Chapter 24 — Lessons Written in Blood
The academy did not reward survival.
It disguised it as routine.
The bell rang again not long after sunrise—low, resonant, and unavoidable. Its sound rolled through the stone corridors like a command carved into the island itself.
Alex woke with a sharp breath as pain flared through his ribs. The bruises from yesterday have started healing due to his minor regeneration, but not as fast as when he first got the system Every movement sent reminders through his body: you are still here. You barely made it.
Cold stone. Thin light slipping through the narrow window.
Around him, the low-tier dorm stirred slowly. No one sprang out of bed. Survival had drained that out of them.
Ryn sat on the edge of his bunk, staring at his hands, flexing his fingers as if checking whether they still worked. Marek tightened the cloth wraps around his knuckles, movements precise, controlled—too controlled for someone who claimed he'd never trained before.
Leon stood near the door, already dressed, boots polished, posture straight. He looked like he belonged anywhere he stood—and that made him stand out all the more among commoners.
"You should've gone to the infirmary again," Leon said quietly, eyes flicking to Alex's shoulder.
"I'll live."
Leon studied him for a second longer, then nodded. He never argued when Alex sounded certain.
They moved out together.
The academic wing lay deep within the island, carved into reinforced stone and layered with runes meant to resist rift surges and internal combat alike. Wide staircases descended into lecture halls built like bunkers—functional, brutal, and permanent.
Alex felt it immediately.
The division.
High-tier cadets moved freely, voices relaxed, laughter controlled. Church-affiliated students walked in organized clusters, faint sigils glowing near their collars. Noble crests gleamed openly, polished like declarations of worth.
Low tiers stayed close together.
Eyes down.
Voices low.
Leon walked half a step ahead—not shielding, not leading, simply existing with enough presence to warp the space around him.
It didn't stop everything.
A Mid Tier cadet shoulder-checked Alex deliberately as they entered the corridor.
"Watch it," the cadet said, though Alex hadn't moved into his path.
Alex stumbled half a step and caught himself.
The cadet's gaze dropped to Alex's badge.
"F-rank," he scoffed. "Didn't know they let logistics trash into theory class."
Another laughed. "Must be here to learn how to die properly."
Alex said nothing.
"Hey," a third added, circling slightly. "Lose your handler already?"
Alex measured distance. Exits. Angles.
Then Leon turned.
The shift was immediate.
The cadets stiffened as Leon's gaze locked onto them—cold, heavy, unyielding.
"Move," Leon said.
They hesitated.
Then backed off.
"Whatever," one muttered, retreating.
Leon didn't watch them leave. He looked at Alex instead.
"They're mapping you," he said. "Seeing how much pressure it takes."
Alex nodded. "I noticed."
They entered the lecture hall.
It was massive—tiered stone seating descending toward a central platform. Floating rune-lamps hovered overhead, illuminating carved symbols along the walls: records of past rift campaigns, victories, failures, names scratched out entirely.
Seating wasn't assigned.
It didn't need to be.
High tiers filled the front rows immediately.
Mid tiers claimed the center.
Low tiers were pushed upward, where sound echoed poorly and sightlines were compromised.
Alex sat with Leon, Ryn, and Marek near the upper-left section.
He felt eyes on him.
Whispers followed.
"That's the one from yesterday."
"The F-rank."
"He almost fell into the blades."
"Why is he still here?"
Alex kept his gaze forward.
Professor Halvek arrived without announcement.
The room quieted instantly.
Older. Silver-threaded hair. Mechanical implants traced along his jaw and neck, faint blue light pulsing beneath the skin. His eyes were augmented—artificial lenses adjusting constantly, recording everything.
"Sit," Halvek said.
The hall obeyed.
"Welcome to Rift Theory and Combat Application," Halvek began. "This class determines whether you live long enough to matter."
A projection ignited behind him—an ancient rift symbol rotating slowly.
"Rifts are not monsters," Halvek said. "They are environments that produce monsters."
The projection split into classifications.
Rift Grades:
Black — World-ending events.
Crimson — Continental collapse.
Violet — National devastation.
Blue — Regional annihilation.
Green — Controlled incursions.
White — Dormant or training-grade.
"Your abilities," Halvek continued, "are measured against rift survivability—not heroics."
Another projection replaced it.
Ability Grades:
S — Myth-level compatibility
A
B
C
D
E
F — Non-combat baseline
Laughter rippled through the hall at the final grade.
Halvek didn't react.
"Grades do not define value," he said calmly. "They define deployment."
His gaze drifted upward—to the back rows.
"F-ranks," he continued, "are logistics, reconnaissance, support… or casualties."
A student raised a hand—Mid Tier C.
"Sir, are F-ranks ever deployed into active rifts?"
"Yes," Halvek answered immediately. "When necessary."
Silence followed.
Another student—Low Tier E—hesitated before raising his hand. "What if we… can't keep up?"
Halvek looked at him.
"Then you will be reassigned," he said. "Or removed."
The student swallowed.
"Now," Halvek continued, "academy structure."
The projection shifted again.
"Each student is issued Merit Points. Twenty per week."
Murmurs followed.
"These points are your currency," Halvek said. "They grant access to equipment, training priority, healing, and information."
Alex leaned forward slightly.
"Food is free," Halvek added. "Shelter is mandatory. Everything else must be earned."
A Mid Tier smirked. "And lost."
Halvek smiled faintly.
"Merit points cannot be forcibly transferred," he said. "But they can be wagered. Traded. Lost."
A pause.
"Or coerced—if coercion cannot be proven."
The meaning settled heavily.
"Class schedule," Halvek continued. "Mornings are theory. Afternoons are conditioning or combat drills. Evenings are optional—if you can afford them."
A student frowned. "Optional?"
"Merit-based," Halvek clarified.
"And rift exploration?" a noble asked eagerly.
Halvek's eyes gleamed faintly. "White-grade rift exposure begins in six weeks. Survivors may qualify for Green-grade participation within the year."
A collective inhale.
"Failure," Halvek added, "will not be retried."
Class ended soon after.
The hall erupted into layered conversations.
Leon stood immediately. "Stay together."
They moved—but the crowd surged.
Alex was separated.
Footsteps slowed behind him.
"F-rank."
Alex turned.
Three Mid Tier cadets blocked the corridor casually.
"Twenty merit points a week," one said lightly. "That's generous."
"Five," another added. "Protection."
Alex's eyes flicked to their badges.
Before he could answer—
"Move."
Leon stepped in, presence sharp.
The cadets backed off reluctantly.
Later, in the refectory, Alex saw Galen Mor again.
This time, Galen wasn't laughing.
He stood with two cadets, watching a commoner near the dispensers get his badge scanned.
Points transferred.
The cadet looked relieved it was only five.
Galen leaned close and said something quietly.
The cadet nodded.
Alex understood.
This wasn't random bullying.
It was systematic.
Galen was building control.
And Alex had just been noticed
Alex saw Galen Mor again in the refectory.
This time, Galen wasn't laughing.
He stood near one of the stone pillars overlooking the outer tables, posture relaxed, one hand resting casually against the surface as if he belonged there. Two cadets stood beside him—mid-tier, well-fed, confident. Not guards.
Observers.
Across the room, a commoner cadet—thin, nervous, badge still bright with unused merit—was being cornered near the water dispensers.
Alex watched the exchange carefully.
The approach was calm.
No threats.
No raised voices.
One of Galen's people spoke quietly, gesturing toward the badge reader mounted on the wall. The commoner hesitated, glanced around, then complied. The scanner beeped softly.
Merit transferred.
Five points.
Not enough to ruin him.
Enough to remind him.
The cadet bowed his head slightly and hurried away, clutching his tray like it was the last thing anchoring him to the academy.
Galen didn't look at the cadet.
He looked at Alex.
Their eyes met across the refectory.
For a moment, the noise around them faded.
Galen's expression didn't change—no smile, no mockery. Just assessment. Like a man studying a blade he hadn't decided whether to draw yet.
Then Galen leaned closer to one of his companions and said something Alex couldn't hear.
The cadet laughed.
Not loudly.
Deliberately.
Alex felt Leon shift beside him.
"You see that?" Leon murmured.
"Yeah," Alex replied.
"That wasn't random," Leon said. "He's organizing."
Alex nodded slowly.
"He's testing limits."
Galen turned away at last, already moving on to another table, another group. He didn't take points himself. He didn't touch the scanner.
He delegated.
That was the difference.
Alex replayed the movements in his head.
The choice of target.
The timing.
The amount taken.
Not desperation.
Control.
Galen wasn't just bullying low-tiers.
He was building dependency.
Later, as they left the refectory, Alex deliberately slowed his pace.
Leon noticed immediately. "What are you doing?"
"Watching," Alex said.
They passed into the corridor.
Galen emerged moments later, laughter returning to his voice as he walked with his group. His eyes flicked once—briefly—toward Alex.
Not lingering.
Not dismissive.
Marking.
Alex felt it like a finger tapping against his chest.
I see you.
He didn't look away.
Instead, he watched Galen's hands.
Relaxed.
Unscarred.
The hands of someone who'd never had to claw his way back from the edge.
Alex let the image burn into his mind.
That night, back in the dorm, voices were lower than usual.
Ryn whispered, "They took another guy's points. Same group."
Marek scowled. "They're spreading."
Leon sat on his bunk, silent.
Alex lay back, staring at the ceiling.
The system responded instantly.
Not with instructions.
With confirmation.
[Hidden Quest: Will of the Weak — Active]
Status: In Progress
Note: Conditions unmet.
Alex closed his eyes.
He didn't need the system to tell him what came next.
Galen Mor had a blessing.
Galen Mor was abusing it.
And Galen Mor was confident—too confident—that no one beneath him could reach far enough to matter.
Alex opened his eyes.
Across the dorm, Leon watched him quietly.
"You're thinking too hard," Leon said.
Alex exhaled. "I'm thinking clearly."
Outside, the academy lights burned through the night, runes humming softly as they recorded, calculated, categorized.
Somewhere above them, Galen Mor stood on a balcony overlooking the lower wings, watching students scatter like pieces on a board.
And somewhere below—
Alex was doing the same.
Two players.
One board.
And the academy had no idea what kind of game it had just allowed to begin.
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