The dawn air had not yet fully driven away the chill of the night as I tightened the last strap on my leather backpack. Inside the cramped dormitory room illuminated only by a single dim candle, I re-checked my basic equipment: a coil of rope, rolled bandages, standard antivenom, and two full waterskins.
In the corner of the room, Finn was folding a topographical map of the Forbidden Forest's outskirts with slightly trembling hands.
"I still cannot believe you are actually going there, Kael," mumbled Finn softly, looking at me with a mixture of awe and horror. "And what is even crazier... how did you befriend that Mad Bear? Half the cadets in this academy would wet their pants if they made eye contact with Ragnar Holt."
I chuckled softly, strapping the Blood-Iron sword wrapped in thick cloth to my back. "We are not friends, Finn. We merely share the same 'understanding' about this world. And that understanding usually involves a broken noble's nose."
I turned to face the cracked mirror on the dorm wall. As I changed my sleep shirt for a high-collared field uniform, I stared at the reflection of my body.
There was no dramatic muscle mass change like a bodybuilder. My chest still looked like a typical eighteen-year-old youth. However, upon closer inspection, my skin now wrapped a layer of sharply defined muscle fibers like a mesh of steel wire.
That was the result of the insane torture over the past week. The Sanguine Core inside my chest worked like a psychopathic blacksmith. Every time I swung that giant sword until my muscle fibers tore and screamed, the dark blood magic would force those muscles to fuse and grow back overnight.
The result was incredibly efficient, but the price... nearly drove me mad.
That forced regeneration triggered a burning pain. Every night, I had to bite my pillow and let out muffled groans as I felt the sensation of millions of fire ants crawling, stitching my flesh from the inside. I barely slept for a week.
Dark eye bags now hung prominently on my face, making my appearance more akin to a walking corpse than a military cadet.
An overwhelming drowsiness stung the base of my head. Without hesitation, I reached into the small pouch at my waist, took out a piece of dried Jager root, and popped it into my mouth. The bitter taste that stung the tongue immediately exploded, sending a cheap adrenaline shock that forced my eyes to stay open.
"You look terrible," commented Finn honestly.
"Thank you. Guard this room while I am gone," I replied flatly, stepping out the door and letting the pre-dawn darkness swallow me.
A thick gray fog still blanketed the Forbidden Forest Guard Post when I arrived. The silhouettes of giant pine trees across the academy border looked like black claws tearing the sky.
From a distance, I could see a massive figure leaning against the announcement board. Ragnar Holt.
However, my steps halted as my eyes registered what was attached to the street fighter's back. A backpack, or more like a giant canvas sack nearly the size of a small wardrobe. If Ragnar crawled, he would look exactly like a giant tortoise.
I approached him, raising an eyebrow. My jaw continued to move rhythmically, chewing the Jager root.
Ragnar turned his head, his eyes immediately scanning my pale face with its dense dark eye bags. He snorted roughly, his laughter exploding, shattering the silence of the morning fog.
"Look who is chewing bitter dirt now," teased Ragnar, pointing at my face. "I thought your tongue could only swallow rough bread, Kael. You look like a freshly dug corpse."
I swallowed the bitter saliva, returning his gaze with a flat, expressionless face.
"Better to chew bitter dirt and stay awake, than to carry a wardrobe into the forest," I retorted, pointing at the giant sack on his back. "What is your plan, Old Bear? Do you want to open a grocery store in the middle of a Mutant Wolf den?"
Ragnar's face flushed slightly red. He adjusted his sack straps roughly. "Shut your mouth! Half the contents of this bag are smoked meat and wheat bread. Do you think slashing monsters doesn't require calories? I do not want to starve to death before the Nightbane faction has a chance to kill me!"
The two of us stared at each other, then snorted in unison. A rough banter typical of trench soldiers that I had long missed.
However, that light moment did not last long.
From the direction of the cobblestone path, the rhythmic sound of footsteps that were too neat and heavy was heard. Four Middle Class cadets strode through the fog, walking with an arrogance that instantly made the air around us feel stale.
The Blood Sword Faction. Group 4.
Three of them were burly men wearing light leather armor plated with iron on the chest and shoulders. Their weapons were no joke. There were twin swords, a spiked mace, and a short spear. Behind them walked a female cadet in a gray robe, holding a short black wooden staff typical of a mid-range combat mage.
Their leader, a square-faced young man with a transverse scar on his left cheek, I heard his name was Vane. He stopped a few paces in front of us. He looked me up and down, then spat on the ground.
"So this is the pig we are going to herd to the slaughterhouse?" sneered Vane. His voice was full of deliberately exaggerated disgust. His eyes shifted to Ragnar. "And it seems you brought a starving stray dog with you, Draven. What a matching pair. An outcast cadet and a commoner smelling of trash."
The air around Ragnar instantly turned dense. A faint golden glow began to creep over his knuckles. His neck muscles tensed, and he dropped his giant sack with a loud thud.
Ragnar was ready to pounce and crush Vane's jaw that very second.
However, before Ragnar could even take a step, my left hand was already pressed flat against his chest. Cold, without extra force, but restraining his killing intent absolutely.
"Hold your dog, Ragnar," I whispered softly, my eyes never leaving Vane. My voice was very calm, devoid of emotion. "We are still standing on academy grounds. You hit him here, you get expelled, and your gold is forfeit."
I lowered my voice until only Ragnar could hear it. "Save your strength for beyond the tree line. Inside the forest, the fog is thick, and monsters often make... corpses difficult to identify. There are no eyewitnesses."
Hearing the bloody calculation in my voice, Ragnar's anger subsided, replaced by a savage grin that slowly expanded. He loosened his fists, took a half step back, and let his Aura extinguish.
Vane, who did not hear my whisper, laughed dismissively. "See that? This little pig is hiding behind the skirt of academy rules. Enjoy this morning air, Draven. Because in there, I will make sure you get lost, and we will not bother looking for your bones."
His three comrades joined in the laughter. An orchestra of stupidity that hurt the ears.
Just as Vane opened his mouth to hurl another insult, the sound of a small cough was heard. The cough was not loud, very quiet and elegant, yet somehow managed to cut through Vane's rough laughter like a knife slicing silk.
From the thick fog behind the Blood Sword Faction, a shadow stepped forward.
Without leather armor or weapons. Wearing only a neat academy uniform with a knee-length skirt and smooth leather boots. Her black-as-night hair fell freely framing her pale white face.
Selena Lune.
The girl's presence instantly froze the atmosphere. The hired killers from the Blood Sword frowned, confused to see an existence so out of place at the Forbidden Forest outpost.
"I hear the dog that barks the loudest is usually the dog most afraid of being bitten," said Selena with a very soft and melodious voice. Her crystal blue eyes looked at Vane with a charming curved smile, but her words were full of poison. "Is that proverb true, Cadet Vane?"
Vane's face turned red instantly. His pride as a mercenary knight was severely injured.
"Shut your mouth!" snapped Vane roughly, his hand instinctively touching the sword hilt at his waist. "You are just Lysandra Morcant's errand girl! A Senate puppet who knows nothing! What is a whore like you doing in the expedition area?!"
Selena's reaction? She did not fade her smile at all. She did not even blink. Those crystal blue eyes looked at Vane not with fear or anger, but with terrifying indifference.
Selena completely ignored Vane. She walked past the Blood Sword group, who were now growling suppressing anger, as if they were merely stone ornaments.
The girl kept walking until she stopped right in front of me. The scent of night jasmine and something resembling the smell of ozone wafted from her body, driving away the smell of morning dew.
Selena offered a sweeter smile to me. A mask of teenage friendliness so perfect, too perfect that it felt disgusting to my wild instincts.
"Hello, Cadet Draven. And you must be Cadet Holt," she greeted cheerfully, her tone sounding like an ordinary girl greeting her classmate in the academy corridor. She extended her small right hand to me. "I am Selena Lune. The Senate assigned me to Group 4 as your group's healer and supervisor. Please help and cooperate in the forest later, alright?"
I stared at the small hand extended before me.
Inside my head, all the warning alarms built from ten years of living on the battlefield screamed hysterically. I knew how to deal with people like Vane. And I knew how to deal with monsters.
But this girl? Selena Lune did not exist in my memories. She was a random variable. And on the battlefield, the variable you do not know is the first thing that will kill you.
I stared into her clear crystal blue eyes. Too clear that they hid the bottom of a deadly abyss. Slowly, I raised my hand, returning her handshake.
As soon as our skin touched, an unnatural coldness crept into my palm. Her hand was as cold as eternal ice.
"With pleasure, Miss Lune," I replied with a hoarse voice, the corners of my lips pulling up slightly creating a smile just as fake as hers.
I gripped her hand a little tighter, and she did not retreat a single centimeter. Amidst the dawn fog of the Forbidden Forest, among the hired killers waiting for our carelessness, the true mental battle had just begun.