat, following Kasian's path. His name was Lei Ming, and he had just witnessed something that would change his life forever.

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## The Unwanted Disciple

The Association's cafeteria stood in in complete contrast to the opulent ceremony hall. Simple wooden tables lined the room, most empty now during the ceremony. Kasian sat alone, contemplating a bowl of noodles with more interest than he'd shown in any of the warriors.

Lei Ming approached, barely containing his excitement. "Master! My name is Lei Ming. Please accept me as your disciple!"

Kasian slurped his noodles. "No."

"But what you did back there was incredible! You must teach me!"

"Listen, uh..." Kasian squinted at him. "...Lei Bing?"

"Lei Ming."

"Right, Lei Thing. I'm not teaching anyone. I'm just looking for a good fight." He focused back on his noodles. "These are pretty good though. Want some?"

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Lei Ming sat down uninvited. "I'll do anything to learn from you. The Association's system is broken. The higher ranks care more about politics than true strength. But you – you showed real power!"

"Mm," Kasian responded, clearly more interested in his meal. "The secret to power is probably just doing basic training every day. Nothing special."

"Basic... training?"

"Push-ups, sit-ups, that kind of thing." Kasian shrugged. "Also, maybe don't skip breakfast."

Lei Ming's face scrunched in confusion. "You're saying you gained that kind of power from basic exercises?"

"Who knows?" Kasian stood up, bowl empty. "Thanks for the company, Lei Ping."

"It's Lei Ming! And I won't give up! I'll follow you until you agree to teach me!"

Kasian paused at the door. "Kid, chasing strength like that... it's meaningless. True strength is—" A loud rumble interrupted him. "Oh. Still hungry. Is there another cafeteria around here?"

He walked out, leaving Lei Ming staring after him, torn between frustration and fascination.

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#### The Warrior Class System

---

Kasian leaned against a stone column in the Association’s main hall, arms crossed, watching the passing crowd with a faint, detached interest.

Every so often, warriors with various badges and insignias strutted by, carrying themselves with a kind of exaggerated self-importance that was hard to miss. Each one seemed convinced their position made them… special.

It didn’t take long for someone to notice him standing there, looking unbothered and rankless. An older warrior with a thick, braided beard and a chest full of medallions sauntered over, eyeing Kasian with a mix of curiosity and disdain. The man wore a blue sash around his waist. It showed he was a middle-ranked fighter. He tugged at his sash before speaking, as if the sash itself had some magical significance. His eyes sized up Kasian.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” he said, crossing his arms in a posture that mirrored Kasian’s. “Doesn’t seem like they’ve assigned you a rank yet.”

Kasian shrugged. “Haven’t gotten around to it. Not that I care much.”

The veteran’s eyebrows shot up, clearly taken aback. “Not… interested in your rank? That’s a first.” He chuckled, as though Kasian had made some clever joke. “Name’s Garrick, Rank 7 Elite. And if you don’t care about rank, well, you’re probably not familiar with how things work around here.”

Kasian shrugged again, making a vague gesture. “I’m listening.”

Garrick launched into his explanation with obvious pride. “The Warrior and Mercenaries Association isn’t some loose gathering of fighters, you know. We’re structured, disciplined. Rankings keep things organized, clear. Everyone’s assigned a place based on skill, achievements, and reputation. Keeps order among us, keeps the pecking order in check.”

He gestured to the hall around them, his voice lowering as if imparting a grand secret. “There are nine official ranks. The lowest is Novice, then Apprentice, Specialist, Veteran, Champion, and so on up to Grandmaster. Rank isn’t just about strength; it’s about proving yourself, fighting against rivals, earning the respect of the Association’s higher-ups.”

Kasian observed Garrick’s expression carefully, noting the way his chest puffed up at each mention of his own achievements. Garrick clearly took pride in his place within the system—so much pride that Kasian was almost tempted to smile.

“So, if I’m following,” Kasian said, his tone carefully neutral, “you climb the ranks by impressing people… other warriors, mostly?”

Garrick gave an enthusiastic nod. “Exactly. A warrior’s worth isn’t just in strength; it’s in reputation, in recognition. The Association keeps everything fair, assigning ranks based on proven feats. And those who make it to the upper tiers, well—” Garrick’s voice took on a reverent tone, his eyes almost misty, “they’re practically legends.”

Kasian tilted his head, his lips twitching into a faint, amused smile. “So… legends, huh? What kind of ‘feats’ do these legends pull off to make it so high up?”

Garrick grinned, launching into a series of stories. He spoke of Rank 8 fighters who had single-handedly taken down entire enemy encampments, of Champions who had defended villages from marauding beasts, and of “true heroes” who’d gone on daring quests, claiming powerful artifacts and winning prestigious titles. Kasian listened, his expression blank as Garrick listed each achievement with almost theatrical reverence.

“And then,” Garrick continued, “there are the Grandmasters, the true pinnacle of the warrior society. Few people even get a glimpse of them. They say a Grandmaster can fell armies in a single night, that their very presence commands respect. You’ll know if you’re in a Grandmaster’s presence. Everyone does.”

Kasian nodded, feigning an attentive interest that almost covered his bemusement. Grandmasters… armies… respect. He’d seen entire legions of warriors crumble with a single step, watched them bow, retreat, even surrender to his presence alone. But Garrick seemed convinced that the Association’s rank structure held power that went beyond strength—almost like it was a religion, with Grandmasters as demigods.

He met Garrick’s gaze, adopting an expression that was somewhere between detached and vaguely curious. “And you’re… what? An Elite?”

“Rank 7 Elite, that’s right!” Garrick beamed. “It took years of hard work, grueling fights, and public demonstrations. But I earned my spot.” He puffed out his chest a little more, clearly expecting some sign of respect from Kasian.

Kasian gave a slow nod, his face unreadable. “And… how many years to get from Elite to Grandmaster?”

Garrick hesitated, his confidence wavering. “Well… not many do. I’ve met maybe two, three Grandmasters in my life, and each one’s climbed ranks in their own way. Takes a special kind of drive. A legendary reputation. The Association won’t promote just anyone to the top.”

Kasian hummed thoughtfully. “Right. So the entire system is based on… fame?”

“Fame?” Garrick looked offended, as though Kasian had spit on some sacred creed. “It’s about honor! Recognition from your peers, earning the respect of the Association itself. Power, strength—those come in many forms, but respect… that’s what matters.”

Kasian couldn’t help but chuckle, which only deepened Garrick’s look of offense. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” Kasian replied, shaking his head. “It just seems like… a lot of effort to impress a bunch of people who don’t matter much in the end.”

Garrick’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kasian held up his hands, feigning innocence. “Nothing at all. I mean, to each their own. Climb ranks, impress whoever you like. But if a Grandmaster’s rank is just about getting noticed… doesn’t sound like it’s worth much to me.”

Garrick’s face turned red, his fists clenching. “You wouldn’t understand. You… you don’t have a clue what it means to climb up from nothing, to make a name, to earn respect the hard way!”

Kasian smiled slightly, but his eyes were distant. He’d heard these words before, from countless people who had come to challenge him, to “prove” something. Each time, they’d been driven by a belief that reputation, that proving themselves in battle, gave life meaning. He understood it, even respected it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He gave a small shrug. “Guess I don’t understand. But don’t let me stop you.”

Garrick glared at him, caught between frustration and confusion, as though he couldn’t quite decide if Kasian was mocking him. He took a step closer, jabbing a finger toward Kasian’s chest. “If you don’t respect rank, you’ll find yourself lost here. No one rises in the Association without the ranks. No one.”

Kasian tilted his head, eyeing Garrick’s outstretched finger with mild curiosity. “And if someone didn’t care about rising?”

Garrick opened his mouth to reply, but then hesitated, caught off guard. “Then… what would you even be doing here?”

“Just looking around,” Kasian said, flashing a faint, almost lazy smile. He turned, preparing to leave, but paused, glancing back at Garrick. “Thanks for the lesson. Maybe I’ll climb… maybe not. Guess it depends on whether there’s anything worth climbing for.”

He gave a small wave, strolling off before Garrick could respond. Behind him, he heard the veteran muttering under his breath, the word “arrogant” clearly audible. Kasian felt a slight pang of amusement.

The word “arrogant” had been thrown at him many times before, but he’d always found it funny. How could someone with nothing to prove be arrogant?

As he made his way out of the hall, he spotted a young warrior sparring with an older instructor on a practice mat. The young man, intense and determined, moved with quick, deliberate strikes, his eyes alight with the thrill of combat. Kasian slowed, watching as the instructor countered each move with a calm, seasoned precision, putting the young warrior firmly in his place each time.

But even as the young man stumbled, picking himself up again, he never looked discouraged. There was a spark in him, a fire that kept him coming back despite his failures. Kasian felt the tiniest hint of… something. Maybe it was a flicker of admiration, maybe just curiosity.

He watched for a moment longer, then shrugged, shaking his head. This place was filled with people who saw power as a ladder to climb, a prize to be claimed. They couldn’t see that power was like air—something you either breathed without thinking, or something you’d never grasp.

As he turned and walked away from the sparring mats, he found himself wondering—idly, and just for a moment—if there was anyone here who could actually

make him feel… anything.