The morning after the theoretical class revelation, Arden was summoned.
"Number 0001. Report to the equipment depot immediately."
The messenger was a fourth-year student with the tired eyes of someone who'd seen too much combat.
"What for?" Arden asked.
"Field assessment. Bring your gear."
Field assessment? Already?
He grabbed his equipment—steel sword, combat knife, mana-shot pistol, basic supplies—and headed to the depot.
Three men waited outside the building.
They weren't wearing the standard academy instructor uniforms.
Instead, they wore practical frontier gear—reinforced leather armor with countless pouches and compartments, weapons strapped to every available surface.
The lead figure stood with casual confidence, dark hair falling messily over his eyes despite clearly being in a professional setting. He wore his ranger uniform with added flourishes—a long black overcoat that seemed completely unnecessary but somehow worked, and white gloves that looked more decorative than practical.
When he noticed Arden approaching, he smiled—the kind of smile that suggested he found something amusing that nobody else had caught onto yet.
"Ah, our prodigy arrives." His voice was smooth, almost lazy. "Number 0001, I presume?"
"Yes, sir."
"Ranger Captain Voss. Roy Voss." He gestured casually to his companions. "This is Lieutenant Riza and Sergeant Markus."
Lieutenant Riza was a woman with blonde hair tied back in a severe style, sharp eyes that missed nothing, and a rifle slung across her back with the ease of someone who'd carried it for years. Her expression was professionally neutral.
Sergeant Markus was built like a bear, broad-shouldered and scarred, with the weathered look of someone who'd survived more combat than most people would see in three lifetimes.
"We've been asked to evaluate your practical skills," Voss continued, pulling out a pack and tossing it to Arden with theatrical flair. "The professors think you're too advanced for standard training. Let's see if they're right, shall we?"
Rangers. Frontier scouts and survival specialists.
Arden opened the pack.
Rope. Flares. Medical supplies. Water purification tablets. Emergency rations. A compass. A detailed map of the surrounding terrain.
And several types of grenades. Flash, smoke, and something labeled 'Mana Disruptor.'
"You know how to use those?" Voss asked, watching him with interest.
"Flash and smoke, yes. Mana Disruptor is new."
"Creates a pulse that interferes with monster senses. Gives you a few seconds to reposition." Voss's smile widened. "I heard you used a gun during the entrance ceremony. Coordinated fire and sword work. That true?"
"Yes."
"Excellent! A man after my own heart." He pulled out a rifle and handed it to Arden. "Bolt-action, mana-charged ammunition. Five-round capacity. Know how to use it?"
Arden examined the weapon. "I can figure it out."
"Confident! I like that in a subordinate." Voss turned to Riza. "Lieutenant, what do you think? Does he have the look?"
"Too clean," Riza said flatly. "But we'll fix that."
Markus grunted. "Heard he gave tactical commands during the wave. Like a veteran. That true, kid?"
"I did what needed to be done."
"Modest too," Voss said with obvious amusement. "How refreshing. Most nobles your age would be bragging about their accomplishments for hours."
He gestured toward the gate. "Shall we? I have a date tonight and I'd prefer not to be covered in monster blood for it."
Riza's voice was dry. "Captain, you don't actually have a date tonight."
"Not yet. But the evening is young and my charm is eternal."
"Your charm is questionable at best."
"Someone has to keep you grounded in reality, sir."
Markus chuckled. "They've been like this for five years. You get used to it."
They left the academy grounds through a secured gate.
Beyond the walls, the frontier forest stretched out—dense pine trees, snow-covered ground, the constant awareness that monsters could be anywhere.
"This is a semi-secured zone," Voss explained as they walked, his tone becoming more serious. "Academy patrols clear it regularly. Mostly F to E-Rank threats. Goblins, razormaws, the occasional frostfang pack."
"Mostly?" Arden asked.
"Mutants happen. Corrupted beasts. Sometimes a D-Rank wanders through." Voss's casual demeanor remained, but his eyes were alert. "The frontier doesn't discriminate based on age. Stay sharp."
They walked in comfortable silence.
The rangers moved with practiced efficiency—Riza constantly scanning their surroundings with methodical precision, Markus checking the terrain, Voss appearing almost relaxed despite his obvious awareness.
After about twenty minutes, Voss spoke up. "So, Number 0001. Tell me something interesting about yourself."
"Like what?"
"Anything. Your favorite food. Your dreams. Whether you prefer brunettes or redheads." He grinned. "Though I should warn you, the correct answer is 'all of them.'"
"Captain," Riza said without looking back. "Please maintain professional conduct."
"I am being professional! Getting to know subordinates is part of effective leadership."
"Asking about romantic preferences is not part of effective leadership."
"It builds camaraderie!"
"It builds complaints to the disciplinary board."
Markus shook his head. "Kid, you should know—the Captain got assigned to ranger duty as punishment."
"Punishment for what?" Arden asked.
"Allegedly," Voss said with exaggerated emphasis, "I was 'inappropriately flirtatious' with certain officers at Central Command."
"You asked three different colonels' wives out on dates," Riza clarified. "In the same week."
"I didn't know they were married!"
"They were wearing wedding rings."
"I thought those were decorative!"
Markus laughed. "He thought he could get promoted through charm. Instead got shipped to the frontier."
"And yet," Voss said dramatically, "here I am, turning exile into opportunity. Captain at thirty. Leading the finest ranger unit in the Northern Command." He glanced back at Arden. "Never let setbacks define you, Number 0001. Use them as fuel."
He's... actually kind of inspiring when he's not being ridiculous.
They reached a small clearing.
Voss held up a hand, and they stopped.
"Alright, Number 0001. Let's see what you can do." He pointed to a ridge about 200 meters away. "Goblin nest up there. Probably eight to ten individuals. Clear it."
"Alone?"
"You got a problem with that?"
Test. They're evaluating independent capability.
"No problem."
"Excellent! We'll observe from here. You've got..." Voss checked an ornate pocket watch. "Thirty minutes. Take longer and I dock points for inefficiency."
Arden moved out.
Behind him, he heard Voss say to his companions: "Five gold coins says he goes for stealth approach."
"Ten says he uses the grenades," Markus countered.
"No bet," Riza said. "He'll do both. Stealth elimination of sentries, grenades for the main group."
"Riza, you're no fun. Where's the gambling spirit?"
"I prefer accurate assessment over wishful thinking, sir."
Arden approached the ridge carefully.
The nest was crude—a collection of makeshift shelters built into a rocky outcropping.
Ten goblins. Two sentries, eight others scattered around.
Standard approach: eliminate sentries quietly, then engage the rest before they organize.
He drew his combat knife and moved into position.
The first sentry never saw him coming.
Step, grab, cut. Carotid and windpipe. Silence before they can scream.
The goblin collapsed.
The second sentry turned at the sound.
Arden was already moving.
Knife to the throat. Drop the body quietly.
Two down.
The remaining eight were unaware, arguing over food scraps.
Arden pulled out a smoke grenade and threw it into the center of the nest.
HISS!
Dense smoke erupted. The goblins scattered in panic.
Right into his prepared position.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Three shots. Three goblins down.
The survivors tried to regroup, but Arden switched to his sword and charged.
Within ninety seconds, all ten goblins were dead.
He extracted the mana cores and returned to the rangers' position.
Total time: twelve minutes.
Voss was grinning widely. "Well! That was efficient."
"Told you both approaches," Riza said, collecting her winnings from Markus.
"How did you predict that?" Markus grumbled, handing over coins.
"I read his preliminary combat report. He used similar tactics during the entrance ceremony."
"That's cheating."
"That's intelligence gathering."
Voss laughed. "Riza always wins. I've learned to stop betting against her." He turned to Arden. "Excellent work. Clean kills, efficient use of resources, proper core extraction. You've done this before."
"Family territory has monster problems."
"Must be some problems to produce skills like that." Voss gestured deeper into the forest. "Alright. Next test. We're heading to hobgoblin territory. D-Rank threats. This time, you move with us. Show us your teamwork."
They walked deeper into the forest.
The atmosphere became noticeably heavier.
"So," Voss said conversationally, "what made you choose Northern Military Academy over Imperial Academy? Most heirs go Imperial."
"Imperial Academy teaches politics. I wanted to learn real combat."
"Practical. Refreshing." Voss adjusted his overcoat dramatically. "Though I should warn you—rangers aren't exactly high society. We're the soldiers nobody invites to fancy parties."
"Perfect. I hate fancy parties."
"A man after my own heart!" Voss declared. "Riza, I think we've found someone who understands me!"
"Someone who shares your distaste for social obligations is not the same as someone who understands you, sir."
"Same thing."
"It really isn't."
Markus chuckled. "You're handling them better than most recruits. Usually by now, people are annoyed."
"I've dealt with difficult personalities before."
"Oh? Like who?"
"My younger brother. He's... aggressively enthusiastic about training."
"Aggressively enthusiastic?" Voss raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."
"He does recovery exercises between actual exercises. Never stops moving. Challenges everyone to arm wrestling contests. Once installed a pull-up bar in our barracks doorframe without permission."
Voss laughed. "He sounds delightful! I'd recruit him immediately."
"Please don't. He's ten and would probably accept."
They encountered hobgoblins an hour later.
A patrol of six, moving through the forest with disciplined formation.
Voss made a hand signal: Engage.
The rangers took positions without verbal communication.
Arden mirrored them automatically, taking up a flanking position that created overlapping fields of fire.
L-shaped ambush. Classic.
Voss gave the signal.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Three hobgoblins dropped instantly—Riza's marksmanship was precise.
The survivors tried to scatter.
Arden engaged the one closest to him.
BANG!
Clean headshot.
The remaining two tried to flank.
Voss casually raised one hand—still wearing those decorative white gloves—and made a sharp swiping gesture.
Flames erupted from the ground beneath the hobgoblins, engulfing them in an instant inferno.
WHOOSH!
Both creatures were incinerated before they could scream.
Fire magic. And he made it look effortless.
"Fire Integration," Voss said cheerfully, examining his gloves. "Very showy. Riza thinks it's impractical."
"It's inefficient," Riza corrected, already sweeping the area. "You could have shot them."
"But where's the style in that? Fire is magnificent! Dramatic! It makes a statement!" He grinned at Arden. "I've only integrated fire-element and concept cores. Some call it limiting. I call it specialization with flair."
"Style doesn't win battles, sir. Tactics do."
"Style wins hearts. Tactics win battles. I aim for both."
Markus was already moving to extract cores. "Clear. Six confirmed kills. No injuries."
"Excellent!" Voss turned to Arden. "You took up the flanking position without being told. Good spatial awareness. Where'd you learn tactical positioning?"
"Studied military history extensively."
"Mm. Must have been thorough study." Voss started walking. "Come on. We've got more ground to cover."
The encounters continued throughout the day.
Goblins. Hobgoblins. A pack of razormaws. Two frostfangs that had wandered into the wrong territory.
Between fights, Voss kept up a running commentary.
"Did I mention I'm aiming to become General someday?" he said casually while they walked.
"You did not."
"Well, I am. General Roy Voss has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
"Ambitious," Arden observed.
"Realistic. I'm the youngest Ranger Captain in Northern Command history. Give me ten years and I'll be running the whole frontier."
"Captain," Riza said, "your ego is showing."
"My confidence, Lieutenant. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Absolutely. Ego is baseless arrogance. Confidence is earned superiority."
"And you believe you've earned it?"
"I've survived five years on the frontier, achieved captain rank at thirty, and maintained this devastatingly handsome appearance despite constant combat. I'd say I've earned some confidence."
Markus grunted. "He's not wrong about the rank. Youngest captain by three years."
"See?" Voss said triumphantly. "Even Markus admits it."
"I admitted the fact, not the arrogance."
"Same thing!"
"It really isn't."
They're like a comedy routine. But they work together perfectly.
During one encounter with a particularly aggressive razormaw pack, Voss demonstrated his Integration capabilities more fully.
He snapped his fingers—a gesture that seemed purely theatrical—and walls of flame erupted around the pack, corralling them into a kill zone.
"Inferno Cage," he announced. "One of my favorites. Stylish AND effective."
"Wasteful mana usage," Riza commented while taking precise shots at the trapped monsters.
"Beauty requires sacrifice!"
"That's not even a real saying, sir."
Another snap, and the flames condensed into a spinning vortex of fire that consumed the remaining razormaws.
"Fire Spiral. Also stylish."
"Also unnecessary," Riza muttered.
"Riza, you wound me with your practicality."
Despite her criticism, Arden noticed she positioned herself to capitalize on Voss's fire magic—using the light and distraction it created to line up perfect shots.
They complain about each other, but their coordination is flawless.
She criticizes his showmanship while seamlessly incorporating it into her tactics.
And he plays up the theatrical nature while providing exactly the support she needs.
By evening, they made camp in a defensible position.
Voss produced a flask from somewhere in his overcoat. "To successful first day!"
"Captain, you're on duty," Riza said.
"It's just water."
"That flask literally says 'whiskey' on it."
"It's water IN a whiskey flask. For morale."
"Your morale or ours?"
"Everyone's morale!"
Markus was already starting a fire. "Kid handled himself well today. Clean shots, good positioning, knows when to engage and when to hang back."
"More than well," Voss agreed. "He moves like he's been doing this for years. Though I suppose noble families do start training young." He looked at Arden. "What age did you start?"
"Six."
"Six! That's dedication." Voss took a drink from his 'water' flask. "I started at fifteen. Military academy. Discovered I had talent for fire magic and absolutely no talent for following rules I disagreed with."
"Hence the ranger assignment," Riza added.
"Hence the opportunity to excel in unconventional warfare," Voss corrected. "Perspective, Riza. It's all about perspective."
He gestured dramatically, and small flames danced between his fingers like living creatures.
"I realized early on that fire is the most beautiful element. Powerful, unpredictable, captivating to watch." The flames spiraled upward, forming intricate patterns. "So I decided—why dilute my focus? Every Integration I've taken has been fire-element or fire-concept. Flame creatures, heat beasts, even that Ember Phoenix core last year."
"The one that nearly killed you," Riza said flatly.
"The one that made me STRONGER," Voss corrected. "Now I can create sustained firestorms. Very useful. Very stylish."
"You chose an S-Rank core based on aesthetics."
"I chose an S-Rank core based on synergy with my existing build AND aesthetics. There's a difference."
Arden was fascinated despite himself. "How many fire cores do you have?"
"Twelve. B-Rank Mana Heart, so I can hold up to fifteen total." Voss counted on his fingers. "Inferno Lizard for basic flame generation. Magma Hound for heat intensity. Wildfire Spirit for flame spread and control. Cinder Drake for aerial flame projection..."
He continued listing them, and each one was either a fire-element creature or a conceptual fire-type core.
"Most people think I'm insane for specializing so heavily," Voss said. "But the synergy is incredible. Each core amplifies the others. My fire magic is probably ten times more powerful than it would be with a mixed build."
"Until you face something fire-resistant," Riza pointed out.
"Then I adapt. Use the environment. Get creative." He grinned. "Fire is versatile if you're clever about it."
Specialized build focused entirely on one element. That's... actually brilliant if you can make it work.
And he clearly makes it work.
Over dinner—field rations heated over the campfire—Voss became more serious.
"Alright, Number 0001. Honest assessment time. Why rangers? Not knights, not standard military track. Why specifically rangers?"
How much can I say?
"Operational independence. Rangers choose their deployments, access restricted zones, operate without constant supervision. That's valuable."
"Valuable for what?"
"Being where I'm needed instead of where tradition says I should be."
Voss studied him thoughtfully. "You planning something specific?"
Preventing disasters. Collecting Integration cores. Surviving past my death flag.
"I want to be positioned to make a real difference. The Northern Front faces increasing pressure. Rangers respond to threats immediately instead of waiting for orders from Central Command."
"Political answer," Voss observed. "But not wrong." He leaned back. "Rangers do have significant freedom. We're also the first ones into danger and the last ones to receive reinforcements. Still interested?"
"Yes."
"Good." Voss smiled. "Because we're keeping you out here for fifteen days."
Wait, what?
"Fifteen days?" Arden said.
"Extended field assessment. We need to see how you perform under sustained pressure. One day is easy. Fifteen days..." Voss's smile was almost predatory. "Fifteen days shows us what you're really made of."
Markus grinned. "Welcome to ranger training, kid."
"The professors approved this?" Arden asked.
"Already cleared," Riza confirmed. "Your theoretical classes are being handled through correspondence. The ranger track was never going to be easy."
Voss raised his flask. "To the next two weeks! May they be brutal, educational, and character-building!"
"And may we all survive them," Markus added.
Fifteen days in the field. With these three.
This is either going to be the best training I've ever received or absolute hell.
Probably both.
Day two started before dawn.
"UP! UP! UP!" Voss's cheerful voice was like a weapon. "The monsters don't sleep in and neither do we!"
Arden groaned and rolled out of his bedroll.
Why is he so energetic?
"Good morning, sunshine!" Voss was already fully dressed, looking annoyingly fresh. "Today's agenda: advanced tracking, trap identification, and if we're lucky, some quality monster hunting!"
"Coffee first," Arden muttered.
"No coffee on the frontier! Just determination and spite!"
"Captain, you literally have coffee in your pack," Riza pointed out.
"That's MY coffee. For leadership purposes."
"I'm confiscating it for medical purposes."
"You can't—wait, you actually can. Damn."
Markus was already breaking down camp. "Get moving, kid. We've got twenty kilometers to cover before noon."
Twenty kilometers. In frontier terrain. Before noon.
This is going to be a long fifteen days.
They covered the distance in four hours.
Arden's twelve-year-old legs were screaming by the end.
But he kept up.
Voss seemed pleased. "Not bad! Most recruits would be crying by now."
"Day's not over yet," Arden gasped.
"True! We still have tracking practice, trap scenarios, and evening combat drills!"
Kill me.
"Captain," Riza said, "the recruit is twelve. Perhaps pace the training."
"The monsters won't pace their attacks. Neither will we." But Voss did pull out water and toss it to Arden. "However, staying hydrated is tactically sound. Drink."
Arden drank gratefully.
"Better?" Voss asked.
"Better."
"Excellent! Now we run another ten kilometers!"
"WHAT?"
Voss laughed. "I'm joking! Your face though. Priceless." He gestured to a clearing. "We're stopping here for tracking practice. Riza, you're up."
Riza's tracking instruction was methodical and precise.
"Monster tracks differ from animal tracks in several ways. First, mana corruption affects their gait patterns..."
She pointed out subtle indicators that Arden would have missed—disturbed earth in specific patterns, claw marks at unusual angles, traces of corruption in vegetation.
"Second, different monster types leave distinct territorial markers..."
Arden found himself completely absorbed in the lesson.
This wasn't theoretical classroom teaching.
This was survival knowledge from someone who'd actually used it.
"You're a natural at this," Riza observed after an hour. "You identified that hobgoblin trail without prompting."
"Pattern recognition," Arden said.
"More than that. You understand the logic behind monster behavior. That's rare in recruits."
She didn't push further, seeming satisfied with the answer.
That evening, around the campfire, Voss returned to his theatrical mode.
"You know what the ranger motto is?" he asked Arden.
"No."
"'Death before dishonor, but preferably neither.'" Voss grinned.
"That's not actually the motto," Markus said.
"It should be! It's accurate!"
"The actual motto is 'Silent, Swift, Deadly,'" Riza clarified.
"Boring! Mine's better!"
"Yours is ridiculous."
"Ridiculously ACCURATE!"
Arden found himself smiling despite his exhaustion.
They're weird. But they work together perfectly. And they're good at what they do.
This is what real soldiers look like. Not the parade-ground officers the academy usually produces.
"Tomorrow," Voss announced, "we start the really fun stuff!"
"Define fun," Arden said warily.
"Survival scenarios! Trap-building! Emergency combat situations!" Voss's smile was bright and slightly manic. "Everything you need to know to not die horribly on the frontier!"
"Looking forward to it," Arden lied.
Markus laughed. "He's learning. Good survival instinct—lie to the crazy captain."
"I'm not crazy! I'm enthusiastically dedicated!"
"Same thing," Riza murmured.
"IS NOT!"
The days blurred together.
Combat training. Survival skills. Tracking. Trap identification.
Voss rotated between theatrical confidence and genuine tactical instruction.
Riza provided precise, methodical teaching that built real skills.
Markus added practical experience and occasional reality checks.
And Arden... adapted.
His twelve-year-old body struggled with the sustained operations.
But his forty-year-old mind knew how to push through exhaustion.
How to ration energy. How to maintain focus despite fatigue.
By day seven, he was holding his own.
By day ten, he was impressing them.
During one combat encounter on day twelve, Arden watched Voss create an elaborate fire construct—a phoenix made entirely of flames that swept through a monster pack.
"Ember Phoenix Manifestation," Voss announced proudly. "Takes a lot of mana, but the psychological impact alone is worth it. Monsters see a giant fire bird and panic."
"It's showing off," Riza said.
"It's TACTICAL showing off. There's a difference."
"Is there really?"
"Yes! The monsters die AND they look impressed while dying! Win-win!"
Despite the banter, Arden noticed something important.
Every Integration Voss had was fire-related. Every technique built on the previous ones. The synergy was obvious—each ability amplified the others, creating a combined effect far greater than random mixed cores would produce.
That's what I need to aim for. Not just collecting cores, but building a cohesive strategy.
Fire works for him because he's committed fully. What works for me?
"You know," Voss said during one evening meal on day thirteen, "I thought we'd break you by now."
"Sorry to disappoint."
"Not disappointed! Impressed!" Voss gestured dramatically, small flames dancing along his fingertips. "Most recruits wash out by day five. You're not just surviving—you're thriving."
"Wouldn't say thriving."
"You killed three hobgoblins this morning before breakfast. That's thriving."
"That's necessity."
Riza spoke up quietly. "You have the mindset of someone who's been in real combat. Not training exercises. Actual life-or-death situations."
Arden tensed slightly, but Voss waved dismissively.
"Who cares where he learned it? Point is, he's got it. That's rare." He looked at Arden seriously. "You're going to make an excellent ranger. Assuming you don't die in the next two days."
"Planning not to."
"Good plan! I recommend it!"
Day fifteen arrived.
The final test.
"Alright," Voss announced. "You've done well. Exceeded expectations. Now we see if you can handle real pressure."
Oh no.
"What kind of pressure?" Arden asked warily.
Voss's smile was sharp. "The kind where we leave you behind for two hours and you have to catch up while every monster in the area knows you're there."
"...What?"
Riza pulled out what looked like a small explosive. "Scent marker. Attracts monsters within a kilometer radius. We're detonating it here. Then we're moving to a position two kilometers north. You have two hours to reach us."
"While fighting through whatever comes?"
"Exactly!" Voss said cheerfully. "Think of it as a graduation exam!"
"You're insane."
"Thank you! I try!" Voss activated the marker and tossed it. "Timer starts... now! See you in two hours!"
The three rangers vanished into the forest with disturbing speed.
The marker began emitting a pungent, sickly-sweet smell.
And in the distance, Arden heard howling.
They're completely insane.
And I'm going to pass this test just to prove I can.
He pulled out his grenades, checked his ammunition, and started running north.
Behind him, flames from Voss's passing still flickered on the trees—a mocking reminder of style over substance.
Let's see what the frontier throws at me.