One by one, the apprentices stepped toward the towering Vocation Stone, receiving the baptism of fate in its radiant glow.
Yet, those as fortunate as Woody—awakened into a combat profession—were always the minority.
Far more apprentices emerged with life-sustaining civilian imprints, their futures destined to remain far from the battlefields of steel and sorcery.
By the final count, a class might consider itself fortunate if twenty students claimed a combat profession. Around thirty would awaken to civilian trades, while fewer than ten would receive the rare yet troublesome Arcane Augment profession.
Though Arcane Augmenters were uncommon, their advancement demanded vast quantities of rare materials. Without a family fortune to draw upon, there was no path forward.
For that reason, many apprentices of humble birth, upon awakening to an augmenter's path, would burst into tears on the spot—better a modest skill that could feed them than a lofty craft they could never afford to master.
Thus, this grand ceremony was a spectacle where some wept with joy, and others saw their eyes dim with disappointment.
Time passed, and at last it was Class Twenty-Five's turn to step forward.
The first ten apprentices to mount the dais all, without exception, received either civilian or augment imprints, causing Mentor Rhea's expression to grow increasingly strained.
Fate might be fickle, but if a class could not muster even twenty combat imprints, it was no small disgrace for its instructor.
The eleventh to be called—was Jenson.
He was one of the class's standouts, and Rhea naturally placed great hopes upon him.
She walked to his side, placed a hand on his shoulder, and murmured,
"Jenson—this time, win us some honor. Let fate carve your edge into the world."
Jenson nodded, replying with a quiet smile, "I will, Mentor."
Then, he stepped onto the stairway leading to the Vocation Stone.
Standing before it, he closed his eyes and felt the ancient aura radiating from the magitech crystal.
Primarch Les raised his staff and began chanting an ancient, sacred incantation.
From the heavens above, a stream of milky-white radiance poured down, engulfing Jenson entirely.
At that very moment—
"—ROAR!"
A primeval, imperious dragon's cry exploded across the skies, shaking the very stones of the Academy Plaza beneath their feet.
The sound rolled like thunder across the nine heavens, silencing every murmur in an instant.
All eyes turned toward the boy shrouded in holy light.
Such a phenomenon was unheard of—only the awakening of a hidden profession could stir the world into such a celestial response!
Then, a beam of light more brilliant than the sun erupted from beneath Jenson's feet, spearing upward through the sea of clouds.
The heavy cloud cover split apart with a resounding crack, and a raging wind swept across the entire city.
"Look—there!" someone cried out.
Amid the surging brilliance, the pillar of light swelled and stretched, taking form—becoming a colossal dragon of pure light, a hundred meters from snout to tail.
Its scales gleamed like molten gold, and its twin eyes burned like coronas of the sun.
It wheeled and roared above the heavens, its cry like the shout of ten thousand armies, making every heart below pound wildly.
"A dragon… the supreme creature of legend!"
"Fool, it's a Vocation Phenomenon! He's triggered the descent of a hidden profession!"
"A hidden profession… tied to a dragon? I can't even imagine what his future will be like!"
An elder mentor spoke in a grave tone:
"Ten years ago, someone awakened the Dragon's Shadow during their vocation change. That person became a Dragonblood Warrior, their veins filled with draconic power, their strength enough to split mountains. Today, they stand among the kingdom's greatest champions…"
"Could this boy be the next heir to the dragon's bloodline?"
The light-dragon in the sky circled once, let out a second earth-shaking roar, then dove toward the ground, dissolving into an endless torrent of radiance that crashed into Jenson's body.
With a deafening boom, a violent shockwave swept outward, forcing many to stagger back.
When the brilliance at last faded, Jenson's figure emerged once more—
and behind him lingered the faint, shimmering afterimage of dragon wings, their edges traced with threads of pale golden light.
Yet, the phenomenon was not over—
From the distant spire of the academy, a towering figure suddenly leapt into the air, landing before Jenson with the force of a falling boulder.
He was an elder with hair and beard gone to white, clad in black-and-gold war armor. There was no one present who did not recognize him—
Belmon, the War King, headmaster of the academy, a Second-Transition God of War at Rank Thirty-Eight, and one of Loin Harbor City's most formidable champions.
He seized Jenson's arm in a firm grip, his eyes blazing with barely restrained excitement.
"—Your profession… what is it?
A Dragonblood Warrior… or perhaps… a Dragon-Tongue Mage?!"