Chapter 4
The clearing in the strange elastic forest vibrated with tension. Somewhere in the distance, branches cracked in a steady rhythm, like a hundred synchronized footsteps. Birds—if that's what those glowing, six-winged creatures were—shot into the air, fleeing toward the distant sky.
The recruits felt it too. Eyes darted, fingers twitched, and conversations cut short.
"They're coming," a tall girl in a silver breastplate murmured. She raised her right arm and a bow of pale, crystalline light formed in her hand, the string humming like a harp.
A deep, guttural roar rolled over them. The sound wasn't just noise—it was pressure, vibrating through ribs and shaking loose a primal instinct to run.
"Form up!" shouted a muscular man with bronze skin and a heavy glaive in his hands. "Groups of five to seven—now!"
The recruits scattered into motion. Some clearly knew the drill—first-class sorcerers who had likely trained their whole lives. They paired up fast, calling for allies by name. Second-class sorcerers gravitated toward those with similar elemental affinities.
David… just stood there.
He jogged from group to group. "Hey, need one more? I can—"
"No thanks."
"We're full."
A pair of mages in swirling robes didn't even look at him when he spoke. "Sorry, not taking third-class."
The words hit harder each time. Third-class. It might as well have been dead weight.
The trees at the far edge of the clearing shook violently. A shape the size of a bus slammed through the undergrowth—scaled, furred, and clawed in all the wrong places. Its eyes glowed molten gold. Behind it, smaller shapes darted between shadows—wolf-like, but with too many legs and jaws that split into four sections.
The recruits moved.
One group's leader raised her hand and a circular sigil flared above her head, raining down spears of ice that shattered against the lead beast's hide. Another student leapt high, her body blurring into a hawk mid-flight before diving claws-first at a wolf-beast's face.
A boy in red robes clapped his hands, and the ground beneath a charging creature liquefied into tar, swallowing its legs.
It was chaos, but not disorganized. Each team moved like they'd been trained for this—shifting positions, covering for one another, using their strengths to compensate for weaknesses.
And David… still had no team.
He backed up, trying to stay out of the way while also pretending he was about to jump in.
That's when a voice came from behind him.
"You look like you're trying to figure out where you belong."
David turned to see a woman about his age leaning against a tree. She had short, cropped hair dyed deep violet, a practical jacket over light armor, and eyes sharp enough to cut glass.
"You're… not in a group either?" David asked.
She snorted. "Third-class, same as you. We don't get invited."
David stepped closer. "Okay, I've gotta ask—what's with this whole class thing? I keep hearing it, but nobody's explained it."
The woman sighed, like she'd been through this conversation before. "Alright, here's the short version. First-class sorcerers are the ones born into it—families with sorcery running in their blood for generations. They grow up around magic, train from the time they can walk, and think they own the world."
She gestured toward a group where a tall boy summoned a shimmering wall of wind to deflect an incoming charge. "That's first-class. No surprise."
"Second-class are the ones who get discovered. Someone spots their potential—raw magical talent—and they get recruited. Still privileged, still get trained early."
She jerked her chin toward another team where a girl was molding stone into a massive hammer mid-battle. "That's second-class. Not born into it, but still natural talents."
"And third-class…" She looked David up and down. "…are like us. Hired. Contracted. We weren't born to this. We weren't found in some big magical talent search. We signed a paper and now we get paid to risk our lives. No family prestige, no guaranteed skill."
David frowned. "So we're… mercenaries?"
"Pretty much."
They both flinched as a wolf-beast slammed into a magical barrier a few meters away, the impact rippling like water.
David lowered his voice. "Okay, but how are we supposed to use magic? I've been trying since I got here—saying random words, thinking about floating—and nothing happens."
The woman smirked slightly. "There's no magic word, newbie. Once your name's been officially registered in the system, you're connected to the Existence Force."
David tilted his head. "The… what now?"
"The Existence Force," she repeated, like it was obvious. "The fundamental link between thought and reality. Every sorcerer taps into it—first, second, third class—it doesn't matter. The catch is… it only works through your beliefs."
"My beliefs?"
She nodded. "Everything you truly, deeply believe in has a chance to manifest as magic. The stronger the belief, the stronger the effect. That's why no two sorcerers fight the same way. You believe in control? Your magic will be precise, maybe binding or shaping things. You believe in destruction? Well… you get the idea."
David blinked. "So you're saying if I believe hard enough, it becomes real?"
"In so many words." She smirked. "Problem is, most people don't know what they really believe in until they're pushed to the edge. That's when your magic shows itself."
Before David could reply, a roar tore through the clearing. One of the wolf-beasts had broken through, charging straight for them.
The woman's expression sharpened instantly. "Looks like you're about to find out what you believe in, third-class."
The forest had become a battlefield.
Shouts, roars, and bursts of magic crashed together into a symphony of chaos. The air was thick with the smell of scorched earth, ozone, and something sharp and metallic—beast blood.
David stood in the middle of it, heart pounding, trying to take in the sheer madness around him.
The girl—he still didn't know her name—moved like a blade through the chaos, intercepting stray attacks meant for him. She wielded two crescent-shaped short swords, their edges glimmering faintly with a violet haze. Every time a beast lunged toward David, she was there—slashing, kicking, or deflecting with a flick of her wrist.
"Don't just stand there!" she shouted over her shoulder. "Focus! Feel something! Anything!"
But David could barely think. Everywhere he looked, someone was doing something impossible.
A wiry boy with white hair sprinted past, so fast he seemed to vanish. In the next instant, the heads of three wolf-beasts tumbled to the ground, cleanly severed.
Above them, a girl in flowing robes floated in midair, spinning in place as currents of wind coiled around her. With a sharp gesture, she sent the air slamming downward, flattening a whole group of beasts beneath an invisible weight.
To David's right, another recruit raised his hands and conjured spheres of blinding light that shot forward like artillery shells. Each detonation lit the forest in stark, white flashes, vaporizing anything caught inside.
Near the treeline, a stocky man clapped his hands to the dirt, and the ground split apart. From the fissures, swarms of chittering insects poured out—centipedes, beetles, and something with too many wings—swarming over a beast until it collapsed under their sheer weight.
And then there was the most terrifying one—David had to blink twice to make sure he saw it right. A slim, red-haired girl gripped her own arm, and with a wet shift, her flesh reshaped itself into the barrel of a massive bazooka. She braced herself, the weapon charging with crackling runes, before firing a single, deafening shot. The explosion tore through the trees, ripping apart dozens of beasts in a single blast.
"Holy…" David muttered, his mouth dry. "What is this place?"
He didn't know that far above, hidden behind layers of enchanted glass and illusion, an audience was watching.
In a dimly lit observation room, seven figures stood around a crescent-shaped table, their faces half-shadowed. Magical projections floated in the air before them, displaying the battle from multiple angles.
"They're handling themselves better than last year's batch," one of them murmured.
"Some of them," another replied, eyes fixed on the red-haired bazooka girl. "That one—keep her on the shortlist."
"What about the white-haired speed type?"
"Already noted. His acceleration is unreal. That's not just training, that's instinct."
One figure leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "What about him?" They gestured to the projection of David—standing awkwardly in the middle of the chaos, the girl with violet hair practically circling him like a guard dog.
A scoff. "Third-class. Doesn't even know how to summon yet."
"And yet…" The speaker tapped their fingers on the table. "Sometimes the ones with the slowest start… surprise you."
Back in the forest, the girl ducked under a swipe from a beast's claws, her blades flashing.
"Come on, third-class!" she barked. "Magic's not in your words—it's in what you believe! What's the one thing you know for sure is true like your favorite food or fetish believes?"
David clenched his fists. "That I don't want to die?!"
"Not good enough!"
The ground shook as another massive beast entered the fray—bigger than the others, with plated scales and a jagged horn protruding from its snout. Its roar sent a shockwave through the clearing, knocking weaker recruits off their feet.
The girl gritted her teeth and stepped in front of David. "Stay behind me."
She fought like someone who'd been doing it her whole life—slashes quick and precise, movements economical but deadly. She never wasted a strike, never left herself open. But even David could tell she was starting to slow down.
The plated beast charged. The girl darted to the side, slicing deep into its leg, but it barely staggered. One of its massive arms swung—and she ducked under it just in time.
Then came the other arm.
David's breath caught. It wasn't an arm at all—it was a weapon. A long, razor-sharp cone of hardened bone, shaped perfectly for piercing. The beast's shoulder twisted unnaturally, lining up the cone for a killing thrust.
The girl had no time to move.
"NO!"
Something in David broke loose.
The world seemed to slow. His vision tunneled—not into darkness, but into clarity. He could see the minute flex of the beast's muscles, the shimmer of saliva between its teeth, the tremor of the ground under its weight. He felt the fear in his chest, but also something else—hot, heavy, coiled in his stomach like a spring.
I can't let her die.
That thought was absolute. Unshakable. It wasn't hope, or fear, or even desperation. It was belief.
The belief that if he moved—right now—he could stop it.
And then… he did.
One moment he was behind her. The next, he was between her and the beast, his fist already cocked back.
The punch landed square in the beast's chest.
There was no impact sound. No crash. No crunch of bone.
There was only a boom.
It wasn't a sound exactly—it was more like the absence of sound, a shockwave so sudden and violent it felt like the air had been yanked out of the world.
The beast flew backward as if launched by a giant's catapult, smashing through two trees before hitting the ground in a smoking crater and crushed bone.
David stood frozen, his fist still outstretched, his knuckles tingling like they'd touched lightning.
The girl stared at him, wide-eyed, breathing hard. "…What the hell was that?"
David blinked, looking down at his hand like it didn't belong to him. "I… I don't know."
Up in the observation room, silence hung for a short moment before they finally let out a faint smile