Time Remaining until Practical Exam: 14 Days.

  The library was quiet. It smelled of old paper and silence.

  Elara of House Vance sat at a mahogany table, chewing her fingernail. A complex formula floated in the air in front of her—a hologram of unstable fire mana.

  "The formula is flawless," she whispered, frustration leaking into her voice. "The combustion ratio is perfect, but the spell keeps fizzling."

  Amari sat opposite her. He wasn't looking at the hologram. He was reading a book on Advanced Anatomy.

  "It's not the ratio," Amari said without looking up. "It's your emotional trigger. Fire requires aggression. You're casting it with hesitation. The mana senses fear and dissipates."

  Elara blinked. "It... senses fear?"

  "Mana is a parasite," Amari said simply. "It respects dominance. Don't ask the fire to burn. Command it."

  Elara frowned, then narrowed her eyes at the hologram. She took a deep breath and shouted the incantation in her mind.

  WHOOSH.

  A perfect sphere of blue flame erupted above the table.

  Elara gasped. "I did it! I actually did it!"

  Amari slid a piece of paper across the table.

  "Good," he said. "Sign this renewal form for my guest pass."

  Time Remaining: 10 Days.

  The private training room was a luxury. It had reinforced walls, climate control, and gravity stabilizers.

  Amari didn't care about the luxury. He cared that it was soundproof.

  He was shirtless. His body was gleaming with sweat. He was holding two 50-pound dumbbells.

  "Rep number... four hundred for the day," he grunted.

  His arms were shaking violently. The Breath of Iron technique was roaring in his lungs. Every exhale sounded like a steam engine venting pressure.

  The "Poison Stew" was working. The Horned Boar protein had bonded to his muscle fibers. He wasn't bulking up like a bodybuilder—that was useless mass. He was condensing.

  His muscles were becoming like braided wire. Dense. Heavy. Explosive.

  [System Notification]

  [Void Body — Stage 1: Iron Foundation (96%)]

  [Trait Progress: Iron Skin (Minor ----> Developing)]

  He dropped the weights. They cracked the floor mat.

  Amari fell to his knees, coughing. He looked at his hands. The skin on his knuckles was turning a dull, calloused grey.

  Stage One is almost complete, he thought, wiping blood from his nose. My bones are absorbing the calcium. My skin is toughening.

  He grabbed his water bottle. It was filled with purple sludge. He drank it without flinching.

  Time Remaining: 3 Days.

  Amari sat in the back of F-Class.

  Instructor Halloway was lecturing about "Dungeon Safety."

  "If you see a Goblin Champion," Halloway yawned, "Don't fight it. As Instructor Silas briefed you, you are F-Class. You are bait. Your job is to scream loud enough so the Hero Class knows where the enemy is."

  The class looked terrified.

  Amari was sleeping. Or at least, he looked like he was sleeping.

  Under his desk, he was gripping a tennis ball. He squeezed it.

  POP.

  The ball burst. It didn't just break; the rubber split under his fingers like a ripe fruit.

  He pulled out another tennis ball. Squeezed. POP.

  [Bio-Metric Update]

  [Grip Force: 160 lbs ----> 310 lbs]

  Three times the grip of a civilian, Amari noted. Enough to crush a windpipe.

  Time Remaining: 0 Days.

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  The morning of the exam was cold. A thick fog covered the Academy grounds.

  All first-year students—nearly 1,000 of them—were gathered in the massive outdoor arena known as "The Staging Ground."

  The students were segregated.

  The Hero Class stood in the front, wearing shining gold and white armor. They looked like gods.

  The Regulars stood in the middle, wearing standard blue tactical gear.

  The F-Class stood in the back, shivering in their thin grey uniforms.

  Amari stood perfectly still. He wasn't shivering.

  "Hey, Stone-Breaker."

  A shadow fell over him. Amari didn't need to turn around to know who it was. The smell of cheap cologne and aggression gave it away.

  Bronson of House Granite stood there, flanked by his four lackeys. Bronson was wearing a heavy set of Earth-Enchanted plate armor. He looked like a tank.

  "House Granite hears everything," Bronson smirked. "I heard you've been hiding in the library. Trying to study your way out of a beatdown?"

  Amari slowly turned his head.

  Two weeks ago, he had to look up to meet Bronson's eyes. Now, Amari stood straighter. His posture was different. He looked... grounded.

  "I wasn't hiding," Amari said. His voice was calm, deep.

  "Whatever," Bronson laughed. "Just pray you aren't in my sector. Because out there? There are no teachers to save you."

  A loud siren cut through the air.

  [ATTENTION CADETS]

  A hologram of Dean Vance appeared in the sky, fifty feet tall.

  "Welcome to the First Practical Assessment. The objective is simple: SURVIVAL."

  The hologram changed to show a map of the artificial forest behind the arena.

  "The forest is stocked with mana-constructed beasts. Goblins. Wolves. And one Alpha. Your goal is to reach the Red Flag at the center of the forest."

  "Combat is authorized. Sabotage is authorized. If you can't walk to the finish line, crawl. Kills earn Contribution Points. Friendly fire earns demerits. A medic-out is a fail."

  The massive iron gates to the forest groaned open.

  "Good luck, bait!" Bronson yelled, shoving past Amari as he ran toward the gate with the Hero Class.

  The crowd surged forward. Everyone was running, screaming, casting haste spells.

  Amari didn't run.

  He adjusted his gloves. He took a deep breath—In for four. Hold for seven.

  The air filled his lungs. His blood heated up. His eyes sharpened.

  He wasn't a student taking a test. He was a predator entering his hunting grounds.

  He began to walk toward the trees.

  The Forest

  The Artificial Forest was designed to be miserable. The trees were too close together, blocking out the sun. The ground was a sludge of mud and synthetic moss.

  Amari moved silently. He didn't step on twigs; he stepped between them.

  Ten minutes in, the chaos of the start had faded. Now, the forest was filled with the sounds of distant combat—fireballs exploding, students screaming commands, and the screech of goblin constructs.

  Amari wasn't looking for the Red Flag yet. He was tracking a specific set of footprints. Small boots. Uneven stride.

  Elara, he analyzed. She panicked at the start. She ran left, away from the main group.

  He needed her. Not just for her money, but because a Mage and a Tank were the core of any good party. He was the Tank. She was the artillery.

  A scream cut through the fog.

  "Get away!"

  It came from a clearing up ahead.

  Amari didn't hesitate. He dropped his center of gravity and sprinted. He didn't run like a track star; he ran low, like a wolf, using his new leg strength to launch himself over roots.

  He burst into the clearing.

  Elara was backed against a large oak tree. Her wand was trembling in her hand.

  Facing her weren't monsters. They were two students from D-Class.

  "Come on, rich girl," one of them sneered, holding a dagger. "Just drop your supply bag and quit. You're going to get hurt out here."

  "I... I'll burn you!" Elara stammered, sparks fizzling from her wand.

  "With that weak flame?" The second student laughed. "House names don't matter in the fog, princess. Grab her."

  The boy with the dagger lunged.

  He never reached her.

  A grey blur slammed into him from the side.

  It wasn't a spell. It was a shoulder check. Amari hit the boy with the force of a battering ram. The boy flew five feet through the air and slammed into the mud, wheezing.

  The second student froze. "What the—?"

  Amari didn't stop. He spun, grabbing the second student’s wrist. He applied pressure to the joint—a simple, brutal twist.

  CRACK.

  The sound of popping cartilage echoed in the clearing.

  The student screamed, dropping his weapon. Amari kicked his legs out from under him, sending him face-first into the dirt.

  It was over in three seconds.

  [System Alert: Blunt Force Trauma Detected.]

  [Combat Efficiency: 92%.]

  [Notice: Combat Event Logged.]

  Amari stood over them, his chest barely heaving. He looked at the student on the ground.

  "Leave," Amari said.

  The two D-Class bullies didn't argue. They scrambled up, clutching their injuries, and ran into the fog.

  Amari turned to Elara. She was staring at him, wide-eyed.

  "Amari?" she whispered. "You... you didn't use mana. You just..."

  "I hit them," Amari finished. "Are you hurt?"

  "No," she said, holstering her wand. "Just scared."

  "Fear is fine," Amari said, picking up her supply bag and handing it to her. "Panic is what kills you. Stay behind me. We move together."

  Elara nodded, wiping mud from her face. She looked at his back—at the grey F-Class shirt that suddenly looked very reassuring.

  "Where are we going?" she asked. "The Red Flag is north."

  "We can't go north yet," Amari said. "Bronson and the Hero Class took the main path. They'll clear the traps, but they'll also ambush anyone following them. We need to take the eastern ridge."

  He started walking. Elara followed close behind.

  The forest grew darker as they went east. The air grew colder. The sounds of other students faded away, replaced by an eerie silence.

  Amari stopped. He held up a hand.

  "Wait," he whispered.

  "What is it?" Elara hissed.

  Amari pointed at a patch of ferns ahead.

  Something was moving. It wasn't jerky, like the goblins they had heard earlier. It was fluid. Silent.

  The ferns parted.

  A wolf stepped out.

  Elara let out a breath of relief. "Oh. It's just a Wolf Construct. Dr. Aris said they are E-Rank. I can handle it."

  She raised her wand.

  "Don't," Amari ordered, his voice sharp.

  "Why? It's small," Elara said.

  She was right. The wolf was small—barely the size of a large dog. But its fur wasn't the dull grey of a standard mana construct. It was Silver. And its eyes weren't red; they were a glowing, intelligent blue.

  Amari felt a chill go down his spine. He recognized this species from the Bestiary of the 20-Year War.

  This wasn't a construct. This was a Silver-Back Warg. And it wasn't an adult. Its paws were too big for its body. Its movements were clumsy.

  "It's a pup," Amari realized.

  "A pup?" Elara lowered her wand. "So it's weak?"

  The wolf pup lowered its head and growled. The sound vibrated in Amari's chest. It didn't sound like a dog; it sounded like a chainsaw revving up.

  "No," Amari said, assuming a combat stance. "It means the mother isn't far away."

  The pup crouched, its leg muscles coiling.

  "Elara," Amari said quietly. "On my signal, I need your strongest fire spell. Do not miss."

  The pup launched itself at them.