The light of the crystal lamps in the underground laboratory had been dimmed, indicating that morning had arrived on the surface of Aethelgard.
I sat on the edge of the recovery bed, staring at my right arm in silence. On the outside, the skin and muscles of this arm looked entirely normal, showing no signs of horrifying mutation. On the inside, however, I felt as if this arm belonged to another creature forcibly stitched onto my shoulder. Its density, its weight, and the raw power pulsating through every fiber felt extraordinarily alien.
Virelith stepped closer carrying a small wooden tray. Her silver wire-framed glasses reflected the hot steam.
"Drink this first, Kael," the girl said, offering a highly elegant white porcelain cup, adorned with an intricate painting of a blue dragon. "This is a special herbal tea made from northern Mandrake root. It is excellent for restoring your neural stamina after yesterday's assimilation."
"Thank you," I replied softly.
My veteran brain calculated the weight of the cup and commanded my fingers to pinch its porcelain handle gently. However, the Troll genetics now fused with my bones responded to that command with an entirely different measure of force.
The moment my index finger and thumb pinched the handle of the cup...
CRACK! CRASH!
Even before I had a chance to lift it, the elegant porcelain exploded into pieces in my hand. The object instantly turned into fine dust mixed with sharp shards. The boiling herbal tea spilled completely, soaking my blanket and trousers.
Absolute silence enveloped the room. Only the sound of dripping tea falling onto the stone floor could be heard.
I stared at the wet porcelain dust on my palm, then looked at Virelith with a face as flat as a wall. My expression did not change in the slightest.
"I believe this cup suffered a manufacturing defect during the firing process, Engineer," I said calmly, brushing the porcelain dust from my hand. "The material was far too fragile."
Before me, a thin blue vein suddenly bulged on Virelith's temple. The eyes behind her thick glasses narrowed sharply, restraining a boiling pragmatic anger.
"A manufacturing defect?" Virelith hissed softly. "That was an authentic Ming Dynasty porcelain teacup I purchased at an elite auction for three silver coins, Commander."
I blinked once. "Oh."
"I will deduct your salary from our faction's vault!" snapped Virelith as she turned around and stomped her feet back to her brewing table.
I let out a long sigh, tossing aside the wet blanket. "I am going to the washroom to clean up this spilled tea. We will talk again later."
I stood up and walked toward the thick oak door separating the laboratory area from the training room. This door was made of decades-old solid wood, equipped with steel hinges driven deep into the brick wall.
I extended my right hand, pressed down on the cast-iron door handle, and pulled it toward me to open it.
Yet once again, my strength calibration failed completely.
Instead of the door opening normally, a tremendously loud and deafening cracking sound exploded in the air.
BAM! CRACK!
Bricks around the doorframe crumbled and fell. I had accidentally ripped the entire giant wooden door leaf along with its three steel hinges straight out of the wall. The sewer wall now sported a massive hole.
I stood frozen on the threshold of the ruins. In my right hand, I held that extraordinarily heavy giant door leaf with just one hand, gripping it as if the object were as light as a sheet of newspaper. My face remained flat, devoid of emotion, staring at the corridor path that was now torn wide open.
At that exact second, Ragnar appeared from the direction of the front corridor.
The giant man had just finished patrolling the upper perimeter. His steps halted abruptly. His mouth hung wide open upon seeing the absurd sight before him. His commander stood holding a giant door with its hinges still attached.
Silence reigned again for three seconds.
Then, a booming laugh erupted.
"BWAHAHAHA!" Ragnar laughed uproariously until his voice echoed throughout the sewers. He clutched his stomach, his shoulders shaking violently. "What are you doing, Kael?! Did you wake up and decide to declare war against the academy's architecture?!"
Ragnar wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "By the Gods, you look like an idiot preparing to march into war carrying a giant wooden shield!"
I cleared my throat softly. With a very careful and awkward movement, I set the giant door down and leaned it slowly against the corridor wall as if nothing had happened.
"These door hinges were already severely rusted," I stated with a forced tone of authority. "We really do need to renovate them, Ragnar. The airflow was lacking."
From inside the laboratory, Virelith's shrill, heart-wrenching scream could be heard. "Add five silver coins to your debt list, Draven!!"
Half an hour later, having cleaned myself up, Ragnar and I stood in the middle of the spacious sewer training area. The ground here was covered in sawdust and sand.
I rolled my right shoulder repeatedly, trying to get accustomed to it.
"This is bad, Ragnar," I complained while staring at my fist. "I have lost my original muscle memory. This arm possesses a mass density and explosive power that surpasses the logic of the human body. Every time I try to move, this arm moves ahead of my brain."
"That is because you treat it like a baby's arm," chuckled Ragnar, crossing his arms which were still wrapped in thin bandages. "The body is a weapon, Kael. You will not know how sharp your sword is until you slash it against something."
Ragnar widened his stance. He patted his own chest proudly, then raised his two thick palms to face level, turning them into a living punching bag.
"Punch my palms, Kael," challenged Ragnar with his arrogant smile. "Come on, do not hesitate. Use that new strength of yours on me. This Northern Bear can withstand a cannonball strike without blinking!"
Right as Ragnar boasted, the front door of the training area opened.
Selena Lune stepped in gracefully, radiating the scent of night flower perfume. She carried a rattan basket filled with warm bread.
"Well, well. Did I miss an interesting morning spectacle?" greeted Selena cheerfully. She walked to the edge of the field, sat on a wooden weapon crate, and crossed her legs with a slightly terrifying enthusiasm. "Please continue. Just pretend I am not here."
I sighed, looking at Ragnar with a warning gaze. "Lower your hands, Bear. I do not want to break your wrists. I cannot gauge my strength yet."
"Nonsense!" snorted Ragnar. "I am the toughest, Kael! I can withstand a mercenary knight's sword swing! A punch from a teenager's arm will not..."
"Very well. One straight jab," I interrupted.
I decided to teach him a lesson.
Without pumping my Sanguine Core. I purely only contracted my right bicep muscle which was now fused with the Troll assimilation.
I took a half step forward, and launched a straight right jab directly at Ragnar's palms.
My punch looked simple, but its speed cleaved the wind.
BAM!
The sound of a kinetic explosion echoed loudly. The air around me vibrated, creating a small shockwave that blew the dust off the floor. My right fist struck Ragnar's palms squarely.
The resulting impact was utterly illogical.
Ragnar's eyes widened until they nearly popped out of their sockets. The giant street fighter, weighing well over a hundred kilograms, was not merely pushed backward; he was lifted off the floor and sent flying backward like a ragged cloth doll.
Ragnar flew four meters through the air before finally crashing into the wooden weapon rack at the end of the room.
CRASH! CRACK!
The weapon rack shattered into pieces. Ragnar's massive body was buried beneath dozens of broken wooden swords and blunt spears raining down on him.
Absolute silence once again enveloped the basement room.
I stood frozen in my position, staring at my own fist with a mixture of awe and horror.
From beneath the pile of shattered wood, a groan of pain was heard. Ragnar slowly crawled out of the debris with a deathly pale face. The man knelt on the sandy floor, staring at his two hands which were now trembling violently and completely numb all the way to the base of his shoulders.
"Okay..." Ragnar panted heavily, swallowing hard with great difficulty. His eyes stared at me with pure terror. "New rule in this base... never touch me with your right hand again. Under any circumstances. Please."
At the edge of the field, the sound of elegant applause broke the awkwardness.
Selena Lune clapped her hands with an incredibly bright, wide smile, her eyes sparkling with full admiration.
"Incredible!" praised Selena with a tone as light as a child who had just been given candy. "Kael, could you punch Orvelis Nightbane's head clean off his neck with a strike like that?"
I lowered my fist, examining it clinically. "Anatomically speaking? Highly probable. If I attack his lower jaw with an uppercut, his posterior cervical vertebrae will snap and sever before his skin even has a chance to tear."
Selena laughed crisply, taking a piece of bread from her basket. "Ah, the exam later will certainly be very entertaining."
I kicked the wooden debris aside, searching for my true weapon.
From beneath the pile, I pulled out the Blood-Iron.
The giant black sword was a slab of deadly steel of extraordinary weight. Previously, I had to use both hands, widen my stance to the maximum, and utilize a full waist rotation just to swing it a single time. The weapon always tore my own muscles every time I used it.
But now, as my right fingers gripped its hilt... everything felt entirely different.
I lifted the slab of black steel with just my right arm alone. I raised the giant sword until it was level with my eyes. The weight that used to feel like pulling a ship's anchor suddenly felt so proportional. So light. So perfect.
I began stepping into a dance of death, shadowboxing in the center of the room.
WHOOSH! SWISH!
I executed swing after swing with incredible speed, ferocity, and high precision using only a single hand. The heavy steel blade cleaved the air at a terrifying velocity, creating a sharp whistling sound that echoed throughout the basement.
Every slash I swung radiated the lingering killing instincts from the battlefields of my past. The air in the room changed drastically.
Ragnar and Selena stood silently in their places. Their eyes were glued to my movements, realizing that the true monster had just been reborn within this room.
I halted my swing abruptly. The tip of the Blood-Iron sword stopped a mere centimeter above the stone floor without vibrating in the slightest.
I stared at my right arm. No muscles were torn. No ligaments were snapped. There was no paralyzing pain. The balance was absolute.
"Perfect," I mumbled coldly. My voice sounded far deeper than usual. "This vessel is finally ready."
I sheathed the giant sword on my back, walking toward the ventilation window high on the wall. Through the iron grate, I could see the tips of the dark trees of the Aethelgard Forbidden Forest in the distance, where the Death Zone lay.
A thin, deadly smile formed on my face. My red eyes flashed in the darkness.
"Let Orvelis set the stage for the Midterm Exam however he pleases," I said softly, as if sending a message to the wind. "He thinks he is cornering us. He thinks he is sending us to a death zone..."
I touched the hilt of the sword on my back.
"...When in fact, he has just awakened the wrong monster."