"Good morning, cadets. My name is Master Lancau Mikhalia. I will be your instructor for the subject of marksmanship basics," announced an older, grey-haired man with a nose that looked like it had felt the cruelty of the battlefield numerous times. Eyebrows so bushy they almost impaired his vision. A presence that carried authority despite his age. His posture was rigid, his gaze sharp, as if time itself had failed to dull the man.
"This will be your first lesson," he continued calmly, "so we'll begin by familiarizing you with the rifle—its handling, its balance, and its anatomy."
He paused briefly, letting his eyes wander across the formation.
"Can anyone tell me what the substance we shoot with is called?"
In front of the instructor stood several rows of cadets, all clad in uniform, their posture straight and disciplined, as though they were already seasoned soldiers. The High Nobles occupied the front rows, their house sigils polished and proudly displayed. Behind them stood the lesser Nobles, and in the final rows, at the very back, were the commoners.
Kethan stood at the very back, in the left corner. The lowest born among them all. The fact that the hierarchy was even emphasized in a regular class made his blood boil.
"Stockamptos, sir," answered a familiar white-haired noble from the front row, his expression cold, yet undeniably charming.
"A laser-like substance extracted from the soils in the far South. Each of its capsules can fire up to 25 rounds. The lasers pierce nearly anything, except rezanium, tungsten and titanium in some cases."
"Excellent, Mr. Luxaeten," Mikhalia said, with pride seeping into his voice.
"The discovery of Stockamptos during the rise of the Empire changed our future entirely. Four centuries ago none of the old nations had an answer for it." A blonde cadet raised his hand. "Sir, is that when the tanks were invented?"
"Yes, exactly." Mikhalia answered. "A little over half a century later our Holy empire had finally united this world, "said Mikhalia with genuine pride and passion for the Empire he served.
Kethan had heard this story before during the so-called history lessons at the orphanage school, if it could even be called that. Each time he heard it—and this time was no exception—his jaw tightened, with blood simmering beneath his skin. They always framed oppression as unification. They always called conquest peace.
[This is what tyrants do. Tyrants never called themselves tyrants. Instead, they twisted narratives, reshaped truths, and justified their rule—calling it destiny, necessity, or the greater good. And people always believe it.]
"Now," master Mikhalia continued, gesturing behind him, "as you can all see, the shooting range lies before you."
The cadets all nodded in unison.
"I want you to pair up. Each pair will receive a handgun. The handgun is the foundation of marksmanship and an essential tool carried by every soldier, even the esteemed Imperial knights."
At the mention of those last words, excitement rippled through the room. Several cadets straightened instinctively. Kethan also couldn't help but feel fascination for the them, despite the fact that he despised them for what they had done in the past.
"We are going to make this first lesson interesting," the instructor said, a faint smile forming. "The best way to learn is under pressure. So this will be a competition. That way, we may also discover the naturally talented among you." He paused briefly and continued with a voice slightly raspier than before. "I will instruct you all before shooting. Then, the first cadet of each pair will fire ten shots, followed by the second. The rules are simple: accuracy determines the winner."
He clapped his hands once.
"Now, find your pairs."
Kethan didn't bother looking around, yet a hand touched his shoulder. He turned to see a slightly shorter commoner standing beside him, his features suggesting eastern ancestry. Short black hair covering his forehead, dark brown eyes, and a gentle, almost feminine face that contrasted sharply with the harshness of the academy.
"Hey," the boy said warmly, "do you want to pair up?"
"Fine." Kethan replied, his voice cold and distant. [I need to pair up with someone anyway. Better to do so with a commoner, than one of those damned nobles.]
"My name's Raijin." the boy said as they walked toward the front to receive their handgun. "What's yours?"
"Kethan."
"Well … it's nice to meet you, Kethan."
Kethan didn't respond.
Raijin reminded him of Elio—open, earnest, and eager to connect. He never understood people like that. He never understood that desire of connecting.
His gaze remained fixed ahead, drawn to the weapons laid out before them. He noticed two noble girls watching him, whispering, smirks playing on their lips as they tried to catch his attention. His eyes never even drifted in their direction.
They acquired their handgun in a deafening silence and moved to an empty stall. A hologram of a mannequin stood directly ahead, reflected on plates of steel.
Once everyone had taken their place, Mikhalia spoke again.
"Now," he instructed, "the first one of you needs to take his position."
Raijin turned slightly and gave Kethan a small gesture with his hand, offering him the first turn. Kethan did not hesitate, nor did he refuse. He stepped forward, his movements calm and deliberate, and positioned himself at the stall.
"All right." the instructor began, his tone precise and measured. "First of all, hold your gun firmly. Both hands wrapped tightly around the handle. Your finger stays on the trigger."
Kethan adjusted his grip instinctively, feeling the weight of the weapon settle into his palms.
"Plant your feet steadily into the ground." Mikhalia continued. "Stabilize your core. Your balance matters more than strength here."
Kethan did as instructed, grounding himself, slowing his breathing.
"Now raise the gun in front of you. Elbows tucked in close to your body. Find your desired target. We will be aiming for the head."
The hologram stared back at Kethan.
"Stabilize your body." Mikhalia said. "Expect some recoil. Not much, but enough to throw you off if you are careless."
Kethan narrowed his eyes.
"Finally," the master concluded, "aim… and take the first shot." His commands were clear, sharp, and unmistakable.
The sound that followed was like a violent rush of wind.
Fifteen guns fired at once, the hiss of lasers cutting through the air in unison. Some cadets lowered their weapons immediately, frustration written across their faces. Others froze for a moment, unsure whether they had succeeded or failed.
Kethan was among the latter.
His laser struck the head of the hologram, burning cleanly through the steel plate behind and revealing the faint glow of rezanium underneath. The hologram revealed a cross mark at the nose. Not a perfect shot, but a precise one. The right corner of his mouth curled upward, just slightly.
He turned his head and caught Mikhalia's gaze. The instructor gave him a brief nod, a small gesture, but one that carried enormous weight for Kethan. He then shifted his attention to another stall.
Armodius had struck the mouth area, equally clean, equally precise.
"You certainly impress, Mr. Luxaeten," Mikhalia said openly.
A confident, very slight grin appeared on Armodius's face, pride radiating from him.
The master scanned the rest of the targets, his eyes moving quickly from stall to stall. It became clear almost immediately, only the two of them had succeeded in hitting the desired target.
"Now," the master announced, "I want nine more shots. Try to improve with each one."
Kethan remembered every instruction, every detail. He raised the gun again and began firing, one shot after another, steady and controlled. Nine sharp swishes filled the air. He finished before all the others, who hadn't begun firing, matched only by a certain High Noble who kept perfect pace beside him.
The room buzzed with excitement. Cadets whispered, glanced back and forth, openly speculating about who would come out ahead.
Kethan lowered his weapon and examined the hologram. Eight out of nine shots had landed on the head, a strong score. Armodius had matched it exactly. An unmistakable rivalry slowly began to take shape at that very moment.
The room reacted accordingly. Eyes lingered on the two of them, some filled with admiration, others with envy. The noble girls from earlier stared openly now, with a shimmer of fascination in their eyes.
"Well done, both of you," Master Mikhalia said, his voice carrying genuine pride, though once again, his gaze lingered on Armodius just a fraction longer than on Kethan.
[Well, at least he acknowledged me this time] Kethan thought.
"Now," Mikhalia barked suddenly, his tone shifting, "as for the rest of you—what the hell are you all waiting for? Take your damned shots."
The sharpness in his voice snapped the cadets into motion. Fear flickered across their faces as they raised their weapons. The room filled with scattered laser fire.
Everyone's scores now appeared on the large screen inserted above the stalls. Most failed to come close to the results of the two before them. Some didn't land a single headshot. Yet Mikhalia showed no disappointment, this was expected. Almost every cadet, Noble or commoner, struggles during their first lesson. It was simply those two stars who made everyone else look inadequate by comparison.
"All right," he said, "switch with your partners. Let's see where you all truly stand."
Kethan handed the gun to Raijin, certain that the result had already been decided. Victory felt close, almost inevitable.
Raijin stepped forward. He planted his feet with ease, adjusted his stance, and raised the weapon as if he had done so countless times before.
"You all heard the instructions." Mikhalia said. "Position yourselves."
Raijin didn't blink once.
"Fire."
Countless lasers hissed through the air. Everyone was eager to see the results on the screen, however it looked like no one had matched Armodius or Kethan.
But Kethan's eyes widened as he looked at the hologram in front of him, then he focused on the score above. The entire class fell silent when they noticed. Even Armodius froze. Even master Mikhalia stared in disbelief.
All ten of Raijin's shots had struck the same area, not just anywhere on the head, but perfectly in the middle of the forehead. Each hit was flawless, brutally precise.
"I think," the master said slowly, awe still present in his voice, "we have a winner, everyone."
Raijin turned back toward Kethan, a faint smile playing on his lips. Kethan, still stunned, couldn't tell whether it was a friendly smile or something like a threat.
[This guy is insane} He thought. [On a completely different level. That white-haired noble might not be the only threat.]
This year was definitely going to be a challenge, however Kethan had faced worse. And he had no intention of letting anyone stop him from climbing up.
Climbing as high as his blood would allow him to.