The announcement came during the morning meal, delivered by a messenger in the silver-and-gold livery of the Royal Court. The first-year classes—F-Class and Elites alike—were to be deployed to the Whispering Woods for their first "Combined Field Exercise."
The objective was simple: collect three Essence Stones from Grade-E monsters. But in a world where the thinning of the veil was making even the weakest monsters unpredictable, "simple" was a dangerous word.
"They're pairing us up again," Andre whispered, leaning over his plate of porridge. He looked more awake than usual, his goggles already positioned over his eyes. "One Elite, two F-Class. It's supposed to teach us 'tactical cooperation' or some other garbage Alicia came up with."
Andrew nodded, though his expression was clouded. "It's not just about cooperation. The Academy wants to see how the Elites lead when the situation isn't controlled by arena walls. They're testing our command potential."
Matthew remained silent, picking at his bread. His chest still felt tight from the white flame he had consumed from Lyra the night before. It wasn't a painful tightness anymore; it was a humming, heavy warmth that made him feel more solid, more grounded.
"Who do you think we'll get?" Matthew asked.
"I pulled the roster early," Andre said with a grin, tapping his nose. "Since Andrew and I are top of our tracks, we usually get to request. I've managed to get us grouped together. It'll be you, me, and Andrew. The Room 402 Dream Team."
"Wait," Andrew interrupted, looking at the parchment Andre had slid across the table. "That's not what this says. Look at the bottom."
Andre's grin vanished. "What? No. That has to be a mistake."
Matthew leaned in. The roster had been changed at the last minute by a higher authority.
Team 7: Lyra Ignis (Elite), Matthew (F), Andre (Elite).
"They split us up," Andrew said, his voice low. "I've been assigned to lead a group of F-Classers from the south wing. But why put Lyra with you two?"
"The Dean," Matthew whispered.
He knew exactly why. Alexander wanted to see how the "monster" and the "prodigy" worked together when there were no teachers around to stop the fallout.
An hour later, the teams stood at the edge of the Whispering Woods. The forest was beautiful in a haunting way—the trees were tall, their leaves a deep, iridescent indigo that shimmered even in the absence of wind. But the air was thick with the scent of pine and something ancient, something that made the hair on Matthew's neck stand up.
Lyra stood apart from them, her hand resting on the hilt of her iron broadsword. She hadn't spoken a word to Matthew since their encounter in the ruins. To any observer, she looked as cold and distant as ever.
"Check your gear," Lyra commanded, her voice cutting through Andre's nervous chatter. "Andre, you're our navigator. Your clockwork drones will be our eyes. Matthew... you're the vanguard."
"Me?" Matthew blinked. "I don't even have a real sword yet. I have a wooden trainer and a dagger."
"You have the Null," Lyra said, finally looking him in the eye. The copper fire in her gaze was steady. "If we hit a mana-trap or a caster-type beast, you're the only one who can walk through it. I'll be the hammer. You be the anvil."
Andre let out a small, high-pitched whistle. "Anvil. Right. I'll just be the guy in the back trying not to get eaten. Let's go."
As they stepped beneath the canopy, the light of the sun was swallowed by the indigo leaves. The forest was unnaturally quiet. Andre released a small, mechanical silver beetle from his palm; it whirred into the air, its glass eyes glowing blue as it mapped the terrain.
"Everything seems quiet," Andre whispered, staring at the handheld bronze plate that displayed the drone's feed. "Wait... that's weird."
"Define weird," Matthew said, drawing his iron dagger.
"The mana-levels," Andre said, his brow furrowed. "They're fluctuating. It's like the forest is breathing. One second it's a Grade-E zone, the next... it's spiking to Grade-C."
Lyra's hand tightened on her sword. "Stay close. Matthew, center. Andre, behind him."
They moved deeper into the thicket. Suddenly, the indigo leaves began to rustle violently. From the shadows of a massive, gnarled root, three Thorntail Wolves emerged. They were Grade-E scavengers, their fur made of sharp, needle-like briars, but their eyes weren't the usual dull yellow. They were a glowing, sickly violet.
"Those aren't scavengers," Lyra hissed, her blade erupting in a low, controlled white heat. "They're corrupted."
One wolf lunged, not at Lyra, but at the weakest-looking target: Andre.
"Andre, down!" Matthew roared.
He didn't think about his stance or his grip. He felt the hunger in his chest roar to life. He stepped into the wolf's path and opened the "Void-Well" just a crack.
The wolf's briar-fur, which was usually charged with a minor earth-mana to keep the needles hard as steel, suddenly went limp. The needles softened into wet hair. Matthew caught the beast by its throat and slammed it into the dirt, his violet-stained mana numbing the creature's senses.
But as he did, the ground beneath them began to groan.
"It's a trap!" Andre screamed, looking at his bronze plate. "The spikes weren't the wolves—they were the ground!"
The earth split open, not from a monster, but from a massive, underground mana-vein that had been intentionally ruptured. A geyser of raw, purple energy erupted right beneath Team 7.