Reincarnated with SSS-Rank Trait and Unique Ability-Chapter 21: A ’Warm’ Welcome

Not a moment after they stepped down from the caravan, a soldier rushed out of the largest brick building, clad in iron armor so worn it looked older than he was. His boots splashed through puddles as he hurried toward the instructor.

"Greetings," he said, bending low in a deep bow, his voice breathless between pants. "The Chief wishes to welcome you all personally."

Viktor gave a curt nod and turned to the group. "Let's go."

They followed the soldier across the muddy courtyard. The soggy earth clung to their boots, but soon gave way to the polished marble tiles of the main hall. The contrast was jarring—outside, the compound looked barely kept, with cracks in the walls and rain-stained bricks. Inside, the building was pristine. The air was cooler, scented faintly with aged wood and oil lanterns. Ornate rugs softened each step, and chandeliers hung overhead, casting soft golden light on the walls lined with paintings—landscapes, portraits of stern men, and depictions of battles past.

Ares found his eyes drawn to one such painting, a chaotic clash of steel and flame, as he trailed behind the others.

The soldier attempted small talk, but it was wasted effort. The poor man clearly hadn't been warned about their instructor's temperament. He would've had better luck digging gold from the mud outside than prying a conversation from Viktor.

After a few more silent turns through the maze-like corridors, they arrived at a pair of tall double doors that were already open.

The soldier stepped aside and gestured politely. "Please, go in," he said before pulling the doors shut behind them with a quiet thud.

The Chief's office was spacious, almost luxurious. The oak-panelled walls gleamed, and shelves lined with scrolls and thick tomes wrapped around the room like a scholar's fortress. A grand desk carved from deep mahogany sat at one end, beside a wide window overlooking the training grounds. The rain outside painted streaks down the glass. The room was warmed by a hearth crackling in the corner, casting flickers of amber on the floor.

By the window stood a man who, by all appearances, seemed far too young to be the Chief. He wore a finely tailored coat with silver trim, his posture relaxed, though there was something sharp in his eyes, like someone who had seen more than his age should allow.

He turned with a warm smile. "Viktor," he said, spreading his arms in welcome. "It's been far too long."

"Arthur," Viktor replied flatly. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh? Didn't they tell you who the Chief was?" Arthur's smile widened, touched with amusement. "Aren't you glad to see an old friend?"

Viktor shook his head. "Asking who the Chief is was irrelevant. We are here to conduct combat training—"

"Yes, yes, of course," Arthur cut in, still grinning. "Please, sit." He gestured toward two deep, leather-bound sofas positioned near the center of the room, with a small table between them holding a silver tea set and a stack of maps.

Moments later, they were all seated. The room settled into a heavy silence.

"Are you sure about this?" Arthur finally asked, his tone quieter, more serious.

Viktor raised a brow, not immediately understanding.

Arthur leaned forward slightly. "Don't you think it's a bit early for them to—"

"Those are the King's orders," Viktor interrupted.

Arthur let out a slow breath. "Same as always. Never one to refuse an order." He paused, the grin fading from his face. "Very well then."

He rose from the sofa and walked to the door. But instead of stepping out, he leaned his head into the hallway. A moment later, the soldier who showed them the way returned, standing stiffly outside the door.

"Theodore will escort your students to their chambers," Arthur announced, stepping back inside. "You and I should discuss the current... state of the Wildlands. You'll need to know what you're walking into."

The students turned to their instructor. Viktor gave a single nod.

With that, they rose and followed Theodore out.

Ares lingered for a moment as he stepped through the door, casting one last glance at the two men. There was something in the way they looked at each other—familiarity, yes, but also something else. Some form of tension, not open, but cold as if buried deep inside of them. Perhaps, even some form of resentment.

Ares wasn't sure.

Soon enough, he was shown to his chamber.

It wasn't inside the clean, well-maintained brick building they had entered earlier. Instead, the soldier led them back outside, through the drizzle and over the muddy courtyard, toward a row of weathered wooden cabins.

The wood groaned beneath their boots as they stepped inside. The narrow hallway smelled faintly of damp timber and something older—like mold clinging to memory. The walls looked barely held together, planks warped and splintering. Each student was directed to a separate door with little ceremony.

Ares gave the soldier a curt nod out of courtesy, then pushed open his door and stepped inside.

The room was vile to the point of insult.

A single narrow window let in the last grey light of day. Against the far wall stood an old wooden bed with a lumpy mattress, and beside it, a crooked desk with a chair that looked like it was trying, and failing, to stay upright. One leg was already snapped, the whole thing leaning at a defiant angle as if daring anyone to sit.

Ares scowled faintly as he took it all in.

Compared to his room at the academy, this was a stable fit for livestock, not a place for people to sleep. He half-considered going back outside and sleeping in the mud.

He lingered for a moment, then walked forward.

With a sigh, he lowered himself onto the bed, only for one of the legs to give out with a sharp crack. The whole frame tilted, groaning in protest.

"...At least I can have some privacy," he muttered under his breath, now half-slouched on a bed that sloped like a dying ship.