Meanwhile, on that exact same night, something else was unfolding deep within the Forbidden Forest...

At the border of the Outer Ring, the pungent stench of wet earth and fresh blood hung heavy in the midnight air. Under the dim, flickering light of scattered torches, a small squad of knights dragged their exhausted feet back toward their encampment. Thick layers of caked mud, dried gore, and cold sweat clung heavily to their dented armor.

One knight, his face pale with a visible mix of sheer exhaustion and lingering dread, paused just outside the main command tent. He wiped a layer of grime and sweat from his forehead with the back of his palm, took a deep, shaky breath, and hesitantly stepped inside.

The atmosphere inside the tent was suffocatingly heavy. Sitting at the center was Commander Gideon—a massive, hulking brute of a man whose thick, jagged scars silently narrated a long, brutal history of violence. He was gripping a large wooden mug that reeked of cheap, pungent ale. Taking a long, heavy gulp, he lowered the mug and glared at the incoming soldier with bloodshot, predatory eyes.

"Commander... there’s... there’s been a complication," the soldier stuttered, unable to meet the man’s gaze.

Gideon slammed the mug down onto the wooden table, a cruel, dismissive smirk pulling at his lips. "A complication? What the hell kind of new nonsense is happening in this cursed patch of weeds now? If some rat tried to steal our supplies again, just cut them down where they stand."

The soldier swallowed hard, his throat dry and his voice audibly trembling.

"No, sir. It’s nothing to do with the supplies. You need to come with me... a bit further out, toward the western thickets." The knight finally looked up, his eyes wide with unshakeable terror. "We found something out there that just... isn’t normal."

Gideon let out a highly irritated sigh. "Can’t even enjoy a damn drink in peace." He stumbled slightly as he pushed himself up from the table, but despite the heavy drinking, his massive frame still loomed like an immovable mountain.

By the time they reached the exact spot in the thickets where Lucian had disposed of the rogue knights, the accompanying soldier looked ready to vomit. Gideon’s drunken, bloodshot eyes immediately narrowed.

Strewn across the trampled, blood-soaked dirt were the mangled corpses of four fully armed knights.

One knight had been cleanly bisected at the waist—the cut so flawlessly smooth it looked like a hot blade slicing through butter. Another lay on the ground with his neck snapped at a grotesque, unnatural angle. A third corpse was slumped against a tree trunk, a charred, smoking hole blown straight through his forehead.

Gideon waded right into the center of the carnage. His heavy leather boot splashed into a thick puddle of coagulating black blood, but he didn’t care in the slightest. He crouched down, plucking an old, dirty scarf from the mud that had been dropped during the struggle.

Gideon brought the fabric to his nose, taking a slow sniff before shifting his intense gaze back to the severed torso. The sluggish, drunken demeanor that had been weighing down the Commander vanished in a split second, replaced by the hyper-alert focus of an apex predator. The hazy intoxication in his eyes was instantly burned away by a cold, calculating sharpness.

"This isn’t the work of a monster," Gideon stated, his voice dropping to a chilling, deadpan baritone. He pointed a thick, calloused finger at the bisected body. "That’s ’Wind’ magic. To have this level of absolute precision and raw power... it’s either the work of a seasoned master, or an incredibly unhinged prodigy."

He tightened his grip, crushing the dirty scarf inside his massive fist. A dark, vicious smile slowly crept across his scarred face.

"It seems we aren’t the only ones playing ’hunter’ in the Outer Ring tonight."

...

..

.

A week had passed.

The door of his dorm room clicked shut behind him as Lucian stepped out into the bustling morning corridor, making his way toward somewhere.

The Academy’s mid-term tournament was exactly one week away... and as of this morning, Marcus had finally returned to the academy grounds.

Lucian’s gait, however, was noticeably stiff, his usual relaxed posture replaced by a rigid tension. though he hadn’t been stressed about Marcus plotting some pathetic revenge or trying to backstab him before the tournament. In fact, his mind was not on Marcus at all.

His body had been tightly wound like a coiled spring for the past day... ever since the System dropped that cursed mission into his lap.

[Special Mission: Fate Correction]

[Objective: Raise the Affection Level of Aria Lighthollow to 100+]

[Penalty for Failure: The Fate of Death will permanently attach to your current partners, Seraphina Ashenblade and Elira Frostviel.]

[Time Remaining: 3 Days]

As he navigated the crowded hallways, the hushed, anxious murmurs of other students drifted into his ears.

"Did you hear the latest border report?" a noble-born kid muttered to his friend, nervously adjusting his gold-trimmed academy collar. "The First Zandar Solearchy paraded their sixteen Heroes again. They just conquered another Dead Zone deep within the Forbidden Forest."

"Let them have their infinite arrogance," the second student spat bitterly, leaning heavily against the wall.

"They have fourteen entire kingdoms united under one banner, yet they still act like starving dogs. We only have three kingdoms left here in the Arkon Empire. If our four Heroes weren’t desperately holding the front lines, Zandar would have swallowed us alive by now."

Lucian didn’t break his stride. The grim political reality of the outside world briefly distracted him from his own impending doom, causing the rigid stiffness in his shoulders to relax just a fraction.

Let them talk.

The Shield Kingdom of Aegis always loved to show off, anyway. They constantly paraded their arrogant King in front of the masses, pretending that his military might alone was what kept the Arkon Empire safe from destruction.

But anyone with half a brain knew the truth. The real backbone of this kingdom wasn’t that King — it was Astraveil Academy. The ultimate crucible where the top prodigies of the entire Third Empire were forged.

It’s a good thing Elira told me the truth about how things actually work here, otherwise I’d still be completely blind to the absolute corruption rotting the core of this system.

Because what was this world, really? The Third Arkon Empire collected all the gifted youth from its three subordinate kingdoms — whether they were slaves, commoners, or high-born nobles. It didn’t matter. They threw them all into this rigorous, three-year meat grinder until their very bones were ground to dust.

And for what? Just so the Emperor could handpick the absolute best survivors and dictate their fates... basically pointing a finger and deciding which specific raid in the Forbidden Forest they were going to die in.

What brilliant logic. Back on Earth, a system this brutally flawed hasn’t existed since the Roman Empire, or maybe even older, darker times.

Lucian till now only knew about the bare basics of this world’s geography. Human society occupied a pathetic 16% of the planet’s total landmass, split across three separate, giant island continents — each ruled by one of the three great Empires. The rest of the world was swallowed by the endless ocean and the Forbidden Forest. The Forest alone made up roughly 57% of the planet—a fourth, colossal nightmare of a continent that had practically devoured half the globe.

Humanity was already backed into a corner, slowly choking to death because of the ever-expanding threat of the Forbidden Forest. But there was another, equally massive reason for their decline: their own suffocating, greed-driven political system.

And at the peak of that system stood the Heroes of each Empire.

The First Empire Zandar solearchy had 16 Heroes. The Second Empire Granhold had 7. The Third Empire Arkon only had 4.

And how exactly did these people become Heroes? The formula was surprisingly simple. Some were summoned into this world bearing otherworldly knowledge, some were reincarnated with memories of their past lives fully intact, and a rare few were simply native prodigies forged through the brutal, unrelenting grind of this world itself.

However, they weren’t granted the title of ’Hero’ just because they had overwhelmingly strong physical strength or rare elemental affinities. They were called Heroes because every single one of them possessed a specific, game-breaking ’Talent’.

These Heroes were divided into three strict categories:

Talent Heroes

Special Talent Heroes

Unique Talent Heroes