In the end, Rod got what he wanted — he managed to hand in his application for the Special Trainee Program.
But the woman with the red armband told him flatly that his strength was far too weak.He basically had no combat capability, and therefore would only be assigned to a safe zone.
Rod argued for a long while, swearing up and down that he'd slain more monsters than he could count, that he'd even killed a Doomsday Cultist whom a full combat unit couldn't take down.But none of that convinced her to remove the words "no combat experience, novice" from his report.
The Red Armband's voice stayed stern:
"Exaggerating your strength is the worst taboo among fighters. Your teammates will trust you. And if they act on that trust in danger — people die. Tragedies happen. We've paid for that lesson in blood."
The first creed carved into any fighter's bones, she said, was simple: know yourself.And if you don't — then be careful.
Her principle was unshakable, so Rod had to give up.Fine. As long as he got out of the academy, he could figure out the rest later.
Leaving the Heidler training field, he returned to the dorms of the Third Academy, and happened to run into Kasan.She was radiant, almost vibrating with excitement — clearly she'd received the same notice.
Kasan gathered her tenth squad and ordered everyone to hand in their own applications.So, Rod submitted a second one, this time under the name of Third Academy, Tenth Division.He had no idea what turning in two forms would result in.But… one more form meant one more chance.
The announcement of the academy's first-ever "live combat course" sent Goldworth Academy into a frenzy.Students filled every street and corridor, buzzing about it nonstop.
Most were ecstatic — at last, a chance to put all they'd learned into practice.Normally, only fourth-phase students got to see real combat near the end of their studies.
The instructors, however, looked deeply troubled.They kept stressing the danger of real battles, the strict discipline required during patrols, and warned repeatedly that the lower city of the royal capital — and certain districts in particular — were not as safe as they appeared.Students were to stay alert, signal for help at the first sign of danger, and never try to play the hero.
But though they drilled this into everyone's heads, most students only half-listened.The idea that "the capital is safe" was ingrained too deeply to be shaken overnight.
A few others, of course, thought differently.They didn't want to fight at all — nor face the horrors that grew in the black mist.They scrambled to pull strings and get assigned to the safest zones possible.
One of them was the red-haired, round-bellied Hublin.
The moment he heard the news, he dashed off a letter to his father, demanding to be placed in a "perfectly safe area — preferably one where he could be alone with Kasan."He also reported Rod, saying that during training, Rod had been "suspiciously eager" to join the special trainees, which clearly meant he was plotting something.He begged his father to reject Rod's application.
After sealing the letter, Hublin pulled out his father's spirit-raven courier, tucked the note into the pouch on its back, and released it.The glowing black bird took flight, vanishing into the distance.
That evening, hundreds of such ravens soared across the skies of the academy, piercing the psionic barriers as they carried messages back and forth.
Upper City.Office of Internal Judicature.
The complex stood in grim contrast to the bright elegance of its surroundings — a cluster of dark, fortresslike towers whose sharp spires seemed to stab at the sky.Few people ever dared to walk near it.
In a shadowed hall, one of the four High Judges, Manorobana Gula, finished reading his son's letter.A faint glimmer passed through his fingers; the parchment turned to ash.
He rang a small silver bell.Moments later, a middle-aged man entered and bowed.
"Your orders, High Judge?"
"Bring me the application of Goldworth's first-phase student, special trainee Rod," Gula said."I suspect collusion with Doomsday believers. I want a thorough review."
"Yes, my lord."
Soon after, two of Rod's application forms were laid on the desk.
Gula examined them for a while, then set aside the Tenth Division form and drew the special trainee one closer.He took up a bone pen and, beneath Combat Record, began to write:
Personally slew five Death Wraiths.Personally slew the false priest Bath of the Polluter Cult.Linked to the destruction of Redstone Village.This file is to be classified Top Secret — not to be reported to the academy.
He reviewed it several times, a thin smile curving his pale face.Then, crossing out None under "Combat Experience," he replaced it with Extensive.
Rising from his chair, he personally carried both forms to the Office of Review.
"Even trash can be useful," he murmured. "Mippol, Black Bear — mercy won't keep you alive."
Thanks to the academy's near-military efficiency, the Combat Course began sooner than anyone expected.
Students were surprised to find their assigned times wildly different — some in the morning, some at night, some at dawn.Classes were rescheduled across the board.Even instructors weren't spared.
It was hard to believe the whole operation had been organized so quickly by less than a thousand staff.
But most didn't think too deeply about it.They simply followed orders, boarding the psionic buses waiting at the gate, which took them to the Defense Division of the Military Command in their designated districts.
Each patrol lasted exactly one hour.When it ended, they would report back, then ride the bus back to campus.
To ensure safety and discipline, the academy issued strict regulations — the two most serious being:
Obey all instructions from the Defense Division.
Never leave the assigned zone or linger outside the academy.
Violation meant expulsion — or worse, being handed over to the Internal Judicature.
To make that threat real, a detachment of Black Ravens — the Judicature's enforcers — had moved onto campus.Hooded figures in dark robes, faces hidden in shadow, they filled students with dread.
Rod, though, didn't see much difference between them and a bunch of undertakers.Even the buses were called Spirit Coaches — large, double-deck vehicles that glowed faintly with ghostlight.When one lifted off the ground, tilted gracefully, and drifted southward through the night sky, Rod couldn't help but shudder.
"Flying hearses," he thought. "What a name. You people aren't worried the students might die out there — and when you bring their ashes back, you'll just spill them on the floor?"
He sat by the window on the upper deck, watching the glowing city blur beneath him.The vehicle hummed softly with psionic energy — sleek, futuristic, almost cybernetic in feel.If not for the view outside.
Far off, a sea of black mist slanted over the city like a collapsing tower.
Now Rod understood why — it was because of the Sacred Flame.
The Sacred Flame burned in the Upper City, its power holding the black mist at bay.They said that up there, people lived as though under daylight.But the farther you went from it, the weaker its radiance became — until the mist pressed low over the rooftops of the Outer City.
You couldn't sense that from the streets, only from high above like this.
A vague unease crept into Rod's heart.The slanted haze looked like a warning.
He was different from the other students.Most first-years patrolled only within the campus.He got to ride the Spirit Coach because of his "special trainee" status.
Apparently, those were the elites — the strong ones.His assignment was the Iron Cross District, outer city, midnight to dawn — the deadliest hours.
Now he knew this world had a sun, only hidden behind the mist.Its influence still existed — when the sun rose, the Sacred Flame grew stronger, suppressing the mist.When it set, the mist revived, and the flame waned.
So night to dawn was always the most dangerous time.And the Outer City, farthest from the flame, was the most perilous place of all — yet also home to millions of civilians.
Looking out at the endless rows of houses stretching into the dark, Rod found that number believable.
The royal capital's main industries were all there: the famous Simons Factory, Byron Alchemical Labs that produced every kind of potion, and Sigvey Foods, which canned almost everything people ate.These were the pillars of the capital's economy — and the lifeline of its people.The students' patrols were meant to keep those citizens safe and the factories running.
By all logic, Rod should've been thrilled.The more dangerous the place, the more likely he'd encounter monsters — and the more souls he could claim.
But things felt… off.Especially since his other application had also been approved.From noon to dusk, he was assigned another patrol — this time near the academy gate with Kasan's squad.
Two patrols. Half a day gone.It made no sense — but he didn't dare report it.
What if they realized the mistake and cancelled his special trainee mission?That would be like smashing his own lifeline.
Sure, it was dangerous — but this was his only chance.If the Blue Star went out again, he'd never recover.
Besides, patrol performance now counted toward the Star of Goldworth evaluation.And this time, the academy had greatly increased the rewards.First-class winners would gain full access to come and go from the academy — plus a prize of ten thousand silver sols.
For Rod, that was a once-in-a-lifetime chance.Fortune favors the bold, after all.
He clenched his fists, eyes cold and sharp.
"All in," he murmured. "Whatever hand you've got — I'm going all in."