Dylan kept low, the Ravager hound at his left, the imp shadow to his right — flickering quietly like a candle inside fog. Their presence was steady, silent, waiting.
The footsteps grew louder. Clear boots on hard stone. At least two, maybe three people. A voice — male, clipped, young.
"Check the ridge. There was movement. Could be another Tier 1."
Another voice, sharper. "If it's a Dalki straggler, we report. If it's a beast, we extract."
Dylan's mind clicked.
Dalki?
They weren't from Earth. But they weren't wild either. Soldiers? Scouts?
He peeked over the ridge.
Three figures. Teenagers in black combat gear. Sleek uniforms, but not polished. Dust-stained. Armed. One had a compact rifle, the others wore close-range shock blades across their backs. Military school, maybe? Or faction scouts?
They were young — but not rookies. They moved in formation. Alert. Efficient.
[Scan]
[Rase: Human ]
[LEVEL: 6]
[ABILITIES: Electric
Know Skills: Electric Palm,Reinforced Legs]
[MP: 134/150]
[Strength: 14, Agility: 16, Control: 11]
The girl next to him:
[LEVEL: 5]
[ABILITIES: Earth
Know Skills: Earth Skin]
[Strength: 18, Vitality: 20, Control: 9]
Not bad.
Not unkillable either.
But he wasn't here to kill humans.
His mind ran fast. They hadn't seen him. Not yet. He had shadows. He had a bluff.
Time to test the world's rules.
He stood.
The moment he moved, two of the scouts turned. One raised a hand, the other barked — "CONTACT!"
Dylan didn't flinch.
He walked down the slope slow, shadows following — not hostile, not crouched, just quiet. Imposing. Controlled.
The scouts raised weapons. Tension crackled in the air.
Dylan stopped five meters away.
"Hi," he said. "Name's Dylan. I'm...new."
The third scout, a taller one with scanning goggles, narrowed his eyes. "You're not on our registry."
"Nope."
"Are you from the south camps?"
"Nope."
"What unit are you?"
"I'm not."
The first scout raised his weapon. "Bullshit. Everyone's assigned. No unmarked movement past the canyons."
Dylan didn't move. "That true? Because I didn't get a welcome packet."
The girl squinted at the shadows. "What class are you?"
Dylan said nothing.
One of the shadows twitched.
The lead scout took half a step back. "You're a summoner."
"Not quite."
"What faction?"
"None. Yet."
They hesitated.
Dylan smiled — not friendly, not threatening. Just...still.
"Let me talk to your officer," he said. "Or your trainer. Or whoever ranks above you. I've got questions. And I think your world might have answers."
The girl exchanged a look with her squad. Then:
" they wait behind."
Dylan nodded. "Fair."
He turned to his shadows. "Stay."
The hound sat. The imp crouched low, eyes watching.
The scouts were still tense, but less so now.
The taller one stepped forward. "Follow. No sudden moves."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
They began walking.
Dylan kept pace, eyes scanning the horizon, absorbing everything — uniforms, terrain, dialect, gear.
First contact wasn't about making friends.
It was about seeing how this world worked.
And how far he could go inside it.
The bus hissed as it rolled to a stop.
Doors creaked open.
Dylan stepped out, boots crunching against gravel. Cold wind hit his face first — dry and sharp, the kind that smelled like steel and dust. He adjusted the uniform jacket they gave him back on pickup. Standard black. A bit stiff in the shoulders.
Fort Carneras stood ahead — more fortress than school.
Thick walls, reinforced turrets, surveillance arrays pointed at the sky and beyond. Banners hung over the gates: faded red with claw-like symbols he didn't recognize.
This wasn't a training ground.
It was a line in the sand.
Other students disembarked behind him, but Dylan walked alone, silent. The system text hovered quietly in his mind. when called:
[STATUS WINDOW]
Name: Dylan Hayes
Level: 3
Class: Shadow Monarch
HP: 150
MP: 130
Fatigue: 0
Strength: 14
Agility: 13
Perception: 12
Vitality: 13
Intelligence: 11
Control: 16
Stat Points: 0
Shadows: 2 / ∞
Inventory
Equipment: —
Skills
Shadow List
The gate guards didn't stop him. They just scanned each student with a floating orb that pulsed blue or red. Dylan's flashed green and faded without comment.
"Room 43A," one of them said without looking. "Keep moving."
The interior hall smelled like stone, gun oil, and faint ozone. Harsh lighting. Straight walls. Monotone announcements overhead.
Most of the students here looked older than him. Stronger. Scarred, either from battle or life. They didn't notice him. Or if they did, they didn't care yet.
A woman in black stepped out from a side corridor. Tall. White hair tied back. Gloves. Her gaze locked on Dylan immediately.
"You. Name."
"Dylan Hayes."
She didn't flinch.
"I'm Warden Iselle. Follow me."
She walked fast, boots echoing against metal. He followed.
"Unregistered arrival. No scan history. No background from Earth's military index. That a problem?"
"For you or me?"
She glanced back. Not smiling.
"You'll take orientation trials tomorrow. Basic field assessment. Weapon aptitude. Mana regulation."
He nodded once. "And if I refuse?"
"You don't."
Her office was clean. Empty desk. One chair. Wall map of different planets, sectors marked in red.
"Until you're cleared," she said, "no access to faction zones. No personal weapons. No summoning."
Dylan didn't answer.
Her eyes narrowed.
"You're quiet."
"Do you want me loud?"
Pause.
"Quarantine sector's down the hall. Room's already logged."
The room was a box. Clean. Concrete. One cot. One locker.
He sat on the bed, silent.
Called his system with a thought.
[INVENTORY]
Basic Fire Stone – faint heat, unidentified utility
Scout Knife – lightweight, unenchanted
[SHADOW LIST]
Ravager Hound – fast, loyal, ground tracking
Flame Vulture – air patrol, minor fire burst
He didn't summon them.
Not yet.
Instead, he opened the window slit. Looked out.
The training yard beyond was active — even at dusk. Students sparred, cast spells, ran obstacle drills. Magic, tech, raw power — mixed together without elegance.