When I imagined "training," I didn't expect to be handed a rusty dagger and shoved into a dirt arena full of goblins with rocks.
But here we were.
The training grounds for Level One looked like someone had tried to build a gym with zero budget, half a shovel, and a deep hatred for symmetry. Uneven stone walls surrounded a flat circle of packed soil. Dummies made of straw and bone fragments lined one edge. On the other, various weapons were stuck in the ground like someone had tried to grow a sword garden and failed miserably.
Karen stood above the scene on a raised platform, arms crossed, eyes sharp. A floating crystal hovered beside her, humming faintly as it recorded everything.
I stood in the center of the arena, clutching the dullest dagger I'd ever seen. Jero trembled at my side, holding a buckler that was mostly duct tape and wishful thinking.
"Welcome to basic combat assessment," Karen called down, her voice echoing against the stone. "Try not to embarrass the Dungeon."
A goblin two heads shorter than me snorted nearby.
"No pressure," I muttered.
> [Objective: Survive basic training. Optional: Look like you know what you're doing.]
[Weapon equipped: Butter Knife of Sadness]
Trixia was perched just outside the ring, watching with a smug flick of her tail. "Try not to stab yourself, hero."
"I make no promises."
Karen barked the first command.
"Attack the dummy."
Simple enough. I walked up to the straw figure, raised the dagger, and—
The tip bounced off harmlessly with a dull thunk. The dummy didn't even twitch.
I tried again. And again. My wrist ached. My arm wobbled. I hit it so wrong on the third try that the dagger nearly spun out of my hand.
Behind me, someone coughed. Or laughed. Hard to tell.
> [You dealt 0.4 damage. Critical failure avoided. Barely.]
[You gained 1 EXP.]
[Skill Progress: Improvised Swing (Lv. 0 → 0.2%)]
I turned to Trixia. "At this rate, I'll be level two by retirement."
She yawned. "Be grateful the dummy doesn't hit back."
Next was dodging. That went about as well.
They tied a rope to a weighted log and swung it across the arena. Most minions ducked or rolled with practiced ease. Jero shrieked and threw himself face-first into the dirt like a professional.
I hesitated half a second too long.
WHAM.
Stars. Actual stars.
> [Passive Activated: Trip Over Own Feet]
[Status Effect: Dazed (Mild)]
Karen sighed from above. "You're not here to entertain me, 001."
"Not intentionally," I groaned, clutching my ribs.
After an hour of humiliation, bruises, and a dagger-related self-injury I refused to speak of, Karen raised a hand.
"Enough."
The training dummies vanished in a puff of smoke. The rope trap retracted into a slot in the wall with a mechanical click.
"Now," she said, "we test your brain."
A faint illusion shimmered in the center of the arena—an aerial view of part of the Dungeon. It showed corridors, spawn zones, entry gates, and magical trap lines.
"This is a map of Sector 1-C," Karen explained. "I want you to identify potential weaknesses in the defense layout, based on standard raid behavior."
Several minions stared blankly. One threw a pebble at the illusion. Another raised a hand and asked if "weakness" meant "the place where the food goes."
I stepped forward. "The traps here are too close together," I said, pointing at one corridor. "If the frontliners trigger the first one, the others will disarm the rest before they're in range. Also—this chamber's corner has no cover. If ranged attackers come through, they'll have a straight line of sight."
Silence.
Karen blinked once.
Jero whispered, "Whoa."
Trixia smiled slightly.
Karen adjusted her glasses. "Not strong. But not stupid."
I chose to take that as a compliment.
---
After the exercise, Karen led us into a covered chamber with stone benches and a large, rune-lit wall. She gestured, and the wall displayed stylized silhouettes of humans.
"This is what we defend against," she said. "Humans from the surface. Adventurers. Raiders. Soldiers. And occasionally…"
The rune shimmered. One silhouette lit up in gold.
"…Heroes."
I frowned. "What's the difference?"
"Heroes," she said, "aren't just trained. They're marked."
Marked?
"They possess something rare. Access to a mysterious force. A… system, as they call it. It grants them information, skills, sometimes even powers that don't follow the laws of mana. We don't fully understand it."
> [System Alert: External system mention detected]
[Warning: Do not reveal user interface.]
Trixia turned her head. Her golden eyes locked with mine.
No words. Just one sharp look.
She knew.
I knew.
And Karen didn't.
"Have you encountered such individuals?" she asked.
I swallowed. "No," I lied.
Karen didn't blink. "If you do, observe. Report. Do not engage."
The display shifted again, showing typical raid compositions.
"Human parties tend to follow patterns. Tank, mage, archer, support. Or sometimes lone scouts. Understand who's in front, who's in the back. And who's most likely to kill you."
Jero raised a trembling hand. "W-what about b-bards?"
Karen sighed. "Ignore them. Unless they sing. Then kill them first."
---
Hours later, as we limped out of the chamber, I could barely feel my legs. Jero was mumbling about bandages and soup. Trixia rode on my shoulder like royalty.
Karen called after us.
"001."
I turned.
"You'll start your real assignment tomorrow. Sector 1-B patrol, standard rotation."
"Alone?" I asked.
"Of course not." She jerked her chin toward Jero. "He'll assist you."
Jero turned pale green.
"B-but—!"
"No complaints." Karen scribbled something on a floating page and sent it flying off into the wall like a paper drone.
She looked at me for a long second.
"You're not what I expected," she said. "But you'll do. For now."
Then she walked away, her boots echoing in the corridor.
---
Back in my room, I lay on the slab and stared at the ceiling. Trixia lay curled at my feet.
"You didn't tell her," she said softly.
"No."
"She'll find out eventually."
"Maybe."
Silence.
Then I said, "So… I'm not the only one with a system."
"No," she murmured. "But you're the only one down here who can use it."