The transport hub rumbled as the first of the black Imperial vessels began to ascend, their engines thrumming with a deep, resonant power. The air shimmered with heat as each shuttle lifted off, carrying the examinees to their assigned destinations.
Most of the common soldiers, engineers, and administrators boarded standardized fleet transports, bound for the war fronts, agricultural worlds, or orbital shipyards. Their paths were already set, their futures decided in a single moment.
Gaius did not board those ships.
His path lay elsewhere.
A sleek mid-sized dreadnought, far larger than the common transports, waited near the center of the hub. It was a beast of war, its black hull marked with the sigil of the Imperium—a burning sun within an unbreakable ring.
This ship was bound for the Imperial Core.
The origin of humanity. The seat of the Emperor.
And home to the Nine Major Noble Families.
The heart of the Imperium's absolute power.
As he stepped onto the vessel's ramp, he felt the shift immediately.
This was not like the previous transport.
The air was cleaner, controlled to a precise level of oxygenation. The metal beneath his feet did not hum with the constant, strained energy of standard warships—it was smooth, refined, perfectly calibrated.
This was a ship built for the elite.
For those who would soon enter the halls of power.
Gaius walked forward, his posture straight, his movements controlled. He did not let his gaze linger on the others boarding with him, but he could feel their presence.
The rarest of the rare.
Those who had received Exceptional, Legendary, and Mythical grades in the War Department.
And at their head, as expected—
Odysseus Valor.
The younger son of the Marquis stood near the entrance, speaking in low tones with a group of other noble heirs. His posture was relaxed, confident, his golden-threaded uniform pristine despite the trials of the examination.
He had known his result before it had even been announced.
It had never been in question.
As Gaius passed, Odysseus' gaze flicked toward him.
A moment of brief acknowledgment.
Then, just as quickly, his attention returned to his conversation.
Gaius did not react.
He simply continued forward, disappearing into the ship's corridors.
The interior was exactly what he expected.
Sleek black corridors, illuminated by veins of soft golden light. The floors were polished metal, and the walls were lined with subtle engravings—not ornamental, but functional, containing hidden Qi circuitry woven seamlessly into the design.
He passed through the main hall, where several examinees were already speaking in hushed voices.
Unlike the previous ships, this vessel did not impose strict silence or rigid formations.
These were not common recruits.
They were the future of the Imperium's war machine.
A class of individuals who would soon dictate the course of galactic warfare.
And in the Imperium, power demanded a different kind of order.
His quarters were far more advanced than before.
A private room, spacious and well-equipped. A compact workstation embedded into the wall, a holographic interface glowing with access to the full Imperial databanks. A sleek kitchen unit, a reinforced sleeping pod.
And in the far corner—
A full-dive VR combat pod.
Gaius raised an eyebrow.
A luxury only given to those of high rank.
He wasn't surprised.
Even among the Exceptional-ranked examinees, he was one of the best.
The Imperium was willing to invest in his potential.
He stepped toward the pod, running a hand along its surface.
This wasn't a standard training unit.
The interface flickered to life, displaying its capabilities.
"Imperial Combat Simulation – Full Neural Sync Enabled."
A direct link to the body's full neural system, capable of replicating real combat with perfect sensory feedback.
Perfect for pushing his limits.
Without hesitation, he stepped inside.
The pod sealed shut, and the world vanished.
Darkness.
Then—
Light.
Gaius found himself standing on a battlefield.
Not a fabricated training ground.
A real warzone, extracted from historical battle records.
The air was thick with the scent of burning metal and blood. Fires raged across shattered structures, and the sky was blackened by the smoke of orbital bombardments.
He glanced down.
His body was fully rendered, every muscle, every scar, every detail replicated perfectly.
The pod was not just a simulation.
It was reality, copied and imposed upon his senses.
A voice echoed through the air.
"Choose difficulty level."
He did not hesitate.
"Maximum."
The battlefield shifted.
From the distance, they emerged.
A squad of enemy combatants, their armor slick with Qi-enhanced plating, their weapons humming with the telltale charge of Imperial war-tech.
They moved with deadly precision.
Real enemies. Real threats.
And they did not wait.
They attacked.
The first came fast, a blur of motion.
Gaius' instincts roared to life.
He sidestepped just as the first plasma blade sliced through the space where his throat had been, feeling the heat of it singe the air.
His counter was immediate.
A pivot, a step forward—his hand snapping out, gripping the enemy's wrist before twisting.
A sickening crack.
The blade dropped.
The enemy staggered.
Gaius did not let him recover.
He drove his elbow into the man's ribs, following up with a brutal palm strike to the throat.
The soldier collapsed, choking on his own crushed windpipe.
One down.
The others moved.
Gaius welcomed them.
He flowed through them like a phantom, his movements precise, his strikes efficient. No wasted motion. No hesitation.
He caught a rifle mid-swing, wrenching it from the hands of one attacker and turning it against another, the blast tearing through the soldier's chest.
A third came from behind—he ducked, spinning low, sweeping the legs out from under his opponent before driving a heel into his skull.
Each action was executed with machine-like precision.
Because he had been forged for this.
Because this was the only thing he had ever known.
Because this was what he was.
A soldier.
A killer.
A blade in the dark.
Minutes passed.
Then—
The battlefield fell silent.
Gaius stood alone, surrounded by the bodies of the fallen.
His breath was steady.
His pulse was calm.
The voice returned.
"Simulation complete."
The world faded to black.
He exhaled as he stepped out of the pod, stretching his shoulders.
His body felt real.
The combat pod had replicated everything—the exhaustion, the muscle fatigue, the raw edge of battle.
A perfect tool for training.
And a perfect way to understand his limits.
For now.
Because he knew—
He had yet to reach the true threshold of his power.
And when he did—
The Imperium would take notice.
Later, he wandered the ship's main hall, where the other nobles had begun to gather.
Unlike before, they did not ignore him.
They did not dismiss him as a common soldier playing at their level.
Now, they recognized him.
Not as an equal.
But as a potential future rival.
A few greeted him with polite nods. Others watched in quiet appraisal.
No hostility.
No outright disdain.
Because talent demanded acknowledgment.
And the Imperium did not care about origins.
Only power.
A familiar voice broke through the quiet.
"You've been busy."
Gaius turned.
Odysseus stood nearby, his arms crossed, his expression mildly amused.
It seems that he wasn't mocking him.
Gaius met his gaze without hesitation.
"I use my time wisely," he said.
Odysseus tilted his head slightly.
"Good," he said simply.
Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.
Gaius watched him go.