"Idiotic!"
Mohr's roar nearly made Zales jump out of his skin.
"Has your brain been stuffed full of dung? On the battlefield, that kind of mistake would get your squadmates slaughtered!"
He swept his gaze across the class, voice cold and measured."The correct answer is nine. Normally, active combatants possess at least Level-Three spirit energy. Of course, spirit grade isn't everything—there are many ways to measure energy strength. You'll learn them later."
"The second assessment concerns combat capability—a professional test system measures your actual fighting power. Roughly speaking, a Level-Nine combatant should be able to handle at least two Proto-tier monsters on their own."
"The third item is your ability, determined by your sequence.For those in the Starfire Sequence, the key metric is the number of soul-seeds you've ignited.For the Spirit-Flame Sequence, it's about how well you've developed your soul trait. The Mech-Arcanum uses Flare Fragments for measurement—nine in total. Possessing all nine means you've mastered your soul's property completely. If you meet such a teammate, trust them without reservation."
Rod suddenly recalled his first meeting with Reslin's squad; only now did their introductions make complete sense.
Mohr went on, tapping his metal leg in rhythm:
"The core members of the three major legions are Level-Eight or Level-Nine combatants.At Level-Seven, you can command a patrol unit, serve as a Warden or district defense chief.At Level-Six, you qualify as a squad captain, a White Spirit Knight, or a regional defense chief.At Level-Five, you can lead an entire legion—sector commander.At Level-Four, you become a Marshal, a Fire Priest, or a Bishop.At Level-Three, you're eligible for High Marshal or Council Elder.At Level-Two, you stand as an Archbishop or Primary Commander.And Level-One—"
He paused, eyes narrowing."—Level-One combatants are called Guardians."
Rod's brow furrowed. That title rang familiar somehow… he'd heard it before.
Casha's hand rose, as usual. "What about the Children of Fire, Professor?"
Even Wayne, who rarely spoke, raised his hand too. "And the Knight-Commanders?"
Mohr nodded slowly. "The seven Children of Fire and the four Knight-Commanders are our ultimate force. They are Special-Grade Combatants, beyond the standard ranking system."
A wave of awe rippled through the classroom. The heavy tension that had hung since morning lifted in an instant.Eyes brightened; some faces almost glowed. For the first time, everyone could see the path ahead.
The rest of the lecture passed in high spirits. A few more students even managed to unlock their spirit-sight by the end.
Casha, unusually, wore a faint smile.During lunch in the grand hall, she was even quiet—miracle of miracles.
Lunch was the usual black beef stew with roasted turnips. The taste was, frankly, awful—like chewing on stones soaked in herbal medicine.But anything better cost money.
Rod didn't have a single coin left, so free cafeteria sludge it was.Wayne looked no happier; even he, from a farming village, found the "home flavor" hard to swallow.
Then Green-Hair Zales swaggered over with a plate piled high with fried clam-meat. The rich aroma hit them like a spell.
Wayne swallowed hard. "Zaza, man, gimme one piece and I'll wash your clothes tonight."
Zales bit into a chunk of clam, voice muffled. "Homework too. And stop calling me Zaza."
"Sure thing, Zaza."
Wayne grinned, snatched a piece, and took a huge bite—the savory juice exploded across his tongue, a whole orchestra of flavor dancing on his taste buds.
Zales caught Rod's hungry stare. "What, you want some too? Tell you what—get Casha pregnant, and I'll cover your meals for a year."
Thud!
Zales's face slammed into his plate. Meat sauce splattered everywhere.
Behind him stood Casha, her right hand still shimmering with fading steel-gray light. Her tone was icy."Say one more word about me, Zales, and you'll be cleaning the entire dorm block for the rest of the semester."
She turned on her heel, elegantly lifted a plate of cream-mushrooms worth seven silver, and returned to her table. The girls around her gasped softly, rushing to share the rare delicacy.
Zales lifted his head, dripping sauce. It took half a pack of napkins to clean up."Just my luck," he muttered, stabbing what was left of his meal.
Wayne sighed. "Told you not to provoke her. With her fireseed abilities, the three of us together couldn't beat her. And she's got half the faculty on speed-dial. You're lucky the discipline office didn't lock you up already."
Zales grumbled but said nothing.
Rod coughed awkwardly and finally got his chance."Uh… Zaza, actually I'm short on cash. Any chance you can help me find some?"
Zales's eyes lit up—then dimmed again. He sighed."Forget it. I've already been cursed today… But listen, my family runs a market business. I can vouch for you—up to a thousand silver, no interest. The catch is, you've gotta spend it at our stalls. Deal? Call it a fellow-tradesman discount."
That was more than fair.
Rod had already bought fifty true-silver rounds from Zales's family last time—solid quality, fair price, forty-five fired without a single misfire.
He was just about to agree when Casha's voice cut through the noise."Rod. Come here."
Rod frowned. So rude. He turned—and froze when she pulled out a silver note the size of her palm. Intricate engraving, solid silver—one of the highest-denomination bills of the Tororian Kingdom.
Value: 1,000.
Well, fancy that.
He didn't even want to look impressed—but somehow his legs walked him right over.
"Casha," he said smoothly, "you look stunning today."
A small smile flickered over her face before she forced it away. Her tone was all business."Classmates shouldn't trade money. It taints the soul. I'll lend you this one thousand silver—but if you help Team Ten win the Flame Cup, you don't have to pay it back."
Gasps rippled around their table. The Flame Cup was the department's highest honor—big prize, and rewards for everyone on the team.
Several girls stared at Rod with shining eyes that hinted at… more than admiration.
Rod accepted the silver note solemnly."Money doesn't matter," he said with straight-faced gravitas. "Honor is my only pursuit."
…
By the time he returned to Zales's table, the green-haired boy looked deflated.He'd just been beaten in every category—brains, power, prestige, and now money.
But Rod's next words brightened him right back up."Here—pay off what I owed you, and get me another fifty rounds of true-silver ammo. Same vendor."
Zales's face lit up like a festival lantern."Now that's my brother! No woman can take you from me, ha ha—"
"Let go of me!"
…
After lunch, Rod barely got half a second of rest before Casha dragged him off again—for patrol duty.
Unlike the "special cadet" patrols, this was inside the academy.Not four-person squads—the entire Team Ten, teacher included. Their assignment: guard the East Gate.
The whole way there, Casha chattered nonstop—reminding, reciting, and even reading Mohr's notes aloud as if a monster attack could happen right inside the campus walls.
In reality, their "patrol" was glorified gatekeeping. Most who passed through were professors or staff, politely humoring the students' earnest inspections and feeble spirit-scans.
Rod forced himself to stay awake, echoing her commands like a trained parrot, until finally the shift ended.He was about to crawl back to his dorm and sleep for a week when a familiar voice stopped him.
He looked up.
After several days' absence, Lauren had come to find him again.