"Let's go. I'm sick of this stupid forest," Recruit 7 complained, looking back over his shoulder at Ana and Henry, who was deliberately hanging back to match her exhausted pace.
"You think I don't want to hurry?" Ana shot back between heavy, ragged breaths. "I need a shower so bad I could cry."
Two grueling hours later, the steep incline finally leveled out. They had reached an elevation so high that the dense red giant trees and thick underbrush simply couldn't survive. The terrain cleared into a flat, rocky plateau.
Standing in the near distance, waiting for them, was Sir Red.
As they approached, Sir Red held up a large, heavy canvas sack. His usual intense, unfriendly scowl was gone, replaced by a slight, approving smile. "Congratulations on surviving your final requirement. Place your packs in this sack."
Henry, 1, and 7 began unbuckling their gear, but as Ana reached for hers, Sir Red raised a hand. "Not you. You hang on to that."
Henry paused, a sudden, icy chill washing over him. Sir Red didn't ask why Ana was with them. He didn't show a single ounce of surprise that a member of Squad One was walking out with Squad Three.
He already knew, Henry realized, his grip tightening on his straps. He's been watching us this entire time.
It was a terrifying thought. Even after unlocking his F-Rank stats and gaining a massive boost to his senses, Henry hadn't felt a single trace of an observer in the woods. The gap between a newly minted F-Rank and whatever rank Sir Red held was an unfathomable abyss.
"Follow me," Sir Red ordered, his tone significantly lighter than it had been a month ago.
He led them on a two-hour hike eastward until they reached a dirt clearing where a large, reinforced carriage waited, hitched to two massive, heavily muscled warhorses.
"Enjoy the ride back," Sir Red said, gesturing to the open back.
The moment the four recruits climbed in and secured themselves, the driver cracked the reins. The horses exploded forward with terrifying, supernatural speed. Within seconds, they were moving so fast that the violent roar of the wind drowned out any chance of conversation. The trees blurred into a solid wall of color. A few minutes into the ride, they blew past another waiting carriage, and a few minutes after that, they passed a third.
Suddenly, the dense woods broke, revealing a massive, wide paved road. As the carriage wheels hit the cobblestone, the driver pulled back, and their speed dramatically dropped to a normal, manageable trot.
"Those horses are insane!" Recruit 7 gasped, his hair blown wildly in every direction. "We just crossed a distance that took us hours on foot in less than fifteen minutes!"
"I don't think that was even their maximum speed," Recruit 1 noted, her eyes tracking the massive beasts pulling them.
Henry looked across the carriage at Ana. She looked absolutely green, clutching her stomach as she leaned over the edge. "You okay, 12?"
She gave a weak nod, not looking up. "Yeah... I think I just need a minute to get used to traveling at that kind of speed."
For the rest of the journey, Henry tuned out the bumpy ride, watching in silence as the military presence steadily ramped up. Watchtowers, patrols, and heavily fortified walls began to replace the wild landscape until they finally rolled to a halt at a massive security checkpoint at the end of the road.
Once they were cleared, Sir Red met them in the courtyard. "Meet in the cafeteria," he instructed simply before walking away.
When they pushed open the heavy wooden doors to the mess hall, they were immediately hit by a wall of sound from the bustling kitchen and the overwhelming, heavenly aroma of roasting meat, fresh bread, and spices. After a month of near-starvation, the smell alone was intoxicating. Even the fiercely disciplined Recruit 1 seemed to visibly swallow, a hint of drool forming at the corner of her mouth.
"Looks like we're having a feast," Henry said, his stomach letting out a violent rumble. "And it's the perfect time. I'm thankful we survived, but it sucked having to survive on wild game. Every piece of meat we cooked was so tough it was borderline inedible."
"Agreed," Ana, 7, and 1 all said in perfect, immediate unison.
They grabbed a table together, the anticipation building. An hour later, the mess hall doors opened again, and Recruit 13's group walked in.
The moment 13's eyes swept the room and locked onto Ana, his face dropped. He immediately hurried over to their table. "Thank God you called for help, 12. I was so worried about you."
Ana looked down at the table, trying desperately to hide her hurt and anger. It came out incredibly awkward as she muttered, "I didn't call for help. 14 found me in the woods. I was able to pass with their group."
Hearing that Henry had been the one to save her, 13's jaw muscles briefly tightened. The mask slipped for a fraction of a second before he smoothed his expression back into a relieved smile. He turned to Henry. "Thanks for taking care of 12, 14. How lucky of us."
Henry just stared at him, his face hard. He gave a single, rigid nod. "We have to talk later, 13."
"Alright," 13 said stiffly, turning on his heel and retreating to his squad's table.
Thirty minutes later, the final group straggled in. As if on a timed cue, the kitchen shutters flew open. Instead of forcing them to line up, the mess hall staff began hauling massive, steaming platters directly to the tables.
It was a staggering amount of food. There were mountains of roasted vegetables, thick cuts of slow-roasted beef, whole chickens, glazed pork, racks of lamb, and massive platters of grilled seafood. For dessert, they dropped off entire chocolate cakes and baskets of warm corn muffins.
Henry didn't hesitate. Accustomed to consolidating his calories into massive, heavy meals after long periods of exertion, he loaded his plate with an absolute mountain of dense protein. He tore into the beef and chicken, feeding the demanding metabolism of his newly unlocked F-Rank body. They ate in ravenous silence, devouring the feast until they hit their physical limits, leaning back in their chairs in a state of euphoric, overstuffed lethargy.
As they were digesting, the doors opened one last time. Sir Red, Sir Blue, and Ma'am White marched into the room, followed closely by the Head Recruiter they hadn't seen since their very first day. The room instantly fell silent.
"Now that your celebratory feast is concluded, I will be announcing the final scores," Ma'am White projected, her crisp voice cutting through the hall. "Each of you will receive an envelope detailing your individual performance. I will only be announcing the overall group scores."
She unrolled a piece of parchment. "The group with the highest overall score is Group Three, with a total of twenty-nine mana cores. Despite operating as a three-person team, they have achieved a group score of 9/10."
Recruit 7 pumped his fist under the table.
"Next, we have Group Two, with eleven mana cores and a group score of 6/10."
Ma'am White's eyes narrowed slightly. "Lastly, we have Group One, with fourteen mana cores and a score of 3/10."
Whispers broke out across the room. Group One had gathered more cores than Group Two, yet received half the score. Ma'am White silenced the room with a look. "The reason Group One received a failing group grade is because they did not cross the finish line with all of their original members. You abandoned a comrade."
At those words, every member of Squad One—with the sole exception of 13—shot a venomous, dirty look across the room directly at Ana. Henry subtly shifted his broad shoulders, physically blocking their line of sight to her.
"Tomorrow, you will attend your official graduation ceremony and receive your duty station assignments," Ma'am White concluded. "You have the rest of the day to yourselves. Dismissed."
The heavy, high-calorie meal, combined with the sudden release of a month's worth of adrenaline, hit them all like a physical blow. Uncomfortably full and dead on their feet, the recruits slowly dragged themselves to the barracks to wash up and collapse.
Freshly showered and wearing clean clothes for the first time in thirty days, Henry dropped heavily onto his bunk. He picked up the thick, wax-sealed envelope resting on his pillow. Cracking it open, he pulled out the official grading rubric.
At the very top, printed in bold ink, was his personal grade: 9/10.
Below the score was a dense, multi-page explanation detailing his combat tactics, decision-making, and physical progress. Henry stared at the wall of text for three seconds. The letters began to blur together. Letting out a long, completely satisfied exhale, the paper slipped from his fingers to the floor as he fell fast asleep without reading a single sentence.