After the students completed their first training, the castle's grandest meeting room was prepared for the gathering of royals, high representatives, and top officials from the Temple of the Seven Spirits.
The chamber was a display of wealth and power. Well-crafted chairs lined the long table, each fitted with cushions stuffed with exotic monster feathers and embroidered with gold thread. The table itself had been carved from the bark of a great Ent, its polished surface still carrying faint patterns of the ancient wood's growth rings.
A faint haze of smoke curled through the air, mingling with the subtle scent of incense. The atmosphere carried a quiet, heavy intensity. Small clusters of dignitaries whispered among themselves, the muted voices blending into a low murmur that never rose above the steady crackle of the fireplace.
At the far end of the table sat the Empire's representative, Lord Cedric. His heavy frame leaned back into his chair as his fingers tapped a slow, impatient rhythm against the polished wood. Every so often, he let out a low grunt, the expression on his face one of thinly veiled boredom.
Opposite him, Duke Armand spoke quietly with his daughter. His eyes, however, were distant. A great battle only weeks ago had left him wounded and out of active command. That fight still haunted him, keeping his mind far from the present. His brother, the King of Verdith to the north, was a name spoken with both respect and fear, for he commanded the Great Frost Wyvern Elites the most feared army on the continent.
Lady Elara of the Pearl Isles sat with effortless grace, her every movement refined. Her keen eyes swept the room, pausing on each face for a moment too long, as though assessing the worth of every person present. There was a faint edge of impatience in the way her fingers drummed lightly against her chair's armrest.
Near her, Tribes Leader Isabel of the Verdant Lands to the east occupied herself with a stack of magical scrolls and parchments. She unrolled them with practiced ease, scanning the contents before setting them aside and reaching for the next. Occasionally, her gaze flicked upward, studying the other attendees with guarded curiosity.
By the window stood General Marcus of the Red Iron Republic. His arms were folded, and his eyes were fixed on the courtyard far below. Though his expression was unreadable, there was a sharpness to his posture a silent calculation, as if he were already weighing the strategic implications of the heroes' training.
The room shifted when the door swung open. Commander Theron stepped inside, the polished silver of his armor catching the glow of the overhead chandeliers. Conversations died instantly, replaced by a tense silence.
Theron's heavy boots echoed against the marble floor as he strode forward. Stopping at the head of the table, he bowed deeply, his eyes locking on his king, Holven. A single, deliberate nod passed between them before he turned to address the gathered powers.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Theron began, his voice firm and edged with a raspy grit, "I bring you the latest report on our young heroes. As you know, yesterday was given to them as a day of rest. Today marked the start of their official training. While many showed great potential and rapid growth, just as the Oracle predicted, others have not adjusted well to the change of worlds."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the room.
"In today's training, we focused on real combat scenarios to assess how each hero's skills and abilities function in practice. I will say this at present, they can be as deadly as regular soldiers, yet they are as naïve as children. Most have never hunted in their lives. For all but one of them, today was their first time killing a monster."
At the far end of the table, Lord Cedric's fingers stopped their idle tapping. He gave a slow nod. "We expected this from the children. They are young and untested. It is our duty to shape them. Take the alchemist, for example he has settled well in our lands and, from what I heard today, has already begun work on a new weapon. A little incentive is all it takes to steer them toward what they were brought here to do."
Lady Elara leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "Perhaps. But we must also ensure they are not pushed past their limits. Balance is crucial, especially given their age."
Duke Armand, whose hearing had sharpened since the loss of his vision, tilted his head toward his daughter. She leaned in, speaking softly so only he could hear, though the tone carried a strategist's weight. "We have discussed this before. We must find what they truly desire, and we must keep as many of them here as possible before the great war with the demons reaches its peak. Their blood may be this world's greatest asset. And with their numbers, each kingdom will have the right to keep a hero or two, should they wish it."
Then she turned her head, her voice sharpening as her gaze locked on the empire's representatives. "Unlike those who have already taken one without the consent of the other nations."
Cardinal Hesvalt, who attended as the representative of the Temple of the Seven Spirits, raised both hands in a calming gesture as voices in the room began to rise.
"Everyone," he said, his tone carrying both authority and warmth, "we must remember that it is the Great Spirits who decide the fate of these young heroes. It is our duty to guide them yes but also to trust in the divine wisdom that brought them to us."
His words settled over the gathering like a blanket. The tension eased, and the restless murmurs died away.
The Cardinal's presence was impossible to ignore. White robes, heavy with sacred symbols, flowed to the floor, while jewels of every spirit's color gleamed faintly in the candlelight. Every inch of him spoke of the temple's authority, and the respect it commanded was evident as each dignitary inclined their head in agreement.
Seizing the moment, King Holven spoke, his voice deliberate and steady. "Cardinal Hesvalt is right. But for now, let us continue with the report. Commander Theron if you will."
Theron gave a respectful nod, visibly relieved for the intervention. "As I was saying, we have seen impressive growth in many of the heroes, but there are still areas in need of significant improvement. Tailored training regimens and close monitoring of their emotional and mental well-being will be essential in the coming days."
He hesitated briefly before adding, "Also, the tamer the boy appears to be the weakest among them. I recommend keeping him under constant observation and ensuring he remains a few steps behind the others."
Lord Cedric's brow furrowed. "And why is that, Commander?"
Theron's gaze swept the table before he answered. "Because, my lord, his abilities are not yet fully understood. If we monitor him closely, we can prevent him from becoming a liability. We must also account for the possibility unlikely though it may seem that his taming powers could be used on another hero."
Lady Elara leaned forward, her tone measured. "Indeed. We must balance the safety of the group with this particular boy's development."
Duke Armand gave a small nod, the movement deliberate. "I agree with this proposal. His potential must be nurtured, but never at the cost of the safety or progress of the others."
General Marcus stepped away from the window, his voice steady but carrying weight. "Then who will mentor him? If we are to keep to this plan, we must place him with someone who will not stray from it."
Theron turned toward one of his long-standing rivals, his expression unreadable. "The Empire has already sent their best tamer, have they not? From what I've been told, she will arrive in three or four days."
"Oh, that girl," Lord Cedric interrupted. "She is as carefree as ever, but she should be up for the job. The Empress has personally told her what she needs to do."
With the plan for the tamer settled, the representatives returned to their discussions, focusing on the next steps to ensure the young heroes would be ready for the trials ahead.
Meanwhile, in another part of the castle, a different meeting was underway in a far less formal setting.
Ms. Claire had gathered the entire class in her private quarters, hoping to bring some order to the restless group. The room was warm and inviting, lit by soft lantern light, with cushioned chairs and low tables, a sharp contrast to the grandeur and tension of the dignitaries' meeting hall.
The students, still buzzing from the adrenaline of their earlier training, slowly quieted as Ms. Claire stepped forward. There was a certain weight to her presence tonight, enough to make even the most distracted student sit up straighter.
"Alright, everyone," she began, her tone gentle but steady, "I know today has been exhausting, and most of you would rather go straight to bed. So, I'll keep this brief. You should all understand by now what we're facing. We were not brought here by choice, and our only way back home is to fight in a war we never asked for, against what they call demons."
She paused, letting the words sink in. The room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of her statement settling over them.
"This is not going to be easy," she continued, "but remember, you are not alone in this. We are a team. We must face these challenges together. Each of you has unique abilities and strengths. We need to learn how to use them effectively and how to support one another."
Logan sat quietly at the back, emotions stirring. Despite the fear and uncertainty, there was a strange sense of belonging in her words. Yet something about it felt off. Artificial.
Ms. Claire's gaze swept the room, meeting each student's eyes. "Now, I want you to think carefully about what truly matters. We must keep one goal in sight: to leave this world. History on Earth has shown us what follows great wars. Once the demons are gone, there will be only humans left, and they will covet our powers to keep fighting each other."
"We must remain united and very careful. The people of this world will try to use us. Our task is not only to defeat the demons but also to find a way back home, away from the political schemes and power struggles that will inevitably follow. To achieve this, we must work together, understanding both our strengths and our weaknesses."
The room stayed quiet, each student weighing the gravity of her words. The path ahead was dangerous, full of uncertainty, but for many, Ms. Claire's vision offered something to hold onto. In the desperation of the past few days, it felt like a glimmer of direction maybe even hope.
"Now," Ms. Claire said, breaking the silence, "who wants to share their thoughts on today's training?"
"We all know one thing," Brian said, his tone dripping with mockery, "Logan is weak."
A few students laughed, others exchanged awkward glances.
Logan felt the words sink like a stone in his chest, but his face remained still.
Ms. Claire's gaze sharpened, though her voice stayed even. "Brian, this is not the place for personal attacks. We are here to support each other and grow as a team."
Brian leaned back in his chair with a shrug. "I'm just saying, if we're going to survive, we can't afford dead weight. That includes anyone who skipped today's training… or ran off halfway through."
Logan's fists tightened beneath his sleeves. He refused to give Brian the satisfaction of a reaction. He knew he had work to do just as they all did. Everyone here had started from the same place.
Lisa, clearly angered by Brian's remark, raised her hand before speaking. "Back in our world, where did we ever have to face monsters and demons? Not everyone has the heart to take a life like you do, Brian."
The room went still, her words hanging heavy in the air. A few students nodded in quiet agreement, while others shifted uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact.
Ms. Claire quickly stepped in to ease the tension. "Let's calm down. Lisa has a point. We all come from different backgrounds and experiences. Not everyone will react the same way to these challenges, and that's something we need to respect. If we're going to survive, we must support one another through these trials."
Brian scowled but kept his mouth shut, his gaze sliding toward Logan with open disdain.
Logan, however, felt a swell of gratitude.
[Thank you, Lizzy…] he thought, sending the words through their connection.
Lisa, still unable to respond through the link, simply gave him a small nod.
As the discussion went on, the class slowly began to open up. The tension from earlier eased, replaced by hesitant exchanges about their fears, their hopes, and the skills they still needed to master if they were to survive here.
By the time the meeting ended, the mood had shifted, cautious at first, but carrying a faint trace of solidarity.