The barracks were surprisingly well-maintained for a military facility.
Not luxurious by any means—just functional stone buildings with proper insulation and basic amenities. Each room housed ten recruits in bunk beds, with a shared washing area and equipment storage.
Group 1-A was assigned to Barracks 1, Room A. The top-ranked group got the best accommodations, though "best" was relative. The beds had thin mattresses, the windows had functional shutters, and there was a small stove in the corner for heat.
At least it's warm.
Arden claimed a lower bunk near the window and started organizing his gear. His steel sword went on the weapon rack. His pack went in the footlocker. Everything had a place.
Around him, the other recruits were doing the same.
Thrain took two bunks' worth of space just by existing. Garrett looked ready to collapse from exhaustion.
The quiet boy with dark hair (0023) had already finished organizing and was sitting cross-legged on his bunk. But instead of meditating, he was doing something unusual—polishing three identical short swords with methodical precision.
Three swords? That's odd.
Serra took the bunk furthest from everyone else, near the corner. She organized her gear with mechanical efficiency, then sat on her bed and stared at nothing.
Still keeping distance.
"Attention!" A sharp voice cut through the room.
An instructor stepped inside—not Valen, but another veteran with a scarred face and cold eyes. "I'm Instructor Kain, your barracks supervisor. Listen carefully because I'll only say this once."
He pulled out a piece of parchment and began reading.
"Wake-up is at dawn, marked by the first bell. You have thirty minutes to dress, arm yourselves, and report to the training grounds. Tardiness results in punishment for your entire group."
Several recruits exchanged nervous glances.
"Breakfast is served after morning training. Lunch after tactical lessons. Dinner after evening combat drills. Miss a meal, and you don't eat until the next one."
Kain's eyes swept the room.
"Your group assignments are permanent for the first semester. Your rankings are not. Monthly assessments will determine your standing. Top performers receive privileges—first choice of training equipment, access to advanced techniques, priority for Integration cores when they become available."
Integration cores. That's what I'm really here for.
"Bottom performers receive extra training until they improve or wash out." Kain folded the parchment. "Questions?"
"What about leave?" Thrain asked. "Can we visit family?"
"Once per semester, one week. You earn it by not failing. Any other questions?"
Silence.
"Good. Medical treatment is available at the infirmary. Your injuries from today's entrance ceremony will be treated shortly. A medic will arrive within the hour." Kain turned to leave, then paused. "One more thing. The academy operates on a merit-based ranking system. Your current numbers reflect preliminary assessment. Your actual rank will be posted tomorrow after today's performance is evaluated."
He left without another word.
The room erupted into conversation.
"Did you hear that? Rankings posted tomorrow!"
"I wonder how we did compared to other groups..."
"At least we all made it. Did you see Group 3-C? They lost four people."
Arden tuned out the chatter and focused on his own thoughts.
Tomorrow they'll post rankings. If I performed well enough during the entrance ceremony, I should maintain my position near the top.
Competition starts immediately. Good.
A knock at the door interrupted his planning.
A medic entered—a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and efficient movements. "Injuries. Who needs treatment?"
Nearly everyone raised their hands.
The medic sighed. "Form a line. Worst injuries first."
She worked quickly, applying healing salves and bandaging wounds. When it was Arden's turn, she examined his shoulder where the howler's claws had struck.
"Bruised, not broken. You'll be sore for a few days." She applied a cooling salve that immediately numbed the pain. "Don't do anything stupid until it heals."
"Yes, ma'am."
She moved on to the next recruit.
By the time she finished treating everyone, it was nearly dark outside. The medic left, and an assistant brought in a cart of food—bread, dried meat, cheese, and water.
Basic rations, but after the day they'd had, it tasted like a feast.
Most of the recruits ate together, talking and bonding over shared exhaustion.
Serra ate alone on her bunk, back to the wall, eyes distant.
She's not going to make friends easily. Not that she seems to want to.
After dinner, most recruits collapsed into their bunks. The day had been brutal, and tomorrow promised more of the same.
Arden lay in his bunk, staring at the wooden slats above him.
First day complete. Entrance ceremony survived. Group 1-A intact.
Tomorrow, real training begins. And somewhere in this academy, there are Integration cores waiting to be earned.
Focus on the rankings. Focus on advancement. Everything else is secondary.
He was just drifting off to sleep when movement caught his attention.
The quiet boy with dark hair (0023) was still awake, sitting cross-legged on his bunk. His three short swords floated in the air around him, spinning slowly in perfect synchronization.
What the—
The swords weren't being held by anything. They just... hovered. Rotating in a precise pattern around the boy like a deadly orbit.
Telekinesis. Had to be.
That's rare. Really rare. Most people can't manifest telekinetic abilities until at least 3rd Stage, and even then it's usually limited to small objects.
But he's doing it at 2nd Stage? With three swords simultaneously?
The swords continued their rotation—not fast, but controlled. Precise. Like he'd been doing this for years.
After a few minutes, the swords slowly descended back to his bunk. The boy opened his eyes and caught Arden watching.
"Sorry," the boy said quietly. "Did I disturb you?"
"No. Just... impressive control." Arden sat up slightly. "Why didn't you use that during the entrance ceremony? Would've made things easier."
The boy looked at him with an expression that might have been amusement. "They assigned me a standard steel sword. So I used the standard steel sword."
"That's it? You just followed the equipment assignment?"
"Yes."
He's either incredibly rule-abiding or he was testing himself. Maybe both.
"I'm Arden Valekrest."
"I know. 0001." The boy carefully arranged his three swords on his bunk. "I'm Rykard. Rykard Voss."
Voss. Never heard that family name. Probably not nobility.
"Your tactical commands during the entrance ceremony were effective," Rykard continued in that same quiet, measured tone. "Made fighting simpler. I appreciated that."
"You fight better with clear objectives?"
"No. I fight fine either way." Rykard lay down. "But your commands helped the others, which made the overall fight easier. Less chaos."
Practical. Efficient. Who is this kid?
"Where'd you learn telekinesis?" Arden asked.
"Family technique. Voss mercenary clan, eastern frontier. We hunt monsters and demons for money." Rykard closed his eyes. "Been using it since I was eight."
Mercenary clan. That explains the combat experience and the calm demeanor.
"I look forward to working with you," Rykard said. "Good night."
Then he was asleep within seconds, like someone who'd learned to rest whenever opportunity presented itself.
Rykard Voss. Telekinetic swordsman from a mercenary clan. Combat experience since age eight.
Another prodigy to compete with. This year's intake is stronger than I expected.
Arden closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down.
Deal with it tomorrow. Too tired to process this now.
But sleep didn't come easily.
The morning bell shattered the darkness with brutal efficiency.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
"UP! EVERYONE UP! YOU HAVE THIRTY MINUTES!"
Instructor Kain's voice echoed through the barracks like a war horn.
Arden rolled out of bed instantly. Around him, other recruits were groaning and stumbling in the pre-dawn darkness.
"Move! Twenty-nine minutes!"
The room erupted into chaos. Recruits scrambling for clothes, weapons, equipment.
Arden dressed efficiently—training uniform, leather armor, weapon belt. His steel sword went on his hip. He was ready in under five minutes.
Rykard was similarly fast, already armed with his three swords secured at his belt. He waited by the door with the same calm expression.
Thrain was struggling to get his armor on properly. Garrett looked like he might cry. Serra was moving with mechanical precision, ignoring everyone around her.
"Fifteen minutes!" Kain shouted.
The slower recruits started panicking.
"Help each other!" Arden called out. "Faster recruits assist slower ones! If one person is late, we all get punished!"
That got people moving. Thrain helped Garrett with his armor straps. The silver-haired girl (0045) helped 0067 find her missing boot.
At the twenty-eight-minute mark, all ten members of Group 1-A were armed and ready.
They filed out of the barracks and onto the training grounds.
It was still dark. The sun hadn't risen yet. The temperature was well below freezing.
Standing on the training ground were all two hundred recruits who'd survived the entrance ceremony, organized by group.
Instructor Salmosa stood on a platform, watching with cold eyes as the last stragglers arrived.
"CONGRATULATIONS!" he bellowed. "You survived your first night! Now let's see if you can survive your first day of actual training!"
Several recruits looked like they wanted to protest that they'd already done the entrance ceremony.
"That was just a warm-up," Salmosa continued. "Today, we begin real training. Physical conditioning, weapons drills, tactical exercises, and—"
He was cut off by a sound that made everyone freeze.
AWOOOOOOOOO!
A howl. Distant but clear. Coming from the forest beyond the academy walls.
Then another. And another.
Multiple howls, echoing through the pre-dawn darkness.
"What the hell?" someone whispered.
Instructor Salmosa's expression didn't change. "Interesting. We weren't expecting them for another week."
"Expecting what?" a recruit asked nervously.
"Monster wave," Salmosa said casually. "Small one. Maybe thirty to forty creatures. Mostly howlers and frostfangs with a few apex predators mixed in."
The training ground went silent.
"All instructors, combat positions!" Salmosa commanded. "Veteran recruits, prepare to assist! First-year recruits—"
He looked directly at the two hundred terrified twelve-year-olds.
"You will stay in the training grounds. If anything breaks through our lines, you engage. Otherwise, you watch and learn."
A monster attack. On the first day. Of course.
"This is insane!" someone shouted.
"This is the frontier!" Salmosa shot back. "Monster waves don't check your training schedule! They attack when they attack! Now SHUT UP and WATCH HOW REAL SOLDIERS FIGHT!"
The instructors were already moving toward the walls. Veteran students—older recruits in their second, third, and fourth years—were grabbing weapons and following.
And in the distance, the howling was getting closer.
Welcome to Northern Military Academy. Where apparently, hell starts immediately.
Arden checked his sword, his heartbeat steady despite the chaos.
Beside him, Rykard's three swords were already floating in the air around him, spinning slowly.
"Ready?" Rykard asked calmly.
"As I'll ever be."
Let's see what a real frontier monster wave looks like.