The academy's shopping complex sat between the inner halls and the dormitories, always busy, always loud. The smell of herbs, metal, and mana mixed in the air.
Zen headed that way, shoulders still tense, hands tucked into his sleeves.
"Hey—watch it."
Zen sidestepped just as someone nearly collided with him.
The guy stopped short, balancing a satchel filled with glass vials. His sleeves were rolled up, fingers stained faintly blue and green.
"Sorry," the guy said. Then his eyes dropped to Zen's hands. "Whoa. Rough day?"
Zen snorted. "First practical."
The guy nodded like that explained everything. "Warrior Hall?"
"Yeah."
"Thought so." He shifted the satchel. "I'm heading to the shopping complex too. Need materials."
Zen tilted his head. "Alchemy?"
"Unfortunately," the guy replied. "Kael."
Zen recognized the name. "…Top ten."
Kael sighed. "People keep saying that."
Zen gestured toward his hands. "I was on my way to buy a healing potion."
Kael nodded once. "Makes sense. Basic ones are overpriced though."
Zen shrugged. "Mentor's orders."
Kael smiled. "Then let's go together. I could use someone who looks more intimidating than me in the line."
Zen chuckled. "Fair."
They fell into step side by side, the noise of the academy swelling around them.
As they walked, Kael glanced sideways. "First day always hurts the most."
Zen looked down at his swollen knuckles.
"…Yeah," he said. "But at least now I know where."
Kael grinned. "That's how you survive here."
Together, they headed toward the shopping complex—
one to fix what was broken,
the other to build something new.
They stopped at a polished counter lined with potion vials, each sealed behind thin layers of runes.
Kael reached for a modest blue vial. "This one's enough. Clean knit, low backlash."
Zen glanced at it. Then at his hands.
He shook his head. "Nah."
Kael paused. "What?"
Zen pointed higher up the shelf.
Kael followed his finger—and stiffened.
A crimson vial rested alone, its runes slow and dense.
Advanced Regenerative Elixir
Cost: 50,000 points
Kael laughed. "That's not happening. That thing's meant for people who get stabbed, not beginners who punch wrong."
"I'll take it," Zen said.
Kael turned. "Zen—"
"And those," Zen added, nodding toward Kael's list on the counter. "All of it."
Kael stared. "Hold on. I didn't—"
Zen was already placing his rune-tag on the counter.
The crystal reader flared bright.
Two lines appeared.
Total Points: 1,100,000
Pending Transactions: –50,000
–18,700
–12,400
Kael's eyes locked onto the numbers.
"…Wait."
The reader updated.
Remaining Points: 1,018,900
The barrier around the crimson vial dropped. The attendant slid it forward, along with Kael's materials.
Kael didn't move.
He looked at the display again.
Then at Zen.
Then back at the display.
"…That total," he said slowly. "You're not just top ten."
Zen picked up the vial. "Guess not."
Kael grabbed Zen by the sleeve.
"You're kidding me," he said, voice rising. "You're that guy?"
Zen blinked. "That guy?"
Kael spun him slightly so he could see the reader again.
"The anomaly," Kael said loudly. "The endurance freak. The warrior who broke the measurement system."
Heads turned.
A couple of students stopped walking.
Zen winced. "Could you maybe not—"
"You're Zen," Kael said, awe and excitement crashing together. "The anomaly guy!"
A nearby student whispered.
Someone else stared.
Zen rubbed the back of his neck. "…Yeah."
Kael laughed once, sharp and disbelieving.
"And you're spending fifty thousand points on day one," he said. "And buying my stuff like it's nothing."
Zen shrugged. "You said basic potions heal wrong."
Kael stared at him for a long moment.
Then shook his head slowly.
"You're insane," he said. "I like that."
He hesitated, then added more quietly, "I'll pay you back."
Zen met his eyes. "Don't."
Kael frowned. "Why?"
"Because," Zen said, slipping the vial into his pocket, "if you're building things that matter, I want them to work."
Kael blinked.
Then he grinned.
Wide.
"Okay," he said. "Now I'm invested."
They stepped away from the counter together, bags in hand.
Around them, the shopping complex buzzed on—
unaware that a future partnership had just been paid for in points and blood.
And Kael couldn't stop smiling.
Because the anomaly guy wasn't just strong.
He was interesting.
Warrior Hall
Aren stood alone in the formation circle.
Sweat rolled down his spine, soaking into the dark fabric of his training coat. His stance was perfect—weight balanced, breathing measured—but the formation around him told a different story.
Lines of force flared into existence.
Then wavered.
The defensive lattice buckled slightly, pressure bleeding outward instead of cycling cleanly.
Aren clenched his jaw and adjusted—
Too late.
The formation responded—
And collapsed.
Marshal Teren struck the ground once with his staff.
"You felt it," he said. "Didn't you?"
Aren nodded.
"Your fists want to solve everything," Teren continued. "Titan Fist reinforces impact—but formations require restraint."
He gestured.
"Your strength bends the flow instead of guiding it."
Aren lowered his hands slowly.
"…Understood."
"Good," Teren replied. "Because a frontline warrior who cannot hold will eventually shatter everything behind him."
"Again," Marshal Teren Vos said.
No disappointment.
Just expectation.
Aren reset instantly.
As he did, the pendant at his chest slipped free from beneath his collar.
A small thing. Dark metal. Old.
The rune etched into it didn't glow.
It waited.
Marshal Teren's eyes flicked to it—
And froze.
For half a breath, the world seemed to pause.
That pendant.
It wasn't ceremonial.
It wasn't decorative.
It was one of three forbidden relics removed from circulation generations ago.
Items that were never meant to exist .
Aren noticed the pause. "Sir?"
Teren recovered immediately, expression neutral once more.
"…Your formation lacks flexibility," he said evenly. "You command it. You don't listen to it."
Aren nodded. "Yes, sir."
But as he reformed his stance, Teren's gaze lingered on the pendant.
So the King entrusted it to you already, he thought.
That changed things.
Strategist Hall
Niel didn't move for a long time.
The last book closed softly beneath his fingers.
Outside, the academy lamps had already shifted to evening hues.
Inside his mind, something had clicked.
Most wars weren't lost on the battlefield.
They were lost before armies ever met.
Orders delayed. Signals misread. Information fractured.
Poor communication didn't weaken strategy—
It killed it.
Niel leaned back slowly, staring at the ceiling.
"…We need a channel," he murmured.
Rune-stones for communication were restricted.
Academy-issued only.
No external devices allowed.
Niel exhaled.
Then we buy academy ones.
He stood, already planning point allocation.
If they were going to survive—
They needed to hear each other in real time.
Weapon Maker Hall
Rex wiped grease from his hands and stepped back.
In front of him sat the skeletal frame of something… excessive.
Four reinforced wheels.
A low, wide body.
Runic channels etched along the chassis like veins.
Not a carriage.
Not a tank.
A mana-armed ground vehicle—compact, aggressive, and fast.
Enough seating for five.
Enough firepower to make instructors nervous.
A training SUV.
A problem.
Rex tapped the core housing lightly.
"Fits all of us," he muttered. "Armor plates modular. Mana output scalable."
He grinned.
"Zen can tank. Aren can command. Niel can coordinate. Evan can keep us alive."
He paused, then added quietly, "…And I'll make sure it hits hard enough."
Across the hall, Master Forgewarden Krail watched without interrupting.
The design was insane.
Which meant it might work.
The Healer Hall was silent.
Not empty—
controlled.
White stone reflected soft light, runes embedded so deeply into the walls that they didn't glow unless called upon. This was the safest place in the academy.
Which was why Evan had chosen it.
He stood alone at the center of the training chamber.
No mentor present.
No observers.
Just him.
Evan closed his eyes.
This is where I failed before.
He raised his hand—and released control.
The runes responded instantly.
A blade of condensed mana formed in the air and drove straight into his side.
Pain exploded.
Evan gasped as he staggered back, blood soaking into his uniform.
He didn't scream.
He didn't panic.
He let it happen.
Because panic was what killed healers.
He collapsed to one knee, breath ragged, vision blurring.
Then—
He moved.
Healing mana surged from his core, not outward, but inward—wrapping damaged tissue, reinforcing nerves before repairing them.
Bone aligned.
Muscle reknit.
Blood reversed its flow.
The pain dulled.
Evan forced himself to stand.
Then—
He summoned another blade.
This one struck his shoulder.
Harder.
He gritted his teeth as the impact tore muscle and cracked bone.
He fell again.
Too slow, he thought. You hesitated.
Healing flowed again—faster this time, smoother, less waste.
He didn't just heal.
He optimized.
Reduced mana loss.
Improved structural integrity.
When he stood again, his breathing was steady.
Sweat ran down his face.
"Again," Evan whispered.
The third attack came without warning.
A piercing spike straight through his thigh.
Evan screamed this time.
Not from pain.
From memory.
He healed anyway.
Over and over.
Injury.
Recovery.
Adjustment.
By the fifth strike, he was already healing before the damage finished forming.
By the seventh, his body began reinforcing itself instinctively.
Aurelina Valen watched from the doorway.
She didn't interrupt.
Didn't stop him.
Her hands trembled slightly.
"This isn't training," she murmured.
Evan straightened slowly, blood evaporating into light.
"This is foundation," he said quietly.
He looked down at his hands.
"I will finish it this time. "