After the class ended, the students of Class 2 were left deeply unsettled by what they had heard from their class head teacher, Guan Fang. His words were not merely instructions or warnings — they felt like a verdict carved into stone, cold and unavoidable. The mention of the Holy Battles, of victory and elimination, of glory and despair, weighed heavily on every young heart present.
As the students slowly dispersed and walked through the academy grounds, the lively atmosphere that usually followed classes was nowhere to be found. Normally, laughter and arguments filled the wide stone paths, but now conversations were muted, fragmented, and uncertain. Footsteps echoed heavier than usual, as if each student was unconsciously carrying the burden of their future with them.
Lan Zhen walked alongside Gu Na'er, Lei Wei, Shi Feng, Yu Xiatao, and Bing Xue'er. Though they were together, it felt as if an invisible distance separated them. Zhen's thoughts churned endlessly, replaying Guan Fang's words over and over. After a short distance, his pace gradually slowed until he finally came to a complete stop, his eyes fixed on something ahead.
Before them stood the statues of the legendary team — Darkness Light.
The statues towered above the academy plaza, tall and solemn, carved with exquisite detail. Time had weathered their surfaces, leaving faint cracks and worn edges, yet their presence remained overwhelming. Each figure seemed frozen in a moment of absolute resolve, their expressions calm yet unyielding, as if they had already foreseen countless battles, sacrifices, and betrayals.
Their weapons were carved mid-rest, not raised in victory, but held as if awaiting the next command. It gave off a strange feeling — not of triumph, but of responsibility. It felt as though their stone gazes still watched over the academy, silently judging the students who walked beneath them, measuring their worth.
Seeing Zhen stop, the others halted as well. One by one, they followed his line of sight and turned toward the statues. Even those who had passed by this place countless times felt something different now. The pressure was sharper, the silence heavier.
Lei Wei finally broke the silence. "What are you looking at, Zhen?"
Zhen did not answer immediately. His eyes slowly moved from one statue to another, carefully tracing the engraved weapons, the firm stances, and the faded inscriptions beneath their feet. Each name engraved into stone felt impossibly distant — and yet frighteningly close.
After a long moment, he spoke.
"I'm curious…" Zhen said quietly. "About how these legends lived during their academy days."
He paused, clenching his fists unconsciously. "I wonder if they faced the same difficulties we're facing now… the same fear, the same pressure… or if they were already confident in their strength."
His words made the atmosphere even heavier. Gu Na'er folded her arms, her gaze conflicted. Bing Xue'er narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, while Yu Xiatao bit her lip, lost in thought. Lei Wei fell silent, and even Shi Feng, usually carefree, scratched his head without a word.
For a brief moment, all of them wondered the same thing — whether even legends like Darkness Light had once doubted themselves, whether they had also stood here as ordinary students, uncertain and afraid of the future.
Eventually, reality caught up to them. The group parted ways, each carrying their own thoughts. Some headed toward the dormitories, others toward training halls, seeking distraction or improvement. Zhen, however, turned in a different direction and walked alone toward the Blacksmith Hall.
The familiar heat hit him the moment he pushed open the heavy doors. A wave of warmth washed over him, and the air was thick with the scent of burning coal and molten metal. The rhythmic clanging from distant forges echoed faintly, layered and uneven, creating a strangely comforting atmosphere that wrapped around him like an old memory.
For the first time since class ended, Zhen's breathing eased slightly.
To his surprise, Ling Hao was already inside, standing near a workbench with his arms crossed. His posture was relaxed, but his sharp eyes suggested he had been waiting for a while.
"Mr. Hao," Zhen said, slightly startled. "Were you waiting for me?"
Ling Hao smiled and casually rubbed his blue hair. "Of course. You've officially become a Class 2, Year 2 student now. Congratulations, Zhen."
Despite the congratulatory words, Zhen showed no excitement. His shoulders drooped, and his expression remained dull, the worry in his eyes impossible to hide.
Ling Hao noticed it immediately.
Without any warning, he picked up an apple from the table and tossed it straight toward Zhen.
"Huh—!" Zhen reacted on instinct and caught it, startled. "Mr. Hao?"
Ling Hao chuckled. "So, little guy, you've heard about the academy's nightmare, huh?"
Zhen nodded slowly. "After hearing about the Holy Battles… I'm scared," he admitted honestly. "I keep thinking — if I'm not strong enough and I lose… then everything ends."
He couldn't bring himself to finish the rest.
Ling Hao watched Zhen's gloomy expression in silence. His smile faded for just a moment. Then, all of a sudden—
Pat!
A sharp slap landed on Zhen's back.
"Seriously, you little punk!" Ling Hao laughed loudly.
Zhen stumbled forward in shock. "W-What was that for?!"
"You're this depressed over that?" Ling Hao continued, laughing heartily. "Hahahaha! If fear alone could crush you, you wouldn't have made it this far."
Seeing Zhen still frozen, Ling Hao's laughter gradually softened. He placed a firm hand on Zhen's shoulder.
"Zhen," he said calmly, "fear never disappears. Even those legends outside felt it. The difference is what you do when it shows up."
Zhen listened silently.
"When your heart feels heavy," Ling Hao continued, "you should do what you love the most."
Zhen blinked, confused. "What I love the most…?"
Ling Hao didn't answer with words. Instead, he turned around, picked up a forging hammer, and placed it into Zhen's hands. The familiar weight settled naturally into his grip.
"Forge a needle for me," Ling Hao said simply. "I actually need it."
Zhen was puzzled, but he nodded without hesitation. "Alright."
Soon, a piece of metal was placed into the furnace. Flames roared violently as Zhen carefully adjusted the heat, his movements steady and practiced. The glow of the fire reflected in his eyes. Ling Hao stood behind him, watching silently, saying nothing.
When the metal finally reached the right temperature, glowing a bright crimson, Zhen pulled it out with tongs and lifted the hammer.
Clang!
The first strike echoed loudly through the Blacksmith Hall, sharp and clear.
Zhen froze for a brief moment — then a small smile appeared on his face.
The familiar sound, the vibration traveling through his arms, and the resistance of the metal awakened something deep within him. His breathing steadied. The chaos in his thoughts slowly quieted, replaced by focus.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
He continued striking the metal, each hit controlled and precise. Sparks flew with every blow, scattering like fleeting stars across the dark floor. Sweat formed on his brow, but his expression grew calmer with every strike.
With each sound of metal being shaped, Zhen's worries slowly melted away, hammered down again and again.
The rhythm of forging filled the hall — steady, heavy, and reassuring. And for the first time since the class ended, Lan Zhen felt truly calm, as if he had found a place where fear could not reach him.
Watching Zhen forge the metal, Ling Hao smiled quietly to himself.
"So that's it," he thought. "No matter how loud the world becomes… this sound will always keep you grounded."
After all, more than anything else in this world — Lan Zhen loved the sound of metal the most.