Chapter 94
Meanwhile at Sector 1: Luminaire Boundary , Astrael Training Continuum
The moment the simulation fully stabilized, the world stopped feeling like a single training ground.
Instead, it felt like stepping into a living constellation of cities.
Floating civilizations drifted across a vast luminous void, each one rotating slowly like pieces of a broken planet rebuilt into a controlled system of war, survival, and discipline.
Above everything, the High Elven administrators observed from suspended arc-platforms, their presence quiet, but absolute.
And within this structure, Section A1 was deployed.
Lin Yue Meiying adjusted her stance as her team formed up on a crystalline street that shimmered like liquid glass underfoot.
Xu Lian immediately began stabilizing the group's energy flow.
"Don't overextend," she said calmly. "The system is already amplifying output feedback."
Mika Arai raised a hand slightly, forming a thin barrier dome that flickered like transparent mirrors.
"If it spikes again, I'll reinforce the perimeter. Just don't break formation."
Behind them, Trần Hữu Khang stood quietly.
The air around him felt heavier than the others, like pressure wasn't being emitted, but absorbed.
A passing elven trainee glanced at him and muttered to a friend:
"…That guy feels wrong."
The friend nodded.
"Yeah. Like something's watching back."
Khang didn't respond.
He simply looked forward.
A High Elven instructor floated down from a luminous platform above them.
His voice echoed gently across the formation.
"Section A1."
"Your objective is cooperation validation within dynamic corruption conditions."
He glanced briefly at the mixed group of humans and international students.
"And remember"
A faint pause.
"Trust is part of the simulation."
One of the foreign academy students whispered immediately:
"Translation: they want us to panic together."
Another snorted.
"Or die together. Depends on performance metrics."
Lin Yue exhaled quietly.
"Focus," she said. "Don't listen to noise."
The ground beneath Lumina Prime shifted.
Crystalline roads cracked open, not destructively, but like a system unlocking compartments.
From below, shadow-corrupted elven constructs rose.
Their armor resembled High Elven guardians, but twisted. Their movements were too synchronized, too artificial, like puppets forced into combat routines.
"Contact wave confirmed!" someone shouted.
"Frontline, engage!"
The Spanish student immediately reacted.
"¡I've got vision links!" he called out, snapping his fingers.
Invisible spirit threads spread across the battlefield.
"Targets marked! Don't waste movement, follow the lanes!"
The Ukrainian student stepped forward and slammed his palm down.
Ice surged outward.
"Mobility control established. They slow now."
A Brazilian student laughed mid-charge.
"Finally, something fun!"
He blurred forward, syncing with beast-like spectral constructs that formed around him.
"Let's see if you can keep up!"
An Egyptian student raised her hand slightly.
"…Left corridor is fake," she said calmly.
A second later, the "corridor" collapsed into illusion fragments, revealing a hidden ambush route.
"Correct," an elven observer above them murmured. "Good perception."
Lin Yue raised her hand.
Wind condensed,, not violently, but precisely.
She didn't attack.
She synchronized.
"Left flank stabilizing," she said. "Xu Lian, keep the support flow steady."
Xu Lian nodded quickly.
"Already on it!"
Mika Arai expanded her barrier.
"Don't let them break formation. I'll absorb the pressure spikes!"
A nearby elven trainee, watching the coordination, muttered:
"…They're actually working together well."
Another replied:
"Yeah… surprisingly natural for a mixed group."
But an elf instructor nearby corrected them softly.
"Do not mistake cooperation for stability."
"That is still early synchronization. Stress hasn't peaked yet."
Above the battlefield, High Elven overseers watched silently.
One of them spoke.
"Human coordination efficiency: 68%."
Another responded:
"Add emotional variability factor. That number will drop under pressure spikes."
A third added:
"Or rise. Humans are inconsistent."
A faint pause.
Then one of them said:
"That inconsistency is why they are interesting."
Below, the battlefield escalated.
The shadow constructs adapted.
They began mimicking student movement patterns.
The Spanish student cursed:
"Wait, these things are learning our formations!"
The Ukrainian student tightened his barrier.
"That's not normal behavior!"
The Egyptian student narrowed her eyes.
"It's copying emotional rhythm too…"
Lin Yue's expression sharpened.
"So it's not just copying movement… it's adapting intent."
Xu Lian's voice trembled slightly.
"That's bad, right?"
Khang finally spoke.
"…It's evolving."
The word landed heavier than the rest.
A shadow construct broke through the frontline.
It aimed directly at Xu Lian.
She froze for half a second—
Then Mika Arai stepped in.
"Not happening."
Her barrier condensed instantly into a reinforced shield.
The impact cracked it, but held.
"Now!" Mika shouted.
Lin Yue reacted instantly.
Wind surged, not as destruction, but as controlled displacement.
The construct was pushed back into the frost field.
The Brazilian student followed through immediately.
"Finish it!"
A synchronized strike landed.
The construct shattered into luminous fragments.
A brief silence followed.
Then, Xu Lian exhaled shakily.
"…You saved me."
Mika didn't look at her.
"Don't mention it. Just don't get sloppy again."
But her hand didn't lower her barrier immediately.
A small pause.
Then softer:
"…We're still in formation."
Lin Yue glanced at both of them.
"Yeah," she said quietly.
"We are."
Above them, the Luminaire Boundary recalculated.
Difficulty scaling increased slightly.
Shadow constructs began reconfiguring deeper behavioral layers.
An elven overseer observed:
"They're adapting faster than expected."
Another replied:
"Human bonding patterns detected."
A third added:
"Fake camaraderie phase complete."
A pause.
Then, "Real cooperation phase beginning."
And within Lumina Prime's glowing ruins, Section A1 continued forward.
Not as a perfect unit.
Not as strangers.
But as something still forming between trust, survival, and pressure—
while the simulation quietly prepared to test whether that bond would hold when everything stopped holding back.
The next controlled mission inside Sector 1 did not begin with explosions or combat formations.
It began with confusion.
The Luminaire Boundary shifted again as the High Elven administrators activated a new mission layer inside the Astrael Training Continuum. This time, instead of massive battlefield simulations, the environment condensed into something far more ordinary, a small elven frontier town.
At first glance, the place looked peaceful.
Stone roads curved between glowing houses made of pale crystal wood. Lanterns filled with floating mana-fire illuminated narrow streets. Market stalls sold fruits, herbs, enchanted tools, and spiritual charms while illusionary citizens moved naturally through daily routines.
But the moment the mission initialized, every participating student received the same objective:
"Locate and eliminate the hidden malignant entity before civilian casualties exceed acceptable thresholds."
Simple on paper.
Disastrous in execution.
Because unlike combat arenas, this mission required investigation, emotional control, deduction, teamwork, and restraint.
Things many students lacked.
The High Elven overseers watched silently from floating observation platforms above the city as hundreds of academy students spread across the simulated town.
And almost immediately, everything started going wrong.
"You're searching the wrong district!" a European student shouted while trying to reorganize his squad near the central market.
"No, the curse residue was detected near the water canals!" another argued back.
A group of combat-focused students ignored civilian interaction entirely and started forcefully searching homes using spiritual detection waves.
The result was instant failure penalties.
Illusionary civilians panicked.
Several hidden mana traps activated.
One student accidentally triggered a defensive ward that detonated blue spiritual ink across half the street.
Nearby High Elven civilians stared in visible disappointment.
One elderly elf sighed heavily while watching a student kick open the wrong door.
"You humans truly solve problems by breaking everything first?" he muttered in perfect academy-common language.
Some students tried applying textbook knowledge.
Others relied entirely on brute-force spiritual scanning.
Both approaches failed.
Because the hidden entity adapted.
Every time spiritual pressure increased recklessly, the malignant presence simply relocated deeper into the town, blending itself among civilians and emotional residue.
The simulation reacted dynamically.
False clues began appearing.
Witness testimonies contradicted each other.
Illusionary civilians gave incomplete information depending on how respectfully students approached them.
And coordination between academy groups collapsed almost instantly.
"You were supposed to guard the eastern district!"
"I thought your team was handling it!"
"Who triggered the containment alarm?!"
"That wasn't us!"
Meanwhile, several students became too aggressive and mistakenly attacked innocent simulated citizens whose energy signatures appeared unstable due to fear contamination.
Immediate mission penalties activated.
Civilian casualty count increased.
The city atmosphere darkened.
High Elven observers quietly recorded every mistake.
Not with anger, but with clinical interest.
Because this was the real purpose of the Luminaire Boundary.
Not teaching students how to fight monsters.
Teaching them how easily fear, ego, and poor coordination could create disasters larger than the original threat.
Lin Yue Meiying moved through the chaos far more carefully than most.
She stood near a narrow side street beside Xu Lian and Mika Arai while listening to frightened civilians instead of interrogating them aggressively.
"This doesn't feel like a combat mission anymore," Mika whispered while maintaining a small rotating barrier around nearby civilians.
"Because it isn't," Lin replied calmly.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she observed the growing disorder spreading through the town.
"This is an investigation under pressure."
Nearby, Trần Hữu Khang crouched silently near a drainage canal while several tiny curse insects crawled across the ground around him.
Then suddenly, his expression changed.
"They're moving away from sound," he said quietly.
Lin immediately looked toward him.
"What?"
"The hidden entity," Khang replied while watching the insects react. "It's avoiding concentrated spiritual pressure… but moving toward emotional instability."
That realization changed everything.
The creature was not hunting randomly.
It was feeding on panic.
Unfortunately, most student teams had already created exactly that.
Elsewhere in the city, chaotic combat erupted after one squad cornered the wrong target inside a tavern. Tables shattered. Illusionary civilians screamed and fled. Several barrier spells collided with elemental attacks, causing mana feedback explosions that damaged nearby structures.
A High Elven official watching from above slowly rubbed his forehead.
"This generation is somehow more destructive than the previous one," he muttered.
Another elf beside him gave a faint smile.
"And yet… fascinating."
Because despite the failures, the simulation felt real.
Pain felt real.
Fear felt real.
Consequences felt real.
The reason was simple:
the Luminaire Boundary itself was partially real.
At the center of the Astrael Continuum existed an independent spiritual core created by the High Elven race centuries ago, a massive artificial spiritual engine capable of converting spiritual energy into temporary dimensional reality.
The cities were illusions.
But the spiritual reactions, emotional pressure, environmental feedback, and combat consequences were genuine.
That was why injuries could still exhaust the mind.
Why fear lingered after missions ended.
Why students sometimes forgot they were inside training at all.
The system did not merely simulate reality.
It temporarily reconstructed it.
And because of that, failure inside the Luminaire Boundary revealed who students truly were under pressure.
Not heroes.
Not elites.
Just frightened young shamans trying to function inside chaos.
By the second hour of the mission, casualty penalties had already exceeded acceptable levels.
Multiple teams failed their objectives entirely.
Some students argued openly.
Others blamed foreign squads for poor communication.
Fake camaraderie started breaking apart under stress.
But among the disorder, smaller groups slowly adapted.
Listening instead of shouting.
Observing instead of forcing.
Thinking instead of panicking.
And high above the city, the Luminaire Boundary quietly recalculated again—
because the simulation had determined something important:
The hidden enemy was no longer the greatest danger inside the town.
The students themselves were.
The Astrael Training Continuum had become the most active and heavily used training zone inside Sector 1 for a simple reason:
it was the closest thing to a real mission environment ever created inside the academy.
Unlike ordinary illusion training systems that only projected visual images or temporary mana constructs, the Astrael Continuum operated through a far more advanced High Elven rune technology and core base spell language, known as Materialized Simulation Architecture.
At the center of the entire Continuum was a massive independent spiritual core created by the High Elven race centuries ago. The core constantly generated enormous amounts of stable spiritual energy, enough to temporarily create semi-physical environments that behaved almost exactly like reality.
The cities, civilians, weather, terrain, and enemies were not simple holograms.
They were partially materialized constructs.
The High Elven race achieved this by combining three systems together:
spiritual projection,
golem infrastructure,
and memory-based environmental reconstruction.
Thousands of small adaptive golems existed beneath the cities and structures of the Continuum. Most students never saw them because they operated inside walls, streets, floors, and underground support networks. These golems acted like living processors, constantly shaping spiritual energy into temporary physical matter.
That was why students could touch walls, feel rain, smell smoke, or suffer injuries during missions.
The environment reacted like a real world because, in many ways, it temporarily became one.
Pain was also intentionally included.
Not lethal pain, but controlled neurological feedback transmitted through spiritual synchronization. When a student was struck by a simulated attack, the Continuum recreated the sensation closely enough for the body and mind to treat it as real combat experience.
Broken bones could be simulated.
Burns could be felt.
Fear responses became genuine.
But safety restrictions prevented permanent fatal damage unless system rules were intentionally bypassed.
The realism level had already reached nearly ninety percent.
And that remaining ten percent was intentional.
The High Elven administrators never allowed full realism because a completely perfect simulation could psychologically damage younger shamans who were not mentally prepared for true battlefield experiences.
Even then, many students still forgot they were inside training.
That was how refined the Astrael Continuum had become.
Inside the system, missions evolved naturally.
Citizens remembered previous interactions.
Enemies adapted.
Weather changed dynamically.
Even rumors spread through simulated populations depending on student behavior.
If a team acted recklessly in one district, civilians in nearby areas would become fearful or hostile later. If students protected people properly, cooperation levels increased.
The Continuum did not simply create battles.
It recreated consequences.
That was why the High Elven race considered it one of their greatest educational achievements.
Not because it trained stronger fighters, but because it revealed how students behaved when situations felt real enough to matter.
And lately, the Astrael Continuum had become more active than ever.
Because outside the academy walls, the real world was becoming increasingly unstable.
Which meant the next generation of shamans could no longer afford training that felt fake.
The senior students highly regarded the Astrael Training Continuum for one important reason:
it was one of the few training systems in the world capable of reliably increasing a person's spiritual level through practical growth rather than simple meditation or passive cultivation.
Inside the academy, many first-year students still believed spiritual growth came mostly from absorbing energy or training techniques repeatedly.
But the High Elven instructors explained the truth very early:
"Spiritual energy grows fastest when the soul is forced to adapt under meaningful pressure."
That was why mission-based training was considered the most effective growth method ever developed.
Not because it was dangerous, but because it forced the body, mind, instincts, emotions, and spiritual core to evolve together under realistic conditions.
One High Elven instructor stood before the gathered students inside Lumina Prime's central training plaza while countless floating rune screens displayed mission rankings above the city.
The elf spoke calmly while the students listened.
"A warrior who meditates peacefully for ten years may still lose to someone who survived one year of real combat."
The city around them glowed softly as the instructor continued.
"The Continuum forces adaptation."
"Adaptation creates refinement."
"Refinement increases spiritual density."
"And spiritual density is what raises true levels."
A student raised his hand.
"Then why not just make every mission extremely hard?"
The elf gave a faint smile.
"Because growth is not determined by suffering alone."
"Growth depends on successful adaptation."
Then the mission scaling system appeared above the plaza in luminous golden text.
MISSION DIFFICULTY SCALING SYSTEM
Very Easy
Almost no challenge.
Designed for beginners and basic synchronization training.
40 successful missions = approximately 1% spiritual growth
Easy
Minor danger with basic problem-solving required.
20 successful missions = approximately 1% growth
Normal
Balanced missions requiring coordination, awareness, and proper spiritual application.
10 successful missions = approximately 1% growth
Hard
Danger becomes realistic.
Mistakes begin carrying major consequences.
5 successful missions = approximately 1% growth
Very Hard
Requires mastery of combat flow, emotional control, and fast adaptation.
3 successful missions = approximately 1% growth
Extreme
Small mistakes often result in total mission failure.
1 successful mission = approximately 1% growth
Impossible
Theoretical missions designed beyond normal student capability.
Clearance rate: nearly zero.
The students immediately became noisy.
"One percent from a single mission?!"
"That's insane…"
"Then why doesn't everyone just spam Extreme missions?"
The High Elven instructor answered immediately.
"Because spiritual growth is not experience points."
The floating screens shifted again, now displaying the structure of the Spiritual Energy Management System.
The elf pointed toward the lowest section.
"Most of you misunderstand what one percent actually means."
Then he explained it simply.
At Level 1, gaining one percent might only slightly improve physical capability.
A student becomes stronger than a normal human.
Faster reflexes.
Higher stamina.
Better spiritual perception.
But as levels increase
every additional percent becomes exponentially more valuable and harder to obtain.
The instructor raised his hand, and the screen shifted upward through the realms.
"At Level 10, percent may allow a warrior to reinforce weapons properly."
"At Level 20, percent may decide whether someone survives battlefield-level combat."
"At Level 40, percent may determine whether an entire city district survives a fight."
"At Level 70, percent can influence natural disasters."
The main lobby became quieter.
Because students slowly realized something important:
the higher the level, the larger the gap each single percent created.
The elf continued.
"Think of it like climbing a mountain."
"The first few steps are easy."
"But near the peak, even one more step becomes monumental."
He then explained why harder missions gave greater growth.
Very Easy missions rarely forced true adaptation.
Students remained comfortable.
Comfort slowed spiritual evolution.
But Extreme missions pushed the soul into survival states where every decision mattered.
Fear sharpened instinct.
Pressure refined energy control.
Life-threatening situations forced spiritual compression and rapid adaptation.
That was why surviving a single Extreme mission could create growth equal to dozens of easy ones.
However, the risk was equally high.
The instructor's expression became more serious.
"Many students mistake difficulty for guaranteed growth."
"It is not."
"If your soul collapses under pressure…"
"If fear overrides your mind…"
"If your energy becomes unstable…"
"Then the mission provides almost no refinement at all."
A rune screen suddenly displayed academy statistics.
NORMAL MISSIONS:
High success rate.
Steady growth.
HARD MISSIONS:
Moderate casualties.
Higher refinement.
VERY HARD MISSIONS:
Rapid growth potential.
Mental trauma common.
EXTREME MISSIONS:
Massive refinement potential.
Low survival success.
IMPOSSIBLE MISSIONS:
Classified.
Restricted access.
A student near the back whispered nervously:
"Then what happens during Impossible missions?"
For the first time, several High Elven overseers became silent.
Then the instructor finally answered.
"Impossible missions are designed to create evolutionary breakthroughs."
A pause.
"But most participants fail before adaptation occurs."
Another student frowned.
"So it's basically suicide?"
"No," the elf replied calmly.
"It is controlled confrontation against overwhelming reality."
Then he added quietly:
"The greatest shamans in history were almost never created through safety."
The floating displays faded slightly as the instructor finished his explanation.
"Remember this carefully."
"Spiritual level is not simply power."
"It is the amount of the world's spiritual force your existence can safely endure, refine, and control."
"And the stronger you become…"
"the more reality itself begins responding to your presence."
While nearly ninety percent of the students inside the Astrael Training Continuum focused almost entirely on increasing their Spiritual Energy Level as quickly as possible, Lin Yue Meiying slowly began realizing something different.
Something she had overlooked before.
As the failed mission replayed through her mind, she suddenly understood why Nille had been so focused on learning how to use his abilities more efficiently instead of simply becoming stronger.
The answer became clear when she remembered what she saw underground inside Training Hall C-3.
The way he controlled movement.
The way he minimized wasted actions.
The way he conserved energy even during combat.
At first, she thought it was merely instinct born from survival experience.
Now she realized, it was a combat philosophy.
Lin Yue stood quietly near one of Astrael Training Continuum's observation bridges while the failed mission data continued floating above the city in translucent screens.
Around her, many students complained loudly.
"The difficulty scaling was unfair."
"The hidden enemy adapted too fast."
"The civilians complicated everything."
"We needed more firepower."
But Lin Yue barely listened.
Because she finally noticed the real reason they failed.
They exhausted themselves long before the mission truly became dangerous.
Her clan had trained her in martial arts since childhood under strict traditional instructors. One of the earliest lessons taught to her was simple:
"Every attack can be defeated by superior technique."
Speed mattered.
Strength mattered.
Force mattered.
But above all, control mattered most.
Her masters constantly repeated the same warning:
"A warrior who wastes movement dies faster than a weaker opponent who conserves properly."
At the time, Lin Yue understood it only as martial discipline.
Now, after watching Nille fight and after experiencing the High Elven mission system herself, the meaning became much deeper.
Most students treated spiritual energy like fuel meant to be burned aggressively.
Large spells.
Massive attacks.
Wide-area techniques.
Constant energy release.
It looked impressive.
But real combat was different.
Every unnecessary movement consumed stamina.
Every reckless spell reduced focus.
Every wasted burst of energy shortened survival time.
And in prolonged missions, that became fatal.
Lin Yue slowly closed her eyes as she replayed the simulation again.
Students panicked early.
Barrier users overextended defenses.
Elemental users spammed abilities.
Scouts moved without coordination.
Support casters drained themselves trying to compensate for everyone else's mistakes.
They did not lose because they lacked power.
They lost because they lost efficiency.
Even her own breathing control had started breaking down midway through the mission without her realizing it.
Then she remembered Nille's words during their training.
"Not everything needs to end in damage."
At the time, she thought he was speaking emotionally.
Now she understood he was also speaking practically.
A clean fight was a survivable fight.
A wasteful fight became a death sentence.
One of Lin Yue's old instructors once told her:
"The purpose of tiring your enemy is not simply to weaken them."
"It is to avoid becoming tired yourself."
Because exhaustion destroyed judgment.
And once judgment failed, even strong shamans died quickly.
That was exactly what happened inside the mission.
The High Elven administrators had ended the simulation the moment the entire student formation was wiped out.
And the worst part?
They had not even survived a full day inside the controlled environment.
Not because the enemy was overwhelmingly powerful.
But because the students collapsed faster than the mission escalated.
Lin Yue looked toward the floating mission report again.
RESOURCE MANAGEMENT FAILURE.
FORMATION INSTABILITY.
ENERGY OVERUSE.
COMBAT PRIORITIZATION ERRORS.
The more she read it, the more she understood Nille's direction.
He was not trying to become stronger recklessly.
He was trying to survive longer than his enemies.
And suddenly, his obsession with efficiency no longer seemed strange to her.
It seemed correct.
Dangerously correct.
Because if the Astrael Continuum proved anything, it was that real combat rarely rewarded the loudest fighter.
It rewarded the one who could still move, think, and kill efficiently after everyone else was already exhausted.
The Astrael Training Continuum mission finally ended the moment the entire student force was declared eliminated by the High Elven system.
One by one, the illusionary city around them dissolved into streams of fading spiritual particles. The streets of Lumina Prime fragmented into light. The simulated civilians disappeared. The sounds of panic, battle, and collapsing structures slowly faded until only silence remained.
Then reality returned.
Lin Yue Meiying opened her eyes slowly as the synchronization chamber disengaged around her.
The metallic doors of the training hall slid open with a low hum.
Cold academy air immediately brushed against her face.
For a brief moment, she remained still.
Her body still felt tired.
Not illusionary tired.
Real tired.
Her throat felt dry.
Her legs heavy.
Even the soreness in her muscles remained.
Around her, the other first-year students slowly exited the Continuum chambers in similar condition. Some looked pale. Others were visibly shaken. A few immediately sat down on the floor trying to process what they had just experienced.
Outside the entrance hall, another group of students waited for their turn to enter the Astrael Training Continuum.
Many of them stopped talking the moment they saw the condition of the returning group.
One student whispered quietly:
"Why do they look like they came back from an actual mission?"
Because that was exactly how it felt.
Lin Yue glanced around slowly before approaching one of the High Elven staff members stationed near the chamber controls.
The female High Elf stood calmly beside a floating rune interface, her silver-gold robes untouched by the exhaustion affecting the students.
Lin Yue spoke quietly.
"How long were we inside?"
The High Elf looked at the synchronization readings briefly before answering in a calm voice.
"One hour and eleven minutes."
Silence followed instantly.
Several first-year students turned toward her in disbelief.
"…What?"
"That's impossible."
"We were inside for days…"
A male student looked genuinely disturbed.
"We investigated multiple districts…"
"We traveled between cities…"
"We even slept…"
Another student grabbed his own arm as if trying to confirm he was truly awake.
"The hunger felt real…"
"The pain felt real…"
"I'm still thirsty…"
The High Elf nodded slightly, clearly used to these reactions.
"The Astrael Continuum operates through accelerated cognitive synchronization."
Seeing the confusion on their faces, she explained further.
"Your minds experienced expanded environmental processing while inside the Continuum."
"In simple terms…"
"Your consciousness was allowed to process time faster than normal reality."
The students stared at her.
One of them spoke weakly.
"So… we really experienced all of that?"
"Yes," the High Elf answered calmly.
"The experiences were genuine."
"The mission occurred within a partially materialized spiritual simulation space."
"You truly walked those roads."
"You truly felt exhaustion."
"You truly made decisions under pressure."
Another student frowned nervously.
"But how can one hour feel like several days?"
The High Elf raised one hand slightly, and a floating rune diagram appeared beside her.
"Your physical bodies remained here."
"But your spiritual consciousness synchronized with the Continuum at a much higher processing state."
"The brain perceives time based on information density."
"The more experiences, stress, emotion, and decisions the mind processes…"
"…the longer time feels."
Then she added quietly:
"That is why many veteran shamans fear the Astrael Continuum."
The students became silent again.
Because now they understood something terrifying.
The missions did not merely imitate combat.
They reproduced mental fatigue.
Emotional pressure.
Psychological stress.
Even memory formation.
That was why the exhaustion still remained after leaving.
Their minds genuinely believed they had survived several days of investigation, travel, fear, and combat.
Lin Yue slowly looked back toward the chamber entrance.
Now she understood why the senior students respected this place so much.
Not because it was difficult.
But because it accelerated growth through lived experience.
Inside the Continuum, students could experience months of practical pressure within short periods of real-world time.
Mistakes became lessons faster.
Adaptation occurred faster.
And fear became real enough to force actual change.
Nearby, one exhausted first-year student muttered weakly while sitting against the wall:
"…I never want to investigate another murder case again."
Another student immediately replied:
"We didn't even solve it."
That made several others groan in frustration.
Because despite feeling like they had spent days struggling through the mission, they still failed.
And that failure somehow felt far more painful than any physical wound they received inside the simulation.