Adam arrived at the entrance of the assigned Training Hall. Inside, hundreds of students stood in ranks of ten. At the front of each row, masked instructors in black trench coats tended to the lines.

  Adam’s gaze drifted from the students to the swirling portals behind the instructors. He wondered where each one led.

  He and Hendrix joined the fifth line.

  The hunger had eased for now, though Adam didn't trust it to stay gone. He scanned the crowd. Most students couldn't hide their nerves; a few whispered to one another. He paid them no mind and turned to Hendrix instead. The man was talking to a petite girl.

  If I don’t hear from Captain Wallace within a month, I’ll have to find Erik Gilmore myself. Maybe I can reach Vicar through him.

  Adam’s brows pinched as the thought passed.

  “Hey, Adam,” Hendrix whispered.

  Adam blinked, meeting Hendrix’s familiar smile. “Do you need something?”

  “Is your Blessing linked to daydreaming?” Hendrix teased. “You’re always off somewhere.”

  Adam smiled and let it go. Hendrix lowered his voice. “When you’re done, meet me in the cafeteria. Okay?”

  Adam nodded. “Sure.” He glanced toward the front of the line. “Hopefully this won’t take long. I’ll visit the library first.”

  “Library?” Hendrix started to ask—

  “Next!” an instructor barked.

  Adam watched another student approach. The masked figure already held a file before the student reached the front.

  Do all instructors have access to our personal data? Adam wondered.

  The instructor’s voice was clinical. “Proceed to the Support class. As a supporter, you are not eligible to raid a dungeon solo. Step into the portal. Next!”

  The student didn’t argue; she rushed into the portal without hesitation. The instructor's words echoed in Adam's mind; there was no other explanation for how classes were assigned.

  Minutes passed. Hendrix had been sent to Support, and now Adam stood before his own instructor. The masked figure skimmed his file.

  “Proceed to the Attack class,” the instructor announced. “The instructor on the other side will assign an appropriate attack subclass based on your Blessing. You may choose a party to raid the dungeons or proceed solo. This decision cannot be changed until your second year. Step into the portal. Next!”

  Adam nodded and stepped through.

  His vision warped as the gateway closed around him. When it cleared he was in a wide grassy field. A soft wind tousled his hair; the rich scent of earth hung in the air, but he stayed alert.

  It’s too quiet, he thought.

  He watched the horizon. Nothing moved—until the ground before him bulged and something forced itself out of the soil. Adam backed away.

  The figure that rose was humanoid but featureless—molten bronze skin, no eyes, a single mouth. It towered over him, immobile as a monolith.

  “Student 009. Name: Adam. Year: One. Blessing: Weapon Manipulation. Rank: E. Class: Attack. Subclass: Manipulator.” The being’s voice was deep and mechanical; the words unfurled in the air as glowing text.

  Manipulator? Adam frowned. Was that even a recognized subclass?

  The voice repeated itself. “Student 009, do you intend to raid dungeons with a party or solo?”

  “Solo!” Adam answered without hesitation.

  “Student 009… Supporters: None. Rank in Solo Category: 490/490.”

  Four hundred and ninety people already chose solo? Adam forced a dry smile. Most of them probably weren’t low-ranked.

  “You may proceed to Instructor Arlette’s class,” the mechanical voice said. “You will remain under Instructor Arlette’s tutelage until your second year. Good luck.”

  The bronze figure began to sink back into the earth. A portal shimmered a few feet away.

  That should be my way out.

  Adam turned toward the portal, but a voice stopped him. “Oh—remember to find Erik Gilmore.”

  He snapped his head back. “Vicar, is that—?”

  Before he could finish, a force yanked him into the portal. The world folded; when it steadied he was lying on a marble floor beneath harsh lights.

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  “Get up!” a woman snapped. “What kind of weakling did they send me this time? You have ten seconds to move before I make that spot your resting place!

  Adam shuddered where he lay; a chill ran down his spine. Bloodlust simmered in the air.

  He kicked up into a kip and vaulted into a somersault, landing several meters away. A spear thunked into the spot he'd just occupied.

  What kind of lunatic—? Adam clenched his fists.

  “Oh. You could dodge that?” The woman’s voice slithered with derision. “What's your name?”

  He turned and saw her: a woman in sleeveless training gear, light glancing off lean muscles and carved abs. Chestnut hair was tied in a ponytail. Her hazel eyes met his. One hand rested on her hip; the other beckoned him forward with an impatient index finger.

  “Somebody… help me…” A voice whimpered from the right. Only now Adam noticed the others strewn across the room—beaten, bloody, some unconscious.

  She did this alone?

  More than twenty students lay scattered; weapons protruded from limbs or had been cleanly severed. The sight made Adam’s stomach tighten.

  “Eyes on me!” she barked.

  Adam stepped closer, measured and wary. She watched him with a frown.

  “Name?” she asked when he came within five feet.

  “Adam.”

  “Age?”

  “Seventeen.”

  A faint smile tugged at her mouth. “Seventeen, huh. Not bad.”

  Adam stayed silent.

  “Do you intend to form a party with your friends, or—?”

  “I chose the solo category,” he interrupted.

  Her eyes widened for a beat, her mouth parting, then she masked it as if it meant nothing.

  “I'll ask you again.” She advanced. “As an instructor I have access to your files. If you’re doing this to impress someone—”

  Adam gave a short chuckle. “Instructor, please confirm my statement.”

  She glared, then turned away toward a trench coat folded beside twin daggers. Adam watched as she retrieved a small white crystal; it bloomed blue in her palm.

  That’s the same crystal the guard used.

  She spoke into it, lips moving faster than he could follow. Then she returned, scowl deepening until it warped her attractive face.

  “Instructor,” Adam began, “you must have—”

  “Silence!” she snapped. “Do you know what you’ve done? Who do you think you are? Do you think this is a joke?”

  They were only a foot apart, neither breaking eye contact as heat built between them.

  “Even party safety isn’t guaranteed, and yet you’d wander in alone?” Her index finger jabbed his chest. “Do I need to remind you you’re only an E-rank Awakened? Even a sane A-rank wouldn’t pick solo!”

  Adam said nothing, holding her gaze.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” she demanded.

  He shrugged. “I’ve made my decision. I thought we were free to choose. I didn’t expect to be hounded for doing what’s best for me.”

  His words slid off her like water. The bloodlust he’d sensed earlier flared back in his veins.

  “Consider it my mistake,” she said, a chill smile curling her lip. “I want to see why you’re so confident.”

  “Instructor, hold on—this shouldn’t be—”

  “Listen up, brats!” Her voice thundered. “I was going to expel every one of you, but I had a pleasant change of heart!”

  A wash of white light flooded the chamber; then it fractured into searing blue. The weapons piercing the fallen students dissolved like smoke, evaporating into nothing. Adam's breath caught as flesh parted and sealed in a frenzy of motion: gashes zipped shut with wet, sucking pops, while ragged stumps writhed, bone and sinew twisting back into place like living thread.

  Holy shit. The lights can do that?

  Ten seconds later the room hummed with recovered bodies; students sat up, bewildered and whole.

  “Instructor… thank you for—” a voice stammered.

  “I don’t need your thanks,” she cut them off, waving a hand. “You’ll likely still be expelled, so why bother thanking me?”

  Her gaze never left Adam. “I don’t have the authority to change your category, but I can test whether you’re qualified,” she said.

  Adam’s stomach dropped. Don’t tell me she’s planning to—

  “Since there are twenty-five of you, form groups of five,” she announced. “Each group will have five minutes to take him down.”

  Fuck.

  Adam edged back, eyes darting between students as panic rippled through them.

  “The group that brings him down gets a special reward. One minute to form up.”

  He retreated further, watching the confusion bloom on their faces.

  “What are you waiting for? If you don’t want this, lie down and take your beating. The others in the main hall will gladly take the chance!” Her shout snapped them into motion. The students scrambled, organizing into five groups.

  “You lot are up first,” she said, pointing at a random group.

  “Instructor, what is the meaning of this?” Adam barked. “Aren’t you abusing your authority—”

  “Silence! I don’t care what you have to say,” she snarled. “If you think it’s unfair, lie down and be beaten. Then you can apply for expulsion.”

  She folded her arms, smile bright as a blade. “You think you’re that good, right? Welcome to your combat class.”

  She turned to the group she’d chosen. “What are you idiots waiting for? Attack him.”

  Adam’s gaze tracked the students as they moved forward. “I’ll warn you once,” he said. “I won’t show mercy. This won’t end with just tears and broken bones.”

  Silence answered him, and the approaching group hesitated.

  Laughter broke the pause when a young, brawny man stepped forward and pointed at Adam. “Oh, I know you. Weren’t you with Helias before the assembly?” he sneered, stopping a few feet away. “Who’d have thought you’re the same rank as us?”

  Adam studied him. Big frame, nothing else worth remembering.

  “Instructor,” the man went on, “you don’t have to send five of us. I alone can handle this poser.”

  “Name?” the instructor asked.

  “Jeph Anfroy.”

  “Alright, Jeph. You’ve got ten minutes to make him surrender or knock him out. Fail, and don’t show your face before me again. Proceed.”

  A smile slid across Adam’s face as Jeph closed the distance.

  “Don’t blame me for this,” Jeph sneered.

  Adam rolled his eyes. “Hope it’s worth it,” he snickered.

  “You don’t know who—”

  He never finished. Adam blurred forward, a burst of speed that made the air hiss. Jeph staggered two steps back—then Adam was in front of him like a shadow.

  Jeph readjusted and lashed out, a brutal punch toward Adam’s head. Adam didn’t flinch. He dipped under the blow; Jeph’s knee followed, aiming for his face. Adam twisted, vanished from Jeph’s line of sight, and before the man could recover he felt arms wrap around his waist.

  “Coward! Stop running—”

  “Who said I was running?” Adam answered.

  He hoisted Jeph, held him high, and slammed him to the floor in a perfect suplex. Jeph’s body slammed. Adam didn’t let go. He repeated the maneuver—over and over—each slam harder than the last.

  By the twelfth strike Jeph lay still, a smear of blood darkening the floor, skull fractured, eyes rolled back. Adam planted a boot on Jeph’s temple and looked at the others.

  “This is your last warning,” he growled. “I won’t show mercy—”

  “First group, proceed!” the instructor barked. “Don’t worry about Academy rules. You have my permission to use your Blessings. Summon any weapon. Fight without restraint—your injuries will be healed, no matter how severe. No one dies on my watch!”

  The room washed blue. Jeph’s battered body began to knit and seal.

  Adam’s eyes stayed on the instructor; her smile was a blade.