Chapter 1: The First Day

The blaring screech of the alarm clock shattered the remains of Chrites's dream.

He groaned, throwing a heavy arm over his face before blindly smacking the snooze button. The sudden silence was a relief, but the damage was already done. Tossing the thick blankets aside, he dragged himself out of bed, his bare feet hitting the cold wooden floor. He stumbled into the bathroom, turning the faucet as far to the right as it would go. A quick, freezing shower shocked the remaining sleep out of his system, leaving him shivering but fully awake.

Standing in front of the fogged-up mirror, he wiped away the condensation and ran a towel through his damp, pitch-black hair. He didn't bother grabbing a comb, just letting the wet strands fall into a casually messy state over his forehead. He stared at his reflection for a long moment—just messy dark hair and perfectly dull blue eyes staring back.

Good, he thought, adjusting his posture. Bedhead works perfectly. Don't stand up too straight. Look tired. Look average.

He walked back into his bedroom and threw on the academy uniform that had been hanging on his closet door for a week. It consisted of a crisp white dress shirt, a stiff red tie that he left slightly loose, dark trousers, and the official navy-blue student coat of the Grovics Magical Warfare Unit. He grabbed his scabbard off the desk, making sure the simple, black-hilted sword was securely fastened at his hip. He didn't draw the blade. He just made sure it was seated right, then grabbed his heavy school bag and bolted downstairs.

The smell of fried eggs, sizzling meat, and burnt toast filled the kitchen. The television in the living room was quietly broadcasting the morning news, talking about local elections in the Grovics continent. His dad was already sitting at the small dining table, swiping through an article on his datapad while sipping black coffee. His older brother leaned casually against the kitchen counter, wearing his own work clothes, loudly chewing on a green apple.

"Morning," Chrites mumbled, sliding into a wooden chair. He reached out, grabbed a piece of slightly burnt toast from the center plate, and started eating like a starving wolf.

His older brother smirked, tossing the apple core perfectly into the trash can across the room. "Whoa, slow down there, vacuum cleaner. You're gonna choke before you even make it to the entrance exam. Would be a real shame to fail because of a piece of bread."

"Leave your brother alone," his mom scolded lightly, walking over from the stove and setting a massive plate of eggs and sausage in front of Chrites. She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners with warmth. "You just make sure you eat enough, Chrites. It's a big day. You need your energy for the physical tests."

Chrites nodded rapidly, his mouth completely full, and gave her a thumbs-up. He practically inhaled the meal, barely chewing before swallowing, chugged a tall glass of orange juice to wash it down, and jumped up from his chair.

"Alright, Mom, Dad, I'm heading out!" Chrites called out, already half-way down the hallway toward the front door.

"Do your best on your first day, my son!" his mother yelled from the kitchen, her voice full of pride. "And please don't get into any trouble!"

"I won't!"

Chrites pushed the front door open and hit the pavement running. The morning air of the city was crisp and cool. The streets were already bustling with daily life. Office workers hurried toward the transit stations, street vendors set up their food carts, and the heavy city traffic hummed along the main roads. He sprinted down his usual route, weaving through the crowds of normal citizens. His standard-issue leather shoes slapped loudly against the concrete sidewalk.

As he rounded the sharp corner near the central transit station, he spotted a familiar figure leaning against a brick wall, tapping his foot impatiently. It was Rivb. His best friend had his arms crossed over his chest, his own navy-blue school coat looking just a little too big on his shoulders.

Rivb checked his digital watch, groaned, and let out a loud, exaggerated sigh as Chrites jogged up, panting heavily.

"Dude, are you actually kidding me?" Rivb said, throwing his hands in the air. "It is literally the first day of the academy and you're late. Again. How is that even physically possible?"

Chrites rested his hands on his knees, faking being totally out of breath. "Oh, man... sorry. I was up way too late."

"Doing what? Studying basic magic theory so you don't fail out in the first week?"

"Playing *War Dead Zombie," Chrites lied smoothly, flashing a grin as he stood up straight. "I was grinding the survival mode till like three in the morning. I got surrounded by a horde on level fifty. I couldn't just pause it and go to sleep."

Rivb rolled his eyes so hard it looked like it hurt. A small, involuntary smile cracked through his annoyed expression. "You're an absolute idiot. Seriously, you're going to get us both thrown in detention before we even take the physical exam. Come on, let's just move before the gates close."

"Right behind you," Chrites laughed, adjusting the strap of his bag.

The two seventeen-year-olds took off down the sidewalk, sprinting the remaining four blocks toward the towering, iron-wrought gates of the G.M.W.U. academy.

When they finally arrived at the main entrance, they had to slow down to push their way through the massive crowd of nervous teenagers. Standing just off to the side of the main pathway, waiting under the shade of a large oak tree, were two more familiar faces.

Shevy was leaning against the tree trunk, scrolling on her phone, while Chrono stood beside her, his arms crossed tight, looking like he was ready to scold someone.

"There they are," Chrono said as Chrites and Rivb approached. Chrono shook his head, his tone strict. "You two are late on your very first day. Do you have any idea how bad that looks for our evaluation?"

"Hey, don't look at me," Rivb immediately protested, pointing a thumb at his friend. "It is entirely Chrites's fault. He was playing video games until three in the morning like a child."

Chrites rubbed the back of his neck, offering a sheepish smile to the couple. "Yeah, that's my bad. Sorry, guys. Won't happen again."

Shevy put her phone away and sighed, though she didn't look nearly as angry as Chrono. "Whatever, at least you made it before the doors locked. Let's just get inside before we actually get in trouble."

The four of them joined the flow of students moving past the gates and onto the sprawling academy campus. The architecture was imposing—huge gray buildings, manicured lawns, and older students walking around in sharper, higher-ranking uniforms.

As they walked, Rivb nudged Chrono with his elbow, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "So, anyway. I saw you two fighting yesterday afternoon in the nearby park. A lot of yelling. Couples shouldn't fight this much, you know? Bad for the blood pressure."

Chrono's face instantly flushed red. He glared at Rivb.

"Mind your own business, Rivb," Shevy snapped, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Don't speak on other people's private lives. It had nothing to do with you."

"Yeah, back off," Chrono added, adjusting his collar awkwardly. "We were just... discussing tactics."

Rivb held his hands up in mock surrender, laughing. "Okay, okay! Geez. Keep your secrets. I was just giving some friendly advice."

They eventually reached the main testing facility. The examination room was absolutely massive, looking more like an indoor stadium than a classroom. Bleachers lined the walls, already packed with hundreds of nervous students. In the direct center of the room sat the evaluation machine—a large, heavy block of dark metal covered in glowing panels and a single, flat glass pad on the top.

"Find a seat, wait for your name to be called, and channel your magic into the sensor pad when instructed!" an older instructor yelled through a megaphone.

The four friends found an empty spot on the middle bleachers and sat down. The atmosphere was incredibly tense. Every time a student walked up to the machine, the whole room went dead silent, waiting to see their score flash on the giant screen above the examiner's head.

"Man, I feel sick," Rivb muttered, bouncing his leg up and down nervously. "What if I get a bad rank? My dad will actually kill me."

"Just focus on pushing your mana evenly," Chrono instructed, trying to sound confident, though his hands were gripping his knees tightly. "Don't try to force out more than you actually have. The machine calculates density, not just raw volume."

Shevy nodded in agreement. "Exactly. Just stay calm." She looked over at Chrites, who was leaning back, looking half-asleep. "You aren't nervous at all, are you?"

Chrites shrugged. "Whatever happens, happens. No point in stressing over it now."

They sat there for a grueling twenty minutes, watching kids walk up, place their hands on the machine, and walk away looking either thrilled or devastated.

Finally, the examiner's voice echoed through the hall. "Candidate Chrites Lunode. Step forward."

Chrites stood up, ignoring the supportive pats on the back from his friends, and walked down the bleacher stairs. He kept his posture relaxed, his hands in his pockets until he reached the center of the room.

The examiner, a stern-looking man with a clipboard, didn't even make eye contact. "Place your palm on the glass. Channel your magic."

Chrites pulled his right hand from his pocket and laid it flat against the cold surface of the machine. He took a slow breath. He mentally pushed down the terrifying, swirling pressure of his true power, sealing it away tight. Instead, he forced out just a tiny, fragile spark of heat.

The machine hummed. A faint orange glow lit up under his palm.

A moment later, the giant screen above beeped loudly, displaying his results for the entire room to see.

**SCORE: ROOKIE TIER 2**

The examiner scribbled the result on his clipboard. "Average. Move along to the next room."

"Thank you, sir," Chrites said, pulling his hand back and walking away, a quiet sense of relief washing over him. He had perfectly blended in.

In the world of the G.M.W.U., power was everything, and the military had spent decades perfecting a rigid system to categorize it. Every soldier, mage, and student was evaluated and placed into a strict hierarchy that dictated their future, their salary, and their social standing.

At the very bottom of the ladder was the **Rookie**. This rank was reserved almost entirely for academy students and fresh recruits. Rookies were capable of basic magic manipulation, but lacked the stamina or refined control for serious combat. Like all ranks, it was divided into three tiers: Tier 1 was the absolute bottom, while Tier 3 meant a recruit was on the verge of graduation.

Above them stood the **Slayers**. These were the fully graduated, capable soldiers who handled standard military missions, border patrols, and daily defense operations. A Slayer Tier 3 was a seasoned veteran, highly respected in ordinary society.

The true military power began at the **Elite Slayer** rank. These men and women were high-ranking officers, tactical commanders, and devastating forces on the battlefield. To reach Elite Slayer required not just raw power, but years of brutal combat experience.

Above the elites were the **Masters**. These were the generals, the division leaders, the absolute peak of conventional military strength. A Master could turn the tide of a battle single-handedly. Across the entire Grovics continent, only a handful of individuals ever reached this terrifying tier.

But at the absolute pinnacle, above all laws and standard military structure, were the **Supreme Masters**. It was a title given only to those whose power defied logic and reason. In the entire world, across all five continents, only seven people held this rank. Two of them resided in Grovics. They were walking natural disasters, forces of nature bound only by their own will.

Chapter 2: The Ambush

The examination hall fell completely silent as Chrono stepped up to the testing machine. He took a deep breath, his shoulders tense, and placed his palm flat against the cold glass of the sensor pad.

The machine hummed to life. The heavy metal block began to vibrate, and a blinding silver light surged through the glowing panels. The massive digital screen mounted above the examiner's head flickered rapidly, calculating the sheer density of the energy being poured into it.

A loud, piercing chime echoed through the massive room. The screen locked onto a final score.

SCORE: SLAYER TIER 2.

A collective gasp swept through the bleachers. The stern examiner, who had barely looked up from his clipboard all morning, actually lowered his pen and stared at the seventeen-year-old boy. Achieving the rank of Slayer was a respected career milestone for grown adults in the military. Hitting Slayer Tier 2 on the very first day of the academy entrance exams was nothing short of brilliant.

Chrono let out a long, shaky exhale. He pulled his hand back from the glass and walked down the center aisle, trying to keep his face calm, though a proud smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

As soon as he reached their spot on the bleachers, Rivb threw an arm around his shoulder.

"Chrono, I expected this from you," Rivb said, grinning widely. "Your sister was the exact same rank. She was brilliant, and she achieved this rank at the same age as you."

Chrono's face flushed slightly at the praise. He looked at Rivb, Shevy, and Chrites. "Thanks, everyone. I just didn't want to fall behind."

"You did great," Chrites said, offering a simple nod.

"Alright, candidates, listen up!" the examiner shouted, his voice echoing through the hall via a megaphone. "The mana evaluation phase is concluded. You will now proceed through the doors at the north end of the facility for your physical training assessment."

The crowd of teenagers stood up, a mixture of nervous excitement and dread rippling through them. Chrites grabbed his bag and followed his friends down the stairs.

They walked down a long, reinforced concrete hallway. The heavy metal doors at the end opened up into the academy's physical training arena. It was a sprawling, subterranean gymnasium built for absolute destruction. The floors were lined with heavily reinforced, shock-absorbent tiles. Tiered seating surrounded the main fighting floor, separated by thick, transparent energy shields to protect the spectators from stray attacks.

In the center of the room, several instructors in dark military uniforms were drawing chalk lines and setting up boundary markers.

An older instructor stepped into the center of the arena holding a microphone.

"Welcome to the combat trials," the man announced, his voice booming over the speakers. "We will now begin the one-on-one matches. You will be called down in pairs to face off against your fellow participants. We want to see your physical reflexes, your tactical thinking, and your raw combat ability. Step up to the viewing area and wait for your names to be called."

Chrites and his friends found a spot near the heavy railing that overlooked the main floor. Down below, two students were already walking toward the center ring, stretching their arms and looking terrified.

The instructor raised his hand to signal the start of the first match.

Before his hand could drop, the world violently tore itself apart.

A deafening, ear-shattering explosion ripped through the gymnasium. The entire eastern wall of the arena blew inward in a massive cloud of fire and dust. Heavy chunks of reinforced concrete, twisted metal rebar, and shattered glass rained down onto the fighting floor.

The sheer concussive force of the blast knocked Chrites off his feet. He hit the ground hard, his ears ringing with a high-pitched whine. The bright overhead lights flickered and died instantly, replaced by the chaotic, strobing red glare of the emergency alarms. Thick, choking gray smoke poured into the room from the gaping hole in the wall.

Panic erupted.

"Run! Get to the doors!" a student screamed from the bleachers.

Hundreds of teenagers completely lost their minds. Students were shoving each other, trampling over bags, and scrambling blindly toward the emergency exits.

Through the thick curtain of dust and smoke, figures began to step into the gymnasium. They were heavily armed, their faces covered with grime and mechanical breathing masks. They wore mismatched, scavenged armor plates and carried illegal, highly volatile weapons. They were a wild gang, the kind of ruthless mercenaries who roamed the outer cities looking for easy money. Attacking the academy meant they were here to kidnap the children of wealthy politicians for ransom, or simply kill anyone who got in their way.

"Grab the targets! Block the exits!" one of the gang members roared over the noise of the alarms.

The invaders surged forward. They began firing wild, concussive blasts into the crowd, deliberately trying to disorient the fleeing students.

Down on the floor, the academy teachers and coordinators rushed forward to protect the kids. Instructors shouted commands, throwing up massive shields of hardened earth and solid energy to block the incoming fire.

"This way! Keep moving, do not stop!" a teacher yelled, waving a group of terrified students toward a side hallway.

Up in the stands, Chrites pushed himself off the floor. The air was thick with ash.

"We need to hide, now!" Chrono yelled, grabbing Shevy's arm.

"Under the bleachers!" Rivb pointed toward the dark maintenance space beneath the tiered seating.

The four of them ducked under the heavy steel support beams, crawling into the cramped, shadowed space. Above them, the sound of boots thundering against the metal stairs was deafening. Explosions shook the foundation of the building.

Chrites moved quickly, keeping his head down. They navigated through the dark support pillars, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the massive hole in the wall as possible. They found a tight alcove near the back wall and crouched down in the darkness, trying to silence their heavy breathing.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps crunched on the debris right in front of them.

A gang member had dropped down from the seating area above. The man was massive, holding a jagged, serrated combat knife in his right hand. He peered into the shadows, his eyes locking directly onto Chrites.

Before anyone could react, the man lunged forward.

He thrust the heavy blade directly downward. Chrites raised his arm to defend himself, but the movement was too fast. The jagged steel slammed brutally into Chrites's hand.

The blade tore through skin and muscle, pinning his hand against the concrete floor. The pain was blinding and absolute. A sharp, raw agony shot up his arm, and blood immediately pooled around the cold steel of the knife.

Chrites collapsed forward, gritting his teeth as the gang member yanked the knife free, preparing to strike again.

"Oh shit, we have to run fast!" Chrono screamed, his eyes wide with horror as he saw the blood. "Save him!"

Chrono didn't hesitate. He drew his standard-issue sidearm from his holster, aimed the barrel directly at the gang member's chest, and pulled the trigger.

A compressed bullet of dense mana erupted from the gun with a deafening crack. The round slammed into the gang member, shattering his chest plate and throwing the heavy man backward. The thug hit a steel pillar and slumped to the floor, completely motionless.

"Chrites, come on!" Rivb yelled over the blaring alarms.

Rivb scrambled forward, grabbing Chrites by his uninjured arm. He hauled Chrites up off the cold floor, throwing Chrites's arm over his own shoulder to support his weight. Blood dripped heavily from Chrites's hand, leaving a dark trail on the concrete.

"I got you, just keep moving!" Rivb grunted, taking the brunt of Chrites's weight.

With Chrono keeping his gun raised and leading the way, the four friends abandoned their hiding spot and fled deeper into the dark maintenance tunnels, running for their lives as the sounds of the brutal ambush echoed behind them.

The maintenance tunnels were a labyrinth of rusted pipes and flickering fluorescent lights. The air down here was thick with the smell of damp concrete and old oil, a sharp contrast to the smoke and ozone filling the gymnasium above. Every step Rivb took jarred Chrites's injured hand, sending fresh waves of hot agony up his arm. He clenched his jaw tight, refusing to make a sound.

"Take a left here!" Chrono ordered from the front. His gun was still raised, his eyes darting to every dark corner and intersecting hallway. For a guy who had just scored a Slayer rank, he looked pale and terrified. The reality of an actual, bloody ambush was a lot different than pouring mana into a sensor pad.

Shevy was right behind Chrono, constantly looking over her shoulder into the darkness. "Do you think they followed us?" she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "Those guys... they were actually trying to kill us."

"Just keep moving," Rivb grunted. Sweat was pouring down his face as he supported Chrites's weight. "We just need to find a stairwell that leads to the outer campus. The military police have to be on their way by now. They won't let a wild gang hold the academy for long."

They hurried past rows of heavy electrical breakers and massive water valves. The terrifying sounds of the attack—the heavy concussive blasts, the screaming, the shattering of stone—were muffled down here, but the violent vibrations still shook the floor beneath their boots.

Chrites focused entirely on putting one foot in front of the other. His hand was throbbing violently. Blood completely soaked the cuff of his white uniform shirt, dripping steadily onto the dusty floor. It looked incredibly bad, which was exactly what he needed. No one would ever question an average, clumsy rookie getting severely hurt in a brutal gang attack. It was the absolute perfect alibi for his disguise.

"There! A security door!" Chrono shouted, pointing his gun down a narrow corridor.

At the end of the hall stood a heavy steel door marked with a glowing green exit sign. Chrono ran forward and slammed his shoulder against the heavy metal push bar. The door groaned loudly but did not open.

"It's magnetically locked!" Chrono yelled in frustration, kicking the metal frame hard. "The emergency lockdown must have triggered when the alarms went off."

"Stand back," Shevy said. She pushed past Chrono, raising her right hand toward the electronic keypad on the wall. "Let me try to short-circuit the mana lock. Just keep your eyes on the hallway and give me ten seconds."

As Shevy began to channel a thin, sparking stream of electricity into the keypad, Rivb gently lowered Chrites to the ground, letting him lean heavily against the cold concrete wall.

"Hang in there, man," Rivb panted, tearing a piece of fabric from his own coat to wrap around Chrites's bleeding hand. "We are almost out of here."

Chapter 3: The Demon Awakens

The heavy steel security door refused to budge.

Shevy stood in front of the electronic keypad, her fingers hovering just inches over the damaged metal casing. A thin, continuous stream of blue electricity cracked from her fingertips, flowing directly into the exposed wires of the lock. Sweat dripped down her forehead. Bypassing a military-grade security seal was not an easy task for a student. The minutes dragged on like hours. Every second that ticked by felt like a heavy weight pressing down on their chests.

Two full minutes passed in agonizing tension. Down the dark corridor, the faint sounds of shouting and structural collapses echoed from the gymnasium, reminding them that the wild gang was still hunting.

Finally, a loud mechanical clank echoed from the heavy steel frame. The glowing red light on the keypad flashed green.

Shevy exhaled a sharp breath and pushed the heavy push-bar. The door swung open, revealing a completely different environment. They stumbled out of the dark, rusted maintenance tunnel and into a brightly lit, pristine white room. The air instantly changed, smelling strongly of rubbing alcohol, antiseptic chemicals, and clean linen.

They had found the academy infirmary.

The room was vast, lined with rows of empty hospital beds with crisp white sheets. Glass cabinets lined the walls, packed tightly with medical supplies, healing potions, and advanced trauma kits. Large, floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of the room overlooked the sprawling city skyline, though the glass was heavily tinted to block the morning sun.

Rivb practically dragged Chrites toward the nearest bed. He gently lowered Chrites onto the mattress, careful not to jostle his bleeding hand.

Chrono immediately ran toward the glass cabinets, shattering the lock with the butt of his sidearm. He grabbed handfuls of thick white gauze, bottles of heavy disinfectants, and rolls of medical tape. He dumped the supplies onto the bed next to Chrites.

Shevy and Rivb quickly went to work. They poured the harsh chemical disinfectant directly over the brutal knife wound on Chrites's hand. Chrites gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay completely still while his friends tightly wrapped the heavy gauze around his palm to stop the bleeding.

They were so focused on the injury that none of them looked out the massive windows.

A quarter of a mile away, perched on the rooftop of a towering commercial skyscraper, a lone sniper lay flat against the concrete.

The sniper belonged to the wild gang currently ravaging the academy. He peered through the highly advanced, mana-infused scope of a massive, heavy-caliber rifle. The crosshairs of the weapon swept across the exterior of the academy building, scanning for any military police or escaping targets.

Then, the crosshairs locked onto the infirmary window.

The sniper's finger tightened over the trigger. He recognized the boy standing near the medical cabinets instantly. Chrono was not just an ordinary student. He was the sole heir to one of the wealthiest and most influential political families in the entire Grovics continent. Even more dangerously, Chrono's older sister was a globally recognized prodigy who held the terrifying rank of Master. Kidnapping or killing a boy with that kind of pedigree was worth millions of credits in ransom or bounty money.

The sniper adjusted his breathing. He accounted for the wind and the distance. He waited for Chrono to turn his body slightly, aiming for a clean, devastating shot.

The sniper pulled the trigger.

A silent, hyper-compressed bullet of lethal wind magic tore through the sky. It crossed the massive gap between the buildings in a fraction of a second. The heavy tinted glass of the infirmary window shattered violently inward, spraying sharp fragments across the sterile white floor.

The bullet did not hit Chrono in the head as intended. At the exact moment the glass broke, Chrono shifted his weight to grab another bandage. The lethal round missed his skull and slammed brutally into his right shoulder.

Chrono let out a choked gasp as the impact spun him around violently. Blood sprayed across the white cabinets. He collapsed hard onto the linoleum floor, his sidearm clattering away from him.

Chrites leaped up from the bed, his heart hammering in his chest. "What the hell happened?!" he shouted, his eyes darting toward the shattered window.

"Sniper! Get down!" Rivb screamed, tackling Shevy to the floor behind a heavy metal medical desk.

Chrites dove toward Chrono, grabbing the boy by his uninjured arm and dragging him forcefully behind the cover of the heavy steel cabinets, completely out of the sniper's line of sight. Chrono was breathing heavily, his face pale from the sudden shock. His shoulder uniform was entirely soaked in dark crimson blood.

They did not waste a single second. Rivb crawled over the glass-covered floor, dragging the medical supplies with him. They pressed heavy wads of clean gauze directly into Chrono's shoulder wound. Shevy used a pair of sterilized medical forceps from a dropped kit to dig into the torn muscle, quickly and desperately extracting the shattered remnants of the magical bullet. Chrono groaned in agony, biting down on his own collar to keep from screaming. They wrapped his shoulder tight with the remaining tape, applying maximum pressure to seal the wound.

"We cannot stay here," Shevy whispered frantically, her hands covered in Chrono's blood. "That sniper knows exactly where we are. We are sitting ducks."

Rivb nodded, helping Chrono to his feet. "There is a staff exit at the back of the infirmary. It leads straight to the rear parking lot. Let's move."

Leaving the bloody bandages and shattered glass behind, the four teenagers slipped through the rear doors of the infirmary. They navigated a short, narrow hallway that opened up into the open air of the academy's back alleys. The sounds of the gang attack were louder out here, but the rear lot was completely abandoned.

Sitting near the chain-link fence was a standard, ordinary civilian car. It looked like it belonged to a janitor or a junior teacher who had fled in absolute panic. The driver's side door was left wide open, and the keys were still dangling in the ignition.

"Get in!" Rivb ordered, rushing to the driver's seat.

Chrites and Shevy practically threw Chrono into the back seat, piling in right after him. Rivb turned the key, slammed the gearshift into drive, and stomped heavily on the gas pedal. The car tires screeched violently against the asphalt. They burst through the rear academy gates, leaving the warzone behind them, and merged recklessly into the chaotic city traffic.

Rivb drove like a madman, weaving through the crowded streets of the Grovics continent. He ignored every red light and traffic signal, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight. Ten minutes later, he slammed the brakes in front of the emergency room doors of a large, civilian hospital in the inner city.

Medical staff rushed out immediately. They placed Chrono onto a rolling stretcher, shouting orders to each other as they wheeled him into the trauma ward. Another group of nurses guided Chrites inside to properly treat and stitch the brutal knife wound on his hand. Rivb and Shevy stayed in the waiting room, finally allowing themselves to collapse into the plastic chairs, completely exhausted.

Meanwhile, back at the academy gymnasium, the chaos was finally beginning to settle.

Thick black smoke poured into the morning sky. The emergency alarms were still blaring their strobing red lights. Standing in the center of the ruined arena, surrounded by terrified hostages and shattered concrete, the gang leader checked his mechanical breathing mask.

His radio crackled with static. The military police were only minutes away from breaching the perimeter.

The gang leader raised his heavy weapon and signaled to his crew. "Our work is done. If we don't get out of here right now, the military will come and get us. Let us move."

The gang members did not hesitate. They dropped whatever supplies they were holding and prepared to retreat. In the corner of the room, several of the gang's designated healers were working quickly. They used crude, raw healing magic to patch up the thugs who had been injured during the raid, stopping bleeding and forcing broken bones back into place just enough so the men could run.

Within moments, the entire squad of Scrappers vanished into the subterranean maintenance tunnels, escaping through the city's underground network long before the Grovics magical army ever arrived.

Hours passed. The sun set over the city, casting the hospital into deep, quiet shadows.

Inside a private room on the fourth floor, the rhythmic, steady beeping of a heart monitor filled the silence. Chrites Lunode lay in a narrow hospital bed, staring blankly at the white ceiling. The city outside was quiet now. His right hand was professionally stitched and wrapped in thick, clean bandages. The doctors had given him pain medication, assuming he was just a terrified, average student who had barely survived a massacre.

The disguise had worked flawlessly. Chrono was safe in the room next door. No one suspected a thing.

But Chrites was not going to let this go.

He quietly threw the thin white blanket off his legs and slipped out of the bed. His bare feet made no sound against the cold linoleum floor. He checked the hallway. The nurses' station was empty, the staff busy attending to the influx of patients from the academy attack.

Moving like a shadow, Chrites navigated the quiet hospital corridors. He bypassed the elevators and took the emergency stairwell all the way down to the hospital basement. The basement was a dark, forgotten storage area filled with humming boiler machines and stacks of unused medical equipment.

Chrites walked over to a dark corner behind the heavy water pipes. He had completely anticipated a situation like this. Long before the entrance exams, he had stashed emergency supplies across the city. He reached behind a stack of wooden pallets and pulled out a heavy black duffel bag.

He unzipped the bag and began to change.

He stripped off the bloodstained, torn remnants of his academy uniform. He replaced it with a sharp, tailored black formal coat and matching dark trousers. The clothing was sleek, designed for maximum mobility while completely obscuring his identity. He reached into the bag again and pulled out his weapon. The simple, black-hilted sword slid perfectly onto his belt, its heavy steel resting comfortably against his hip.

Finally, he reached into the very bottom of the bag and pulled out his mask.

It was a terrifying, masterfully crafted piece of armor. The mask was shaped like the face of a grinning demon, painted in deep crimson and pitch black. It covered his entire face, leaving only narrow slits for his cold blue eyes to look through. It was a face meant to strike absolute fear into anyone who saw it.

Chrites lifted the demon mask and strapped it tightly over his face.

The average, lazy high school student was gone. In his place stood a silent, lethal force of nature. He turned his back on the hospital basement, pushed open the heavy service doors, and walked out into the cold night air.

The gang thought they had escaped the military. They had no idea they were about to be hunted by something much, much worse.