The main hall was imposing.
Stone walls lined with battle standards from centuries of Northern Frontier defense. A massive table dominated the center—carved from a single ancient tree, marked with scars from countless strategic meetings.
Three men sat at the head of that table.
All three wore the insignia of Northern Command generals.
Arden recognized them from his novel's worldbuilding.
General Henrik Voss—Roy Voss's uncle, mid-fifties, graying hair, eyes that had seen too many battles. Commander of the Eastern Frontier sectors.
General Markham Cross—elderly, nearly seventy, but still sharp. Tactical genius who'd held the Northern Front during three separate Calamity Waves. The most respected military mind in the Empire.
General Lucia Thorne—the only woman to achieve general rank in Northern Command. Forty-eight years old, ruthless efficiency, zero tolerance for incompetence.
Three legends. Here to talk to a twelve-year-old about poetry.
This should be interesting.
Instructor Salmosa gestured for Arden to enter, then closed the doors behind him.
Leaving him alone with three generals.
"Number 0001. Arden Valekrest." General Cross spoke first, his voice gravelly but strong. "Sit."
Arden sat across from them.
"We've reviewed Ranger Captain Voss's report. Multiple times." Cross tapped the document on the table. "Shadow Devil encounter. Combat engagement. Survival against an extinct apex predator. All remarkable."
"But that's not why we're here," General Thorne added, her voice sharp. "We're here about the poem."
Here it comes.
"The combat poetry," General Voss—Henrik—said. "A technique that supposedly channels mana through recited verse. Creating temporary physical and magical enhancements."
He leaned forward.
"Captain Roy Voss—my nephew—claims he witnessed residual mana patterns that don't match any known magic system. Instructor Salmosa confirms your mana signature showed unusual fluctuations during the Integration process. And the Shadow Devil core itself has mutated to include an ability called 'Devil Slayer's Mark.'"
Cross pulled out another document. "We've consulted with Imperial mages. Academy researchers. Historical archives. None of them have any record of poetry-based mana manipulation."
"Because it doesn't exist," General Thorne said flatly. "Magic systems don't work that way. You can't just create new categories of power."
She studied him with cold eyes.
"So explain. How did you do it?"
Careful. They're testing me. Looking for deception.
Arden met her gaze steadily.
"I created it. In the moment. During the fight with the Shadow Devil."
"That's impossible."
"And yet it happened."
General Cross raised a hand, stopping the argument. "Explain the mechanism. How does poetry interact with mana? What's the theoretical foundation?"
They want to understand it. Categorize it. Fit it into existing systems.
But it doesn't fit. Because it's not from this world.
Arden chose his words carefully.
"Combat poetry isn't just words. It's the culmination of someone's karma and soul."
The three generals exchanged glances.
"Karma?" General Voss raised an eyebrow.
"Accomplishments. Experiences. Trials survived. Everything a person has endured and overcome."
Arden's voice was steady.
"Poetry channels that accumulated existence into power. It's born from extreme situations—moments where survival depends on transcending normal limits."
"That's not how mana works," Thorne said.
"It's not how known mana techniques work," Arden corrected. "But mana is just energy. Will given form. If will can shape elements, create fire, manipulate ice... why can't it respond to the concentrated expression of someone's very existence?"
He leaned forward slightly.
"The poem I recited wasn't just words. It was everything I'd survived. Every battle. Every near-death experience. Every moment I refused to give up."
His voice intensified.
"That accumulated karma—that weight of existence—crystallized into power through verse. It strengthened my presence. My reality. Made me more in that moment."
Cross was nodding slowly. "Presence amplification through concentrated will expression. That's... theoretically possible. Unconventional, but within the bounds of advanced mana theory."
"More than that," Arden continued. "The poem becomes part of you. 'Devil Slayer' works specifically against devils and demonic entities because it was born fighting one. The karma embedded in those words is anti-devil in nature."
"So different poems would have different effects?" Voss asked.
"Theoretically. A poem born from protecting others might grant defensive power. One born from vengeance might enhance offensive capabilities."
Arden paused.
"But it only works if the words are true. If they genuinely reflect the speaker's karma. Empty verse has no power."
"That's why it can't be taught," Cross said, understanding dawning. "You can't pass on someone else's karma. Each person would need to develop their own poetry based on their own experiences."
"Exactly."
General Thorne was still skeptical. "And you're twelve years old. What karma could you possibly have accumulated?"
More than you can imagine. Forty years in one life. Twelve in this one. Deaths I don't fully remember. Battles that feel like memories from someone else.
"I've trained since age six. Faced monster raids on family territory. Survived the academy entrance ceremony. Three weeks on the frontier with rangers. A Shadow Devil encounter."
Arden's voice was calm.
"Enough to forge one poem. Maybe more in the future."
Thorne studied him for a long moment.
"You're not a normal twelve-year-old."
"The frontier doesn't produce normal children."
She actually smiled slightly at that. "No. It doesn't."
Cross stood, pacing. "If this combat poetry can be replicated—even by a small number of soldiers—it could revolutionize frontier defense."
"It can't be replicated easily," Arden said. "It requires extreme situations. Life-or-death stakes. And genuine karma to draw from. Most soldiers won't be able to access it."
"But some might," Voss said. "Veterans with decades of experience. Officers who've led through multiple campaigns. If they understood the principle..."
"They might develop their own verses," Arden agreed. "But it's not guaranteed. And forcing it won't work. The poetry has to be genuine."
Cross returned to his seat. "We'll need to study this further. Document the process. Test the limits."
"I'm willing to cooperate with research," Arden said. "Within reason."
"Within reason?"
"I won't become a laboratory subject. I'll demonstrate abilities, answer questions, provide theoretical framework. But I'm not being dissected or confined for study."
Thorne laughed—a sharp, genuine sound. "He's got nerve. I like him."
"Noted," Cross said. "We'll arrange reasonable research protocols. Monthly assessments. Documentation of any new developments."
He pulled out another document.
"Which brings us to the ranger certification."
"Ranger Captain Roy Voss has recommended you for full ranger qualification. Youngest in Northern Command history."
Cross's expression was serious.
"This is unprecedented. But the circumstances are also unprecedented."
"Shadow Devil elimination. Survival against extreme odds. Demonstrated tactical capability and independent operation skill."
General Voss listed them off.
"The recommendation is sound. Unusual, but sound."
"However," Thorne interjected, "full ranger certification comes with significant responsibilities. Independent deployment authority. Access to restricted zones. Direct reporting to Northern Command instead of academy oversight."
She looked at Arden directly.
"Are you prepared for that level of autonomy and accountability?"
This is what I've been working toward. Operational independence. Freedom to hunt Integration cores and prevent disasters without constant supervision.
"Yes."
"Why?" Cross asked. "Most children your age would want structure. Guidance. Why seek independence?"
Because I need to be where disasters happen before they spiral out of control. Because I know what's coming and I need freedom to act.
"Because the Northern Front needs rangers who can respond immediately to threats. Not wait for approval chains and committee decisions."
Arden's voice was firm.
"I can operate effectively independently. My performance proves that. Give me the authority to do what needs to be done, and I'll get results."
The three generals exchanged looks.
"Ambitious," Voss observed.
"Confident," Thorne added.
"Potentially valuable," Cross finished. He pulled out an official document with Northern Command seals. "Full ranger certification, granted. Effective immediately."
He slid the document across the table.
"You'll maintain academy enrollment for theoretical education. But you're authorized for independent frontier operations. Report structure goes directly to ranger command, bypassing standard academy oversight."
"Integration core acquisition rights are included," Voss added. "Any cores you claim through legitimate combat operations are yours to keep. No academy claims or requisitions."
Perfect. That's exactly what I need.
"Understood."
"Additionally," Cross said, "due to the Shadow Devil incident and combat poetry development, you're being assigned a formal designation within Northern Command."
He pulled out another document.
"Specialist rank. Not part of standard hierarchy. Grants you autonomy to pursue research and development of unconventional combat techniques."
"Basically," Thorne said dryly, "they're giving you permission to be weird. Officially."
Despite the tension, Arden smiled slightly. "I can work with that."
"The formal ceremony will be held tomorrow," Cross said. "Public recognition of your ranger certification and specialist designation. The academy, Northern Command representatives, and regional commanders will attend."
"Is that necessary?"
"Yes." Cross's expression was firm. "You're the youngest certified ranger in history. You created a new category of combat magic. You killed an extinct apex predator. This needs to be recognized publicly."
He leaned forward.
"More importantly, it sends a message. To the Empire. To the frontier. That Northern Command values results over tradition. That we reward capability regardless of age."
"Politics," Arden muttered.
"Always," Thorne agreed. "Get used to it. You're going to be in the spotlight now."
Wonderful. Exactly what I wanted.
Except not at all.
"Anything else?" Arden asked.
"One more thing," Voss said. "Your partnership with Captain Roy Voss. He's requested formal authorization to operate as a joint unit. Fire and shadow specialization."
"You're aware my nephew is... enthusiastic," he added dryly.
"I've noticed."
"He sees potential in this partnership. Fire specialist and shadow specialist working in coordination. Tactically, it has merit."
Voss's expression was serious.
"But it also puts significant pressure on you. Roy will push boundaries. Take risks. Are you prepared to keep up with that?"
Roy Voss is theatrical, ambitious, and slightly insane. But he's also genuinely skilled and has solid tactical instincts beneath the showmanship.
"I can handle it."
"Good. Because you're stuck with him now. He's already planning 'combination techniques' and talking about becoming 'the legendary fire-and-shadow duo of Northern Command.'"
Thorne laughed. "That sounds like Roy. Dramatic to the end."
"It's genetic," Voss said with resignation. "My entire family is like this."
Cross stood, signaling the meeting's end. "Tomorrow. Noon. Formal ceremony. Dress uniform. Don't be late."
"Understood."
"Dismissed."
Arden left the main hall, his mind processing everything.
Full ranger certification. Specialist designation. Integration core rights. Independent operation authority.
Everything I need to hunt specific cores and prevent disasters.
Plus a public ceremony tomorrow that will put me in the spotlight.
Which I hate, but apparently can't avoid.
He was heading back to the barracks when a familiar voice called out.
"Arden!"
Roy Voss was jogging toward him, grinning widely.
"I heard! Full certification! Specialist rank! We're official!"
He threw an arm around Arden's shoulders.
"The fire-and-shadow duo is real! This is going to be LEGENDARY!"
"Captain—"
"Roy. We're partners now. Call me Roy."
"Roy. The ceremony is tomorrow."
"I know! I'm already preparing my speech!"
"Your speech?"
"Well, someone has to explain our tactical philosophy to the gathered commanders!" Roy's eyes gleamed with excitement. "I'm thinking: 'Fire draws the eye, shadow strikes the heart.' Dramatic, right?"
"That's... one way to put it."
"I'm also commissioning matching badges. Fire and shadow motif. Very stylish."
He's already branding this partnership.
"Is this really necessary?"
"Absolutely! Image matters! We need to be memorable!" Roy was practically vibrating with energy. "Think about it—I create massive fire constructs, you shadow-step through them to execute precision strikes! I engage from range with flame walls, you use void-form to scout enemy positions undetected! I—"
"Roy."
"—create diversions while you— what?"
"We should probably practice some of these techniques before announcing them publicly."
"Oh. Right. Good point." Roy nodded seriously. "After the ceremony, we start coordination training immediately. I want to test how your shadow abilities interact with sustained fire environments."
"Sounds reasonable."
"Also, I want to see the combat poetry in action. The generals were very excited about that in their preliminary report."
Of course they talked to him first.
"It's not something I can activate on demand. Requires genuine need."
"So we create genuine need! Controlled combat scenarios! Escalating difficulty!" Roy's grin was slightly manic. "We'll push you until the poetry activates, then document everything!"
"That sounds dangerous."
"That's how we learn! Through exciting and potentially lethal experimentation!"
Riza appeared from somewhere, rifle in hand. "Captain, you're not authorized to conduct 'potentially lethal experimentation' on academy grounds."
"I said POTENTIALLY lethal. That means mostly safe!"
"Sir."
"Fine! We'll do it in the frontier during official operations! Happy?"
"Marginally." She turned to Arden. "Congratulations on the certification. You've earned it."
"Thank you."
"And I apologize in advance for whatever insanity the Captain drags you into."
"I heard that!"
"You were meant to, sir."
Despite everything, Arden found himself smiling.
This is my life now. A theatrical fire mage partner who thinks 'potentially lethal experimentation' is reasonable. A deadpan lieutenant who barely tolerates said fire mage. And me, the poet-warrior shadow specialist.
Could be worse.
"The ceremony is at noon tomorrow," Riza said. "Formal dress uniform required. The academy will provide one tailored to your specifications."
"Including ranger insignia," Roy added. "And specialist designation. And probably some medals because the generals love medals."
"I don't need medals."
"Too bad! You're getting them anyway! Recognition is important for morale!"
"Whose morale?"
"Everyone's! Mostly mine!" Roy clapped him on the shoulder. "Get some rest. Big day tomorrow. After that, we start training properly."
He walked off, still talking enthusiastically about combination techniques and dramatic battle strategies.
Riza lingered. "He means well. Beneath the theatrics, he's genuinely capable."
"I've noticed."
"And he sees something in you. Potential he wants to cultivate." She paused. "He lost his previous partner three years ago. Calamity Wave. Roy hasn't operated with anyone since. Until now."
There's a story there. Pain beneath the showmanship.
"I'll try not to die on him."
"Good. Because if you do, I'll have to deal with the aftermath. And I'd rather not." She nodded curtly. "Tomorrow. Noon. Don't be late."
She left, following after Roy.
Arden finally made it back to the barracks.
Group 1-A was waiting.
"There you are!" Garrett said. "We heard! Full ranger certification! At twelve!"
"Youngest in history," Thrain added, grinning. "That's amazing!"
"And there's a ceremony tomorrow," Serra said quietly. "Public recognition. The whole academy will attend."
Great. Even more attention.
"We're all going," Kari announced. "To support you! I already picked out which dress to wear! And I'm bringing a banner! With your name on it!"
"A banner isn't necessary—"
"Too late! Already made it! It has a shadow and flame design! Very dramatic!"
Of course it does.
Rykard was sitting on his bunk, polishing his swords. "Specialist designation is unusual. Grants significant autonomy. Strategic positioning for unconventional operations."
"That's the idea."
"You'll be able to operate independently. Hunt specific targets. Pursue objectives without oversight." He looked up. "What are you planning?"
Preventing disasters. Collecting Integration cores. Surviving past my death flag.
"Making myself useful. Doing what needs to be done."
"Mm." Rykard returned to his polishing. "Vague. But acceptable."
Elara appeared in the doorway. "May I come in?"
"Sure," Arden said.
She entered, closing the door behind her. "I heard about the certification. And the specialist rank."
"News travels fast."
"It does when three generals visit the academy." She smiled slightly. "Congratulations. You've achieved operational independence. That's what you wanted, right?"
"Part of it."
"The ceremony tomorrow will change things. You'll be in the spotlight. People will watch everything you do."
Her expression was serious.
"Are you ready for that?"
"No. But I don't have a choice."
"No, you don't." She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Use the attention strategically. Show them competence. Capability. Make them believe in you."
"Why?"
"Because when things start going wrong—when the disasters you're trying to prevent begin happening—you'll need people to trust your judgment. To follow your lead."
She met his eyes.
"Build that trust now. While you have the chance."
She knows. She knows I'm trying to prevent specific disasters.
How much does she actually know?
But they'd agreed not to dig into each other's secrets.
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Good." She turned to leave, then paused. "And Arden? I'm proud of you. For what it's worth."
She left before he could respond.
That night, Arden lay in his bunk, unable to sleep.
Tomorrow would change everything.
Public recognition. Formal certification. Operational independence.
Everything he'd been working toward.
But also: Attention. Expectations. People watching his every move.
I hate this part. Always have.
In the Army, I was just another officer. Did my job, led my squad, stayed out of the spotlight.
Now I'm about to become the youngest certified ranger in history. The specialist with unique magic. The kid who killed a Shadow Devil with poetry.
Everyone will be watching.
Expecting me to be something I'm not.
His shadow rippled across the ceiling—darker now, more substantial since the Integration.
The Shadow Devil's presence pulsed in his Mana Heart. Not hostile. Just... there. Watchful. Waiting.
At least I have the tools I need now. Shadow abilities. Ranger authority. Partnership with Roy Voss.
Time to put it all to use.
Time to start preventing the disasters I know are coming.
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to rest.
Tomorrow would bring ceremony and recognition.
But after that?
After that came the real work.
Hunting Integration cores. Building power. Positioning himself for the critical moments when intervention could change everything.
The Northern Front's collapse is eight years away. But the early warning signs will start appearing soon.
Extinct monsters returning. Monster wave patterns changing. Corruption spreading faster than expected.
I need to be ready.
I need to be strong enough.
And now, finally, he had the freedom to do what needed to be done.