THE MONARCH OF FORTRESS.
It was written in a big symbol and in the novel I read, it must belong to the King of Land.
The people of Land are stronger than people of water and fire and also there are lots of top academics and competition among the land people.
The crisp morning air bit gently at my cheeks as I stepped through the enormous iron gates of the Monarch of Fortress.
Even from outside, the citadel towered like a mountain—layer upon layer of stone walls rising confidently into the sky, as if daring any enemy to challenge its power.
The banners of the kingdom—deep crimson and gold—fluttered proudly from the highest spires, catching the wind like the wings of some great beast.
It was awe-inspiring, overwhelming, and—if I were being honest—more than a little terrifying.
Dozens of new recruits walked beside me through the courtyard, boots clacking against polished stone.
Some whispered excitedly, others kept silent, and a few wore the smug expression of nobles who believed they belonged here more than anyone else.
But we all shared one thing: the tension of our first day.
As soon as we reached the central square, a loud, booming voice cut through the chatter.
"Welcome, welcome everyone!" a portly man bellowed from atop a wooden platform.
His belly shook with each word, and his bald head gleamed under the morning sun.
Despite his appearance, there was an undeniable authority in his stance.
He looked like someone who could belly-laugh one moment and crush skulls the next.
The crowd of soldiers—including me—turned toward him. Some straightened their posture immediately, probably thinking he was a high-ranking officer.
A few whispered guesses.
"Is that the general?"
"No, no, I think he's the head recruiter."
"Or the king's personal advisor?"
Whoever he was, he had everyone's attention.
Around me, more and more recruits continued to gather until the courtyard felt almost packed.
The smell of polished armor, sharpened weapons, and fresh sweat filled the air. Cloaks rustled, metal clanged, and murmurs wove through the crowd.
This was it.
My first day at the Monarch.
I still couldn't quite believe I had actually been accepted to join the king's service.
Since childhood, I had admired the royal knights—well, admired the idea of them.
Heroes who protected the kingdom, safeguarded peace, and defended the weak. At least, that was what everyone said.
"Which academy did you come from?" I heard someone ask behind me.
A tall recruit with messy brown hair turned around proudly. "I came from Bighall Academy. Top of my class," he said, puffing out his chest a little.
Another soldier in front of him nodded with approval. "Oh, Bighall? That's one of the elite academies, isn't it?"
"Of course," the tall recruit replied. "My instructors said I have the potential to become a commander someday."
"Good for you," someone muttered.
I glanced around and spotted a few familiar faces—students from my own academy, though we had never been very close.
Still, seeing them gave me a sense of quiet reassurance. One girl with soft black hair caught my eye and offered a faint smile.
I returned the gesture.
(So this is how I started to work under the Monarch,) I thought. The very place where my future—and the future of this kingdom—would unfold.
But as that thought settled in my mind, another darker whisper rose alongside it.
"I should leave this place immediately," I muttered under my breath.
My steps faltered.
The noise of the crowd around me seemed to dim for a moment, drowned out by the pounding of my heart. A strange heaviness pressed against my chest.
I turned slightly, almost ready to walk away.
(If I stay… I'll be serving him. The king. The man the people adore, the symbol of hope and prosperity—yet the truth is far different.)
Memories flashed in my mind, visions I wished I could forget.
The future I had glimpsed—five years from now—the war that would engulf the continent, the endless battles, the destruction…
And at the center of it all…
The king.
The hero of the people.
The villain behind the curtain.
A beast hiding behind gold and glory.
My fists tightened as an icy certainty settled into my bones.
(If I walk away now, no one will stop him. No one will know. No one will be strong enough when the time comes.)
"I should be the one to stop this war after five years," I whispered to myself but my resolve hardened.
"I won't let him grow stronger. Not any further."
Slowly, I turned back to the courtyard.
I took a deep breath.
Then another.
And then—I walked back toward the Monarch.
Just as I rejoined the crowd, a new figure emerged from the grand doors of the fortress.
His boots hit the stone with sharp, precise steps. His uniform was flawless, his cape fluttering behind him with crisp authority.
Even from a distance, he radiated sharp discipline.
"The captain…" someone whispered.
"The Captain of the Monarch of Fortress!" another soldier gasped.
Everyone immediately fell silent.
The captain surveyed the recruits with a stern gaze. His eyes were sharp, like a hawk studying prey—or potential soldiers.
He stood tall on the platform beside the fat man, who stepped back respectfully.
"Good morning, everyone," the captain announced. His voice carried power, commanding attention as if he were speaking directly into each person's ears.
"Those who wish to enroll, step forward."
Boots shuffled. Cloaks rustled. Some recruits took a step, others hesitated.
The captain continued, "There is a crystal ball to measure magical affinity and a strength ball to assess combat capability. Those who are magic users will form a line to the crystal. Combat fighters, to the strength ball. You will be appointed to your division based on your power and natural ability."
Immediately, eager voices erupted around me.
"Magic line!"
"No, strength line!"
"Move, move—don't push!"
Some recruits cheered loudly.
"Yaaayyyyyy!" A group of overly excited young men shouted as if this were a festival rather than enlistment.
I let out a small exhale.
Around me, conversations sparked everywhere.
"Hey, what line are you joining?" a boy beside me asked.
I turned to him. He had round glasses, a slightly nervous smile, and a slender build that practically screamed "definitely not a front-line fighter."
"I'm… not sure yet," I said honestly.
"You must have some idea," he said. "Can you use magic?"
"A bit," I replied, though the truth was complicated.
My abilities didn't exactly fit neatly into magic or strength.
But I couldn't exactly tell a stranger that.
Before he could ask more, a loud clang echoed through the courtyard as soldiers set up the testing equipment.
The crystal ball gleamed with a blue inner glow, swirling like mist trapped inside glass.
It pulsed gently, like a heartbeat, as if sensing the eager energy surrounding it.
The strength ball, by contrast, was a solid hunk of enchanted metal—dark, dented, and intimidating.
Rumor had it that the last person who punched it too hard broke all the bones in their arm.
I swallowed.
No pressure.
The lines began to form quickly.
Magic users stood taller, proud of their rare abilities. Some flaunted tiny sparks of energy from their fingertips to impress others.
Combat fighters cracked their knuckles and made bold claims about their strength.
"Oi! I bet I'll rank first in physical strength today."
"In your dreams," another barked. "I trained under the Iron Fist School."
"You two can fight after enrollment," a nearby girl snapped.
I stepped forward slowly, still unsure which path to choose.
That was when a familiar voice called out from behind me.
"Hey! Is that really you?"
I turned to see Rion—my old classmate—walking toward me with a grin.
He was a head taller now, his hair tied back neatly, and he carried himself with new confidence.
"Rion," I said, surprised. "I didn't know you were applying to the Monarch."
"Of course!" he said proudly. "My father insisted. And… well, it's the best place to grow strong, isn't it?" He lowered his voice.
"You look like you've seen a ghost. Nervous?"
"Just… thinking," I said.
"About what?"
I hesitated.
(About the king's future tyranny… the war… the bloodshed… the destruction I must stop…)
"Nothing important," I replied.
Rion gave me a skeptical look but didn't press further.
He nodded toward the crystal ball. "Magic or strength?"
"I'm still deciding."
"Heh. Figures. You always were the indecisive type."
I rolled my eyes slightly. "Thanks."
As we moved with the flow of recruits, the captain's piercing voice rose again.
"You will be tested today. Remember, your results determine your path in the Monarch. Do not attempt to cheat or hide your abilities."
The crystal ball lit up as the first recruit placed his hands on it.
A brilliant green light swirled inside.
"Nature affinity! Mid-tier talent!" the examiner shouted.
The line erupted with murmurs.
The next recruit stepped forward and placed his palms on the ball.
It flashed red.