Squad 9 halted at the foot of the towering citadel, their breaths forming small clouds in the chilly air. The massive fortress loomed before them—a breathtaking fusion of classical architectural grandeur and the sleek sophistication of 26th-century technology. Gargantuan dragon statues coiled around spires that pierced the pale sky, while elegant neo-classical façades, ornate wrought iron balconies, and glowing translucent glass panels blended harmoniously with holographic glyphs dancing softly along the walls, telling the academy's ancient legacy.
Ahead, the other four squads were already assembled in the courtyard—each clad in gleaming armor, polished to a mirror finish, and carrying weapons that hummed with latent power. They moved with the ease of elite soldiers, their posture relaxed yet alert. The contrast with Squad 9 was stark; worn gear, tired limbs, and haunted eyes betrayed their hardships. One squad, however, was noticeably incomplete—one member missing.
Suddenly, a figure detached himself from the closest group and strode confidently toward Chen Mei, his blond hair catching the afternoon light and sharp blue eyes flickering with unmistakable pride. The boy's voice rang out, clear and confident despite the growing tension around them.
"Pardon me, but might I inquire if you are from the esteemed Lotus Chen Family of Beijing?" he said, bowing slightly with practiced courtesy. "I am Alexander Gallifrey from Prague, representing Squad 5. It would be an honor if you would consider transferring to my squad in the future."
Chen Mei's gaze sharpened, her mind processing the weight behind his words. The boy's presence was commanding, his confidence almost a challenge—one that unsettled her.
Before she could respond, Kean hobbled forward, the pain in his shoulder visible despite his effort to conceal it. "I'm going to have to say no," he stated bluntly, stepping protectively in front of her.
Alexander's smile faded, replaced by a flicker of irritation as he turned his icy gaze toward Kean. "Who gave you the right to speak to me, hick?" he sneered.
Kean's jaw tightened, matching Alexander's icy glare with his own stubborn defiance.
"Enough," William's voice cut through the rising tension. "I want to know how my friend died."
Alexander's eyes swept over William, measuring the fire burning within him. "You may be better than that ignorant fool, but you're still not welcome here," he spat, voice dripping with disdain. "That peasant you lost was a burden. He couldn't keep up, so we left him behind."
The accusation hung in the frosty air like a blade. William's face flushed with fury. He squared his shoulders, locking eyes with Alexander.
"You let him die!" William shouted.
Wolfgang's hand went to the grip of his shotgun as the squads around them tensed, weapons subtly shifting toward readiness. Squad 5's members tightened their formation, eyes cold and calculating, while Squad 9 prepared to back their own.
"You lowly peasants and hicks should learn respect for your betters," Alexander sneered, pressing the barrel of his pistol against William's chin.
A sudden cold shock ran down William's neck—metal pressed with unforgiving precision. To his right, Gilbert materialized silently, sword drawn in one hand, power rifle trained on the rest of Alexander's squad. Behind the tense standoff, Adam's sniper scope glinted, the barrel trained steady on the aggressors.
"Well then, looks like the commoners are rebelling," came a sharp voice.
A striking girl with fiery red hair and piercing green eyes emerged from the ranks behind Alexander, her squad flanking her like shadows. Her presence brought with it an undeniable aura of authority.
"Looks like you're outnumbered and outclassed," Alexander said, never breaking eye contact with William.
Gilbert smirked, pointing the tip of his sword to Alexander's chin. "You people from higher-tier cities sure have your heads stuck where the sun doesn't shine."
From the courtyard edges, more squads began arriving. Five in total—each bearing the scars of their grueling journey. Some missing members; others with battered armor and grim expressions. The later the arrival, the more ragged the appearance and the fewer the number. Guards quickly closed ranks, standing as silent witnesses to the mounting tension.
Far above on the castle walls, away from prying eyes and the volatile crowd, General Beckett watched with steely calm. Beside him stood Colonel Z'yna, who presented a sleek terminal tablet with a report.
"Can you give me a rundown of the squads that made it?" Beckett asked, voice low but sharp.
Z'yna's fingers danced across the screen as she briefed, "Squad 3 led by Aisling O'Neill from London arrived in one hour and forty minutes with impressive efficiency. Squad 11, under Sohan Agustin-Dubois—an adopted noble from Prague—followed closely, arriving in two hours flat."
"In third place was Squad 1, led by Aksel Astason, son of Lieutenant General Asta Alfson of the Dragon Legion, reaching the citadel in two hours and ten minutes."
"Squad 5, with Alexander Gallifrey from tier I Rome, finished fourth at two hours and thirty minutes, though they lost a member."
"Lastly, Squad 9, led by Gilbert Kruger from tier III Drum Tower City, surprised us by arriving just within the deadline at two hours and forty-seven minutes, the final squad to make it."
Beckett handed the tablet back to Z'yna, letting the weight of the standings settle.
"Squad 5 will be punished accordingly," Beckett said coldly. "Squad 9 takes the fourth place spot."
Doctor Wolmer, standing nearby, interjected with a smirk, "Curious how things will unfold. We all have opinions on which squad has the most potential. Perhaps bringing in more tier I recruits will help replenish the Dragon Legion, though only two hundred made it out of a thousand. The question remains if that will be enough."
"Doctor, don't you have some other child's future to ruin?" Aniela snapped smugly. "Last I checked, you're here because of your failures, a mere proxy for the president."
Wolmer shot back, "And you're just a waste of potential masquerading as an instructor."
Aniela opened her mouth to reply, but Beckett cut through, "The last group has arrived. Z'yna, the recruits are yours now."
He turned and began walking away. "Wolmer, you're with me."
Back at the citadel gate, tensions erupted anew.
"Come on, commoner. Take your best shot," Alexander taunted William.
Kean stepped forward, voice low but sharp. "If your manners make you afraid, I'll take the swing myself."
William opened his mouth, but a sharp punch drove the wind from his lungs. At the same time, Gilbert felt his sword ripped from his grasp by a sudden, overwhelming force.
Before Alexander could react, Colonel Z'yna landed atop him, pinning him to the ground with practiced ease. She planted her feet firmly on his shoulder and used Gilbert's sword for balance, holding Alexander's face to the cold dirt.
"How dare you!" Alexander snarled, muffled by the mud as Z'yna pressed his mouth into the earth.
The recruits around them fell silent, stunned by the swift, brutal display. Even Gilbert had been too shocked to react when his sword vanished.
"Well then, welcome to Aeskrow Citadel," Z'yna announced, rising with authority. "You have all made it this far. For the next few years, you'll be under my responsibility."
She paused, eyes sweeping over the gathered recruits.
"Squad 5 failed their mission and will be punished. Squad 9 moves up to fourth position."
She turned toward the dark stone walls ahead, their surfaces carved with intricate Roman and Celtic reliefs, draconic motifs entwining with sharp neo-classical columns. Futuristic glass panels shimmered intermittently, adjusting opacity with sunlight, interlaced with holographic patterns that told stories of valor and sacrifice.
"Those who finished on time remain in their squads. Others will be reassigned accordingly," she explained as the recruits followed her inside.
Their footsteps echoed in the cavernous open courtyard as they passed patrolling squads clad in helmets, chest plates, and boots, carrying rifles at ready.
Midway between the main building and the outer wall, a once-majestic tower stood neglected—its stonework blackened by dust and decay, vines strangling its crumbling facade, shattered windows like hollow eyes staring into forgotten stories.
Z'yna stopped at the base and said, "Information about your classes and room assignments will be sent to your halo watches. In two days, your first classes begin. I expect this entire building cleaned for inspection by then."
Notifications chimed on their watches. Gilbert glanced at his: "Squire 141, your Squad 9 has been assigned Floor 9, Room 4. Current location: Floor 9, Room 1. Please proceed at your earliest convenience."
As they moved toward their quarters, a heavy silence settled. The real trial had only just begun.