The lie felt very heavy in Dave's stomach.
Strange silver grass was all around him, swaying in this total quiet that was almost creepy.
The twin suns made the whole place look weird, half-lit with gold and deep red light.
The initial shock of the Awakenings was finally going away, replaced by this tight, electric nervousness.
Dave could see other aspirants gathering in small, awkward groups. Their faces were a mash-up of crazy excitement, bitter disappointment, and totally obvious greed.
Dave kept his eyes down. His hand rested right near his Nexus Interface armband, almost like he was physically shielding the world from the SSS-Grade truth it held.
He watched Ragnar give Bran a hard clap on the back. His loud, booming laugh was the exact opposite of the quiet terror still swimming in the Bran's eyes.
This was his team. A walking fortress of desperate muscle, a pair of sharp eyes, and a heart that was trembling but determined.
And then there was him. The lie!
Just as the scattered groups started getting into loud arguments about what to do next, a loud alarm rang on everyone's wristband at the exact same moment.
There was a point at which some of the aspirants began to panic and they got into loud arguments about what to do next.
As that was going on, a loud alarm rang on everyone's wristband at exactly the same time.
The sound cut through the argument and nervousness of the aspirants. The whole field fell silent instantly.
A voice, sharp and super clear, spoke directly from their wrists.
It was cold, direct, and void of emotion. It was the voice of Chief Instructor Elara Rostova.
"Congratulations, aspirants. You have survived the transition. For most of you, this will be the last easy thing you ever do."
Her words were well articulated. Each word she spoke pierced the heart of the aspirants.
"Your assessment officially begins now. You are all at Level 0. You have exactly two weeks of this world's time to reach Level 2."
"The minimum requirement to be considered a graduate of Vanguard Academy is to leave this initial trial with an Awakened Talent of at least D-Grade.
Those of you who have already hit this standard are... safe, for now. It doesn't end there, your talents can be upgraded."
"Those of you with F-Grades have a chance to climb. Failure to meet the D-Grade minimum by the end of the two weeks will result in your permanent elimination.
We do not carry dead weight back through the Verge."
Uneasy murmurs spread through the crowd as tension began to rise again.
Elimination?
A young lady answered in reflex, "Eliminated as in.... killed? Or disqualified?
Rostova's voice sliced through the murmurs again, sounding even colder than before.
"However, simple survival is not our primary objective. We are not here to create farmers or refugees. We are here to forge weapons for Earth.
Therefore, your performance is being monitored. Your kill counts are being tracked."
The atmosphere completely changed right then.
"Those who perform excellently well will earn special recognition when they return," Rostova continued.
"Bigger kill counts get you many things you can't even imagine at the academy.
Power isn't handed out, it is taken, forcefully. Your final assessment starts now. Good hunting."
The transmission clicked off, leaving a loud, ringing silence. For maybe a second, all two thousand kids stood frozen. Then, the discipline broke completely.
A savage roar exploded from a huge, muscled group who used to call themselves the Iron Vultures back at the academy.
Their leader was a short and bald man, who had just awakened a C-Grade talent. He smiled weirdly, showing a row of yellow teeth.
"You heard her! Time to go hunting!"
With their boots pounding the ground, his crew stampeded into a nearby forest of strange trees.
The still air was torn apart by their battle cries.
They were the first sign of total disorder. They were the ones who enjoyed the brutal chaos of the Blood Bath during the six months of training.
They shouted and cheered, desperate to be the first group of aspirants to spill blood of monsters. The rewards Rostova had mentioned earlier were the only thing on their minds.
Other, smaller groups scattered like sheeps without a shepher, running into the wilderness without any real plan, just a frantic need to kill something to get their D-grade pass.
Amidst the mad rush, Dave's voice came out low and steady. "Hold."
Ragnar, who'd been clenching his huge hands and bouncing on his feet, practically ready to run, glared as he turned to Dave.
"Hold? Are you serious right now? Dave, what are we waiting for, a written invitation? The Vultures are getting a head start on all the easy kills and you want us to just stay here?!"
"Let them," Sophie replied, her voice very solemn.
"Let them be the ones to walk into the first nest of whatever's in there. The number of kills you have doesn't mean anything if you're dead."
He found sense in what Sophie said. He looked at Dave, his frustration showing on his face but also his respect.
"Fine. But we need a plan. What's the move, tactician?"
They leaned in close, quiet and composed.
The distant, fading battle cries of the other aspirants only made their quiet stillness even more obvious.
"First, we figure out how we actually fight together," Dave began.
He pushed himself to sound confident, praying it worked.
"Yeah, we are totally doing this right."
He faced Ragnar. "You're our shield. Your Stoneskin is the only thing that keeps us alive. When we find a target, you go first. You draw its attention, you take the hit."
Ragnar cracked his knuckles and gave a rough smile.
Dave then turned to Sophie. "You're our eyes. Your Tactical Eyes talent is our biggest weapon. You move ahead, you find our targets, and you find their weak spots. You tell us exactly where to hit. You do not jump into the fighting unless you have a guaranteed clean shot."
Sophie gave a short, firm nod.
As he turned to Bran, he softened his gaze slightly.
Meanwhile, Bran listened with desperate focus, his need to contribute fighting against his fear.
"Bran, you're our safety net," Dave reassured him. "Your Minor Fortification is what saves us when the plan goes totally wrong. You don't stand on the front line. You stay right behind Ragnar and you watch.
If Sophie has to strike and something unexpected happens, or if I get pinned down, you give us that extra second of toughness. That one second could be the difference between a simple scratch and a killing blow."
A wave of obvious relief washed over Bran. He straightened up. He wasn't the weak one among them, he was their backup in case things went wrong.
"Okayy, I got it," he replied softly.
Finally, all three of them looked at Dave.
"And you?" Sophie asked, her analytical gaze locking him in. "Your 'Attribute Enhancement' is just a quick boost. What's your actual play?"
Dave met her stare, and for a split-second, he thought of the best response to give.
"I'm the spear. I'm the one who moves. Ragnar opens the fight, Sophie finds the spot, and I hit it. Hard.
My enhancement gives me that one short burst of speed or power to end things quickly.
But most importantly, I'll be watching the whole time, calling the shots. I'm the tactician."
It was a role they'd given him based on the brutal efficiency he had shown during the six months training back at the academy, not on the weak D-Grade power he claimed.
They didn't know his true strength, but they trusted his mind. For now, that had to be enough.
"A rock, eyes, a safety net, and a spear," Ragnar rumbled, nodding his big head in satisfaction. "Sounds like a real team."
"Good, seems we are all on the same page" Dave replied, letting out a slow breath.
"Now, we move. Not toward the chaos. Away from it. We find a place we can defend, we find water, and we pick our first target wisely. We hunt on our terms."