Chapter 23 — The Accident That Wasn't
Morning came without kindness.
The academy bell rang before dawn, its sound cutting through sleep like a blade. Alex sat up instantly, muscles protesting as yesterday's bruises flared fresh pain through his ribs and shoulder.
Stone walls. Cold air.
Reality.
Around him, the low-tier dorm was already stirring. Beds creaked. Someone cursed softly as they stood too fast. Ryn sat on the edge of his bunk rubbing his wrists, eyes hollow. Marek finished tightening the wraps around his hands, face unreadable.
Leon was already awake, lacing his boots with practiced efficiency. He glanced at Alex once, then frowned.
"You're limping."
"I'll manage."
Leon didn't argue. He rarely did.
Outside, the low-tier training yard buzzed with tension. Hundreds of students assembled beneath the gray sky, breath fogging in the cold sea air. Officers stalked between the lines like predators, boots crunching against stone, eyes sharp and searching.
Alex felt it immediately.
The looks.
Not curiosity.
Expectation.
A Mid Tier D cadet was dragged past them, clutching his side, blood soaking his sleeve.
"Didn't even finish warm-up," someone muttered.
"Too slow," another replied.
Someone laughed quietly behind Alex. "F-rank survived the night. Impressive."
Another voice chimed in. "Won't survive drills."
Alex kept his gaze forward.
Leon stepped half a pace closer—subtle, deliberate.
The instructor arrived.
Captain Varrek.
A scarred veteran with iron-gray hair and eyes that looked through people rather than at them. His presence alone pressed down on the yard, silencing conversations without a word.
"Today," Varrek announced, "we begin foundational combat conditioning."
Murmurs rippled.
"This test evaluates survival potential," he continued. "Strength. Reaction. Awareness."
The screen beside him flared to life.
"Pairs will be assigned by rank."
Names began to scroll.
High tiers first.
Two High Tier C cadets stepped forward, confidence radiating from them. Their bout was clean, brutal, and efficient—controlled strikes, calculated feints. One was thrown hard enough to crack stone, but he rose smiling.
Applause followed.
Mid tiers went next.
Less polish. More desperation.
One misjudged a parry and took a reinforced baton across the jaw. Teeth scattered across the ground. Officers dragged him away.
"Next."
Low tiers.
The air shifted.
A Low Tier E girl froze when her opponent surged unexpectedly. She hesitated for half a second—half a second too long. She was slammed into the barrier and didn't get up.
"Injury recorded," an officer said calmly.
Another low-tier boy charged recklessly and was knocked unconscious in three moves.
No one stopped the drill.
Alex watched it all.
Every error.
Every consequence.
Then—
"Alex Rim."
The yard quieted.
A pause.
Then another name appeared beneath his.
"—paired with Galen Mor."
A murmur swept the field like wildfire.
Leon stiffened.
Galen Mor was Mid Tier C.
Noble-born.
Known.
Dangerous.
"That's bullshit," Leon muttered.
Alex exhaled slowly.
Across the yard, Galen smiled.
A slow, knowing smile.
"Oh," Galen said loudly, cracking his knuckles, "this should be educational."
Leon stepped forward. "Captain, that pairing violates—"
Varrek's gaze snapped to him.
"You have something to say, Cadet Draxis?"
Leon jaw tightened . "Yes. Why is a Mid Tier C paired with an F-rank?"
Varrek's lips twitched faintly. "Good question."
The yard went silent.
"Because," Varrek continued calmly, "battlefields do not respect rank fairness."
He looked directly at Alex.
"Begin."
meanwhile a few meters ahead Kara A D ranker looks at Leon with a longing eye and that of pity , but was later distracted by the fight going on
Galen didn't wait.
The first blow came fast—too fast for Alex to dodge cleanly. A fist slammed into his shoulder, sending pain screaming down his arm.
Alex staggered.
Galen followed immediately, ruthless, efficient.
"You should've stayed home," Galen said softly as he drove a knee toward Alex's ribs.
Leon moved.
He stepped between them, arm raised to block.
The impact rocked him backward.
Ryn shouted, "Leon!"
Marek stepped forward instinctively, fists clenched.
The yard erupted.
"Interference!"
"Stop them!"
Varrek's voice cut through everything. "Cadet Draxis!"
Leon turned, breathing hard. "This isn't training. It's execution."
Varrek studied him for a long moment.
Then he smiled thinly.
"Then perhaps," he said casually, "you should explain why a Mid Tier C with confirmed combat blessing is bunking in Overflow C-7 with low-rank commoners."
Whispers exploded.
Leon froze.
Galen laughed. "Yeah, Draxis. Thought your kind slept in towers."
Leon's fists clenched.
Alex felt it then—something shift.
Attention.
Varrek continued, voice carrying easily. "House Draxis fell from favor fifteen years ago. Military tribunal. Loyalty questioned."
The yard leaned in.
"Cadet Leon Draxis remains enrolled by merit alone," Varrek finished. "Do not mistake that for privilege."
Leon said nothing.
Ryn stared at Leon like he was seeing him for the first time.
Marek's jaw tightened.
Kara stood at the edge of the field, High Tier D badge gleaming. Her eyes were fixed on Leon.
There was longing there.
And pity.
She looked away first.
The drill resumed.
Alex fought again.
And again.
Each strike hurt more than the last.
But he stayed standing.
Barely.
Then came the second phase.
Obstacle traversal.
High platforms.
Moving weights.
Live mechanisms.
"Accidents happen," Varrek said flatly. "Proceed."
Cadets moved one after another. Some succeeded. Some failed. One fell badly and didn't move.
Alex was called last.
As he climbed, he felt it.
Something wrong.
The platform beneath his foot shifted—not randomly, but deliberately. The locking rune flickered.
Leon's eyes widened.
"Alex—!"
The platform snapped free.
Alex fell.
The ground rushed up far too fast.
Pain exploded as he slammed into a lower beam, breath ripped from his lungs. He tumbled again, barely catching a ledge with shredded fingers.
Below him—
Spinning blades.
Students screamed.
Ryn surged forward. "Pull him up!"
Marek grabbed the rail. "They sabotaged it!"
Leon threw himself toward the field—
A barrier snapped into place.
Training boundary.
Locked.
Varrek watched.
Galen watched.
Someone had overridden the safety rune.
Alex's arms shook violently.
His grip slipped.
Inside him, the system surged.
Not activating.
Observing.
Measuring.
With a raw cry, Alex hauled himself up, muscles tearing, collapsing onto solid ground just as the blades shredded empty air beneath him.
Silence fell.
Varrek clicked his tongue. "Unfortunate," he said. "But survivable."
Leon was shaking with fury. "That was rigged."
Varrek turned. "Prove it."
No one spoke.
Alex lay on the stone, lungs burning, vision swimming.
But his mind was clear.
Too clear.
He had seen the rune flicker.
And he had seen who was watching.
Galen Mor.
Galen met his gaze.
Smiled.
Later, in the infirmary corridor, Leon paced like a caged animal.
"I should've killed him," Leon growled.
"You couldn't," Alex said quietly. "That's what they wanted."
Leon stopped. "You almost died."
Alex looked at his bandaged hands.
"I know."
That night, back in the dorm, Ryn sat guard while Marek sharpened a knife he wasn't allowed to have.
Alex lay awake.
The system answered.
[Hidden Quest: Will of the Weak — Active]
Objective: Procure a blessing
Status: In Progress
EXP: +100 (Pending)
A blessing.
Someone nearby had one.
Someone who had already tried to take his life.
"If blessings define worth," Alex whispered into the dark, "then I'll start with someone who doesn't deserve theirs."
Outside, the academy slept.
Inside, Alex marked his first target.
And this time—
It wouldn't be an accident.
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