Desmus stood on the highest peak, looking like a vulture that had just found a particularly juicy carcass. His bayonets were crossed over his chest, glinting in the starlight.
"The Combat Phase establishes your Rank," Desmus bellowed, his voice echoing in the infinite void. "But the Zodiacestablishes your Soul. You do not choose the Sign. The Sign tastes your blood, your intent, and your destiny. And if it finds you wanting... it spits you out."
He gestured to the outer ring of the arena.
Twelve colossal statues stood there, carved from starlight and meteorite. They were terrifying. The Lion (Leo) was roaring silent flames. The Scales (Libra) were weighing invisible sins. The Scorpion (Scorpio) had a stinger poised to strike.
"Step forward!" Desmus commanded. "The Falken Ward. The leftovers. Let us see where the trash belongs."
Astrid stepped up first.
She didn't walk. She prowled.
Through my [Mana-Lens Monocle], I saw her stats glitching. Her Spirit Power was technically 0, but her [KILLER INTENT] was spiking off the charts. She gripped her wooden sword in her one hand like it was a razor.
She walked past the Bull. It snorted. She ignored it. She walked past the Lion. It looked too loud for her. She stopped in front of The Scorpion (Scorpio).
The statue was massive, carved from black obsidian, its tail arched high. It radiated an aura of venom, secrets, and lethal strikes.
Volpert, floating on a platform nearby with his goons, snickered. "Look at the cripple. The bug will squash her."
Astrid didn't look at the Prince. She looked the giant stone Scorpion in the eye.
"I am not a bug," Astrid whispered. Her voice was small, but it carried like a knife drop in a silent room. "I am the Silence after the scream."
She raised her wooden sword. She didn't salute. She pointed it at the Scorpion’s heart.
[ SYSTEM REACTION ] The Scorpion statue didn't attack. It shivered. A purple light exploded from its chest. The stone tail lowered, not to strike, but to tap the ground in respect.
"SCORPIO!" Desmus announced, actually looking impressed. "The Sign of the Assassin Annuaki. The Strike from the Shadows. Lethal. Resilient. Vengeful."
Astrid turned around. She didn't smile. She just looked at Volpert and tapped her wooden sword against her leg. Tap. Tap.Like a clock counting down his life expectancy.
"Scary," I muttered, writing it down. "Remind me never to steal her dessert."
Gerald sighed. It was the heavy, weary sigh of a man who would rather be sleeping in a ditch under the rain than dealing with magic.
He stepped onto the central platform. He looked... out of place. Surrounded by neon magic and floating rocks, Gerald looked like he was made of earth, old roots, and duty.
He walked with long, striding steps.
The Lion (Leo) roared at him. It wanted him. He was Like a King, after all. But Gerald shook his head. "Too heavy," he muttered. "I do not want a crown."
He kept walking until he reached The Archer (Sagittarius).
The statue was a centaur drawing a massive bow aimed at the galactic center. The Traveler. The Ranger. The Philosopher-Warrior.
Gerald stopped. He rested his hand on the pommel of his worn sword. He looked up at the Archer.
"The road is long," Gerald said simply. "But I do not walk it blindly."
The Archer’s stone bow glowed with a pure, white light. It was the light of a campfire in the deep woods. It was the light of a broken lineage waiting to be reforged.
"SAGITTARIUS!" Desmus roared. "The Seeker! The Arrow of Truth! High nobility in a rough cloak!"
Gerald just nodded, looking slightly embarrassed by the attention, and went to stand by a pillar, blending into the shadows. Classic Ranger.
"Wilhelm Storm!" Desmus barked. "Novaru! Scum! Step forward!"
"Ideally, I'd step backward," I mumbled, adjusting my bone mask. "Into a pub."
But I walked.
I walked past the scales of Libra. They tipped violently away from me. Rude. I walked past the Virgin (Virgo). The statue actually turned its head away. Ouch.
I stopped in front of The Twins (Gemini).
Two figures carved from changing, shifting marble. One face was laughing, carved in gold. The other face was weeping, carved in iron. Chaos and Order. The Liar and the Truth. The Prince and the Pauper.
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I looked at them. They looked at me.
"I contain multitudes," I whispered to the statue, flashing a crooked grin. "And by multitudes, I mean lies and stolen snacks."
The statue laughed. A sound like wind chimes and breaking glass. The Golden Face smiled. The Iron Face winked.
"GEMINI!" Desmus screamed. "The Dual Soul! The Trickster! The Merchant of Chaos!"
I bowed. A deep, theatrical bow. "Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week. Try the mushroom paste."
And then... it was Mary's turn.
The room went quiet. Not respectful quiet. Mocking quiet.
"The Sullen One," Volpert giggled. "The Bastard Girl. She doesn't even have a title. She's just... Mary."
Mary Berg stepped onto the platform. She wore black. Only black. Her hair was a messy curl of darkness. Her face was long, solemn, and harder than the stone floor.
She walked into the center.
Nothing happened.
The statues didn't glow. They didn't move. They stood silent.
"Rejected!" a Tincti student shouted. "The Stars don't want a Falkenberg bastard!"
"Go home, Berg-Girl!" another yelled. "Go guard the cows!"
My heart hammered.
Mary didn't flinch. She didn't look at the hecklers. She looked at the empty space between the statues.
She reached over her shoulder. Schwing. She drew her greatsword. It wasn't a fancy magic blade. It was cold iron. Ugly. Brutal.
She slammed the tip into the obsidian floor. CRACK.
The sound wasn't loud. It was heavy. It felt like the temperature in the room dropped to absolute zero. Frost began to spread from her boots. Not magical ice real ice. The kind that kills crops and freezes breath in your lungs.
"I don't need a sign," Mary whispered. Her voice was low, but it silenced the entire hall. "I don't need a star to tell me who I am."
She looked up. Her eyes were dark voids.
"I am the Keeper of the Falkenberg Gates. I am the Shield against the Long Night."
She looked at Capricorn (The Sea-Goat). The sign of the Mountain. The sign of ambition, hardship, and cold endurance. The sign that climbs out of the abyss.
The Capricorn statue began to vibrate. It didn't want to bow. It was a proud sign.
Mary stared at it. She channeled pure, unadulterated Bastard Energy. The energy of someone who was born in the cold and decided to own it.
The frost spread. It crawled up the legs of the massive stone Goat. The obsidian groaned under the pressure of her gaze. And then... slowly... painfully... the massive stone statue bowed.
It knelt. To her.
The other statues flickered nervously. The Lion stepped back. The Bull lowered its head. The entire Zodiac seemed to shrink away from the chill radiating off the girl in black.
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Mary stood alone in a circle of ice, her black cloak billowing in a wind that only she could feel. She looked like a Queen of the bleak lands. A Wolf among sheep.
She pulled her sword from the stone.
"Capricorn," she said flatly. "But on my terms."
Desmus was hyperventilating. He looked like he was having a religious epiphany. He dropped his whip.
"CAPRICORN!" Desmus shrieked, his voice cracking. "THE MOUNTAIN! THE SURVIVOR! THE WARDEN OF THE GATES!"
Mary sheathed her sword. She turned and walked back to us. The students parted like the Red Sea, terrified of the frost trailing behind her. Even Volpert looked pale.
She stood next to me. She looked bored again.
"Show off," I whispered, nudging her.
Mary shrugged. "The cold preserves, Wilhelm."
"You talk too much, Mary Berg," I grinned. "But goddamn, that was cool."
The adrenaline was fading. And when adrenaline leaves, it takes your dignity with it.
I stumbled off the Sorting Platform, my knees knocking together like castanets. The bone mask felt heavy on my face, and my stomach my poor, abused stomach let out a growl that echoed louder than Desmus’s sermon.
"Food," I wheezed, grabbing Gerald’s cloak for support. "I need calories. I need grease. I need to eat something that had a family."
"Compose yourself, Gemini," Gerald murmured, though his hand gripped my shoulder firmly, holding me up. He didn't push me away. He anchored me.
Desmus, having finished his shouting match with the stars, pointed a bayonet toward a massive pair of doors at the far end of the nebula.
" The trial of the Soul is finished!" Desmus announced. "Now, you must sustain the Vessel. Proceed to The Solararium."
We walked. The "Novaru" scum. The Falkenberg leftovers. We huddled together, a black-and-grey bruise moving through a sea of colorful silks and polished armor.
But when the doors opened, even my cynical, accounting-obsessed brain stopped working.
The Solararium wasn't a cafeteria. It was a dream someone had inside a kaleidoscope.
There was no roof. Instead, the room opened up to a twilight sky filled with floating, bioluminescent jellyfish that drifted like clouds. They cast a soft, shifting light pink, teal, amber over the hall.
And the tables? They weren't wood.
They were pools of suspended water, held in rectangular shapes by invisible magic fields. Plates floated on the surface like lily pads. When you sat down, the "chair" grew out of the floor living vines weaving themselves instantly into a comfortable throne of moss and velvet.
"Whoa," Astrid whispered, touching a floating fork. It spun in the air. "It’s magic."
"It’s excessive," Mary muttered, but she touched a vine-chair, and it bloomed a small white flower for her. She didn't crush it. She stared at it.
We found a table in the corner, far away from Volpert’s loud, sycophantic entourage and the glaring Tincti elites. We were the outcasts, and this was our island.
I collapsed into the moss-chair. It hugged me.
"Menu," I gasped. "I need the menu."
A wisp of smoke materialized on the water-table. It formed words.
"Yes," I told the smoke. "All of it. Keep it coming until I explode."
The food didn't arrive on a tray. It rose from the water. A platter of steaming, roasted meat, dripping with golden glaze, surfaced like a submarine.
I didn't wait for cutlery. I grabbed a rib.
"Slow down, Wilhelm," Gerald said softly. He poured a goblet of the thick, dark wine and pushed it toward me. "You’ll choke."
"Can't," I mumbled, chewing frantically. "Engine needs fuel. System demands tribute."
I drank the wine in one gulp. Heat rushed through my veins. The cold ache in my bones vanished.
I slumped back, letting out a long, satisfied sigh. "Okay. I live. I am a person again."
I looked around the table.
They were eating, but they were watching me. Not with judgment. Not like the Court watched me, waiting for the Bastard to slip up.
They were watching me to make sure I was okay.
Astrid was tearing into a bread roll with her one hand, her eyes darting between us. She looked fierce, dirty, and smaller than I realized.
"You got Scorpio," I said, pointing a chicken bone at her. "The Assassin. That’s big,."
Astrid beamed. It was a feral grin, full of crumbs. "The statue liked me. It bowed. Did you see Volpert’s face? He looked like he swallowed a lemon."
"He looked terrified," Mary corrected quietly. She was cutting her meat with surgical precision. "You scared him, Astrid. Good."
Gerald sat at the head of the water-table. He wasn't eating much. He was watching the room, watching the exits, watching us. The Ranger mode never turned off.
"You did well," Gerald said. His voice was rough, unused to giving praise, but warm. "All of you. You stood your ground."
"Mary made a rock kneel," I laughed, reaching for a grape. "That was the highlight. 'I am the Shield.' Very dramatic. Very... Queen of Falkenberg."
Mary looked down at her plate. A tiny, rare flush appeared on her pale cheeks.
"I just... didn't want to be rejected," she whispered. "I’m tired of being the one left outside the gate."
I stopped chewing.
I looked at them.
Mary, the unwanted daughter who became a wall of ice.
Astrid, the "cripple" who became a weapon.
Gerald, the Heir who ran away to find himself in the woods.
And me. The Liar. The Gemini.
"We're a mess," I said softly.
They looked up.
"Look at us," I gestured with my wine glass. "We’re the punchline of every joke in the Citadel. The broken Falkens and the Stormsong Bastard. We don't fit in that arena. We don't fit in this school."
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the cool surface of the water-table.
"But... did you see the others?" I pointed toward Volpert’s table, where the Prince was throwing a tantrum because his fork wasn't gold. "They’re terrified. They have armor, they have two arms, they have titles... and they are scared to death."
I looked at Astrid.
"You aren't scared."
I looked at Mary.
"You aren't weak."
I looked at Gerald.
"And you aren't lost."
Gerald’s eyes softened. He reached out and placed his large, scarred hand on the table.
Mary hesitated, then put her hand next to his.
Astrid slammed her hand down (splashing a little water). "Me too!"
I looked at my hand. The hand of a thief. A Master of Coin who stole mushrooms to survive.
I placed my hand on theirs.
"To the Leftovers," I toasted, raising my glass with my other hand. "To the cracks in the pavement. To the weeds that grow through the stone."
Gerald smiled. A real smile. It changed his entire face, making him look ten years younger.
"To the Pack," Gerald corrected.
"To the Pack!" Astrid cheered.
"To the Pack," Mary whispered.
We clinked glasses. The sound rang clear and true, cutting through the ambient noise of the magical hall.
For a moment, the war didn't exist. The hunger didn't exist. The poison and the dragons and the debt... it all faded.
It was just us. Sitting at a table made of water, under a sky of jellyfish, eating boar and realizing that we weren't just allies of convenience.
We were a family. A jagged, glued-together, slightly dysfunctional family.
But as I looked at them Gerald cutting meat for Astrid, Mary refilling my wine glass before I even asked I realized something.
I would bankrupt the entire kingdom to keep them safe.
I would steal the moon if Astrid wanted it.
I would burn the world if anyone touched them.
"Wilhelm?" Astrid asked, mouth full. "Are you crying?"
"No," I lied, wiping my eye. "It’s the onions. Magical onions. Very potent."
"You're a Gemini," Mary smirked. "You're lying."
"I contain multitudes," I sniffed, taking a massive bite of cheese. "And right now, the multitude is hungry. Pass the bread."
We ate. We laughed. And for the first time in a long time, the food didn't just fill my blood bar.
It filled the empty part of me that the System couldn't measure.
"Okay," I said, leaning back in the moss-throne. "We're fed. We're ranked. We're family."
I tapped the Mana-Lens Monocle.
"Now... let's go see what kind of trouble we can get into before curfew."
Source: The Final Testament of Prophet Joshua the Unarmed (Found scratched into the walls of the Deepest Dungeon, written in his own blood just before his disappearance). Subject: The Great Deception of the Spirit. Clearance Level:HERESY (Immediate Execution upon reading).
I have seen the Face of God. And it was laughing.
Do not pray to the Concrete Sky, my children. Do not offer thanks for your "Level Up." Do not rejoice when the golden light bathes you after a kill.
You are not growing stronger. You are merely fattening.
I have transcended the veil. I have seen the arithmetic of the Heavens. And I tell you this: The Anunnaki Lord Anu, Enlil the Storm-Caller, Enki the Shaper they are not our guardians. They are our Audience. And they are our Parasites.
I. THE TITHE OF THE NINTH PART You swing your sword. You slay the beast. You feel the rush of Spirit Power (SP) enter your veins. You think: "I have earned this." Lies. The System is a siphon. The laws of this reality are rigged. When you slay a monster, you absorb only the dregs the crumbs that fall from the table. 90% of the Spirit Power is transmitted upward. It rises through the Concrete Sky like smoke. It feeds Them. Your struggle, your pain, your desperate clawing for power... it is their ambrosia. We are not warriors; we are batteries. We are a colony of aphids being milked by cosmic ants.
II. THE THEATER OF AGONY Why does the world look like this? Why is it a "Fallen Heaven"? Because Perfection is boring. The Eternal Choirlands were once a Paradise. A Garden of Eden. But a Garden has no conflict. A Garden has no drama. So they broke it. They sealed it under the Grey Dome and let it rot. They turned the angels into soldiers and the soil into mold, because Suffering drives the narrative. They watch us. Enlil watches the wars. Ishtar watches the betrayals. They sit upon their thrones beyond the sky, viewing our lives through the Great Scrying Screens, wagering on which of us will snap first. We are their favorite show.
III. THE CODE OF BLOOD (The Unfair Game) You ask: "Why is the Bastard weak? Why is the Highborn strong?" It is not biology. It is Bureaucracy. The System has a bias hard-coded into the fabric of reality.
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A Legitimate Heir (like Brandan or Alexander) is born with a "Premium License." They start with 100,000 SP. Their leveling curve is smooth. The System wants them to win because heroes make good television.
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A Bastard is born with a "Debuff Marker." They start with 100 SP. They are the NPCs. The background texture. The System hampers their growth, slows their XP gain, and locks their potential because it expects them to die in Act One.
And then... there is the 200,000 SP Wall. The Highborn feels like a god because he has crossed the threshold. At 200k SP, the System unlocks the 'Administrator Rights'the ability to steal skills and bend physics. A Bastard is not just fighting a war; he is fighting the Source Code itself.
We are living in a rotting heavenly realm that forgot it was dead and decided to grow like mold. And the Gods? The Gods are just waiting for the season finale.
Prophet Joshua "The only way to win is to break the screen."