The hall was deathly silent.
Moments later, Commander Lockhart of the Expeditionary Legion broke the stillness with a shout.
"Your Majesty! We don't have enough men!""The Recon Corps has confirmed a disturbance in the Withering Lands! After the next Fireday, the Black Tide will arrive!""We'll suffer catastrophic losses!"
Then came another voice—Cross, the burly commander of the City Defense Legion.
"The southwest front is under immense pressure! Our last special operation stirred the ancient horrors in the Swamp of Despair and the Forest of Nightmares! The balance of the Deadlands is broken—Ironclad Fortress is on the brink!"
The King's tone remained calm."Send the Fire-Guards and the Flame Priests from the Sanctum to reinforce them."
A heavy pause.
Cross's booming voice shrank to a hesitant rumble."They are indeed powerful… If the Ironclad Fortress had their support, it would ease much of the burden, but—"
Archbishop Horus, clad in white robes, suddenly raised his voice."No! Absolutely not! They are the might of the Royal District! Their sole duty is to guard the Sacred Fire—"
The King smiled faintly."Little Horus, are you suggesting that I cannot guard the Sacred Fire myself? That I am not strong enough?"
Horus went silent at once.
Of course the King was the strongest of them all.He was one with the Sacred Fire—granted its greatest power, yet also bound by its greatest curse. He could never stray from its radiance.
By the oldest tradition, the King was the true Guardian of the Flame.
To imagine any monster—or Doomsday cultist—breaching the Sanctum, slaying the King, and extinguishing the Sacred Fire was almost impossible.
Yet the Fire was their heart. Guarding it obsessively had become instinct—an unquestioned constant in every strategic plan.
To suddenly withdraw its elite defenders was almost unthinkable.
The hall sank into uneasy silence, minds turning to process what the King had said.
Then Lockhart roared again."Still not enough! Your Majesty, the western front and Star City are under heavy attack! When the Black Tide comes, we can't possibly hold!"
The King's smile did not waver."The city's Holy Orders and the Night-Watchers can reinforce them."
Horus nearly jumped out of his seat."No! Impossible! If they leave—what of the capital itself?"
"I am in the capital," said the King, still smiling. "Do you not trust me?"
The room exchanged uneasy glances.
At last, a nervous magistrate stammered,"B-but, Your Majesty… You can guard the Sacred Fire, yes—but you cannot patrol every street of the capital. Monsters breed in darkness and shadow; they could wreak havoc on our order."
The King chuckled softly."Have you forgotten? We have another force—one far stronger than you think."
Everyone looked up at once, especially the War Ministry officers."What force?"
The King turned his gaze toward Theodore, Headmaster of Kingworth Academy, and said with a warm smile,"The students of Kingworth—the next generation of flame-bearers. They shall defend the capital."
In the end, the King's proposal was accepted—reluctantly, but accepted nonetheless.
At first, the reaction had been furious. The students of Kingworth Academy were their future, the seeds of the Flame.Every graduation season, the legions and ministries competed fiercely for graduates. Some departments even drafted recruitment plans for the freshmen.
Since the new King had ascended the throne, the Kingdom of Trorian had pursued constant expansion. Prosperity grew—but so did manpower shortages.Every institution was starving for recruits.
Headmaster Theodore had faced endless demands and threats to shorten the academic cycle—some officials even suggested graduating students every six months instead of once per year.
And now the King wanted to send these not-yet-grown students into live combat patrols?Madness.
But then he revealed his plan.
The execution was elegant, the risks minimized, the benefits immense.
And that temptation—to "have it all"—was too great to resist.
So the proposal passed. Implementation was left to the War Ministry.
Expectations and dread mingled in every heart. No one knew whether this bold gamble would lead the young Kingdom of Trorian to greater glory—or plunge it back into the gray, frozen darkness of the past.
Yet all believed one thing:If they survived this trial, the dawn would come.The crimson flower of life would bloom again upon this dead and ashen land.
Just as foretold in Tesslivian's Prophecy—
"When the thirsting king arises, the darkness will end."
Tesslivian Calendar, Year 1325 — Third Month, Third Day
Rod declined Greenhair's invitation to visit the fairy bar Spirit Sync in the campus market ("Come feel the union of souls," he'd said with a wink).
He also turned down Wayne's offer to attend the freshman banquet at The Starry Dine.
Even Kashan's "Spirit Breathing Intensive Workshop" he skipped.
Conventional cultivation exercises did nothing for him—his spiritual power only grew when he lit new stars.
What he needed now was combat technique, pure and simple—his weakest point.
Fortunately, his "special student" status finally proved useful.The Academy's red-armband administrator arranged a personalized training course.
—Firearms Combat.
It was, according to the instructor, the optimal solution for his current condition.
And that instructor was none other than Mina, the Academy's senior researcher and voluptuous, endlessly patient "big sister" figure.
Maybe she was too beautiful, or maybe just too confident—but Mina was an absolute sharpshooter.Even with enhancers, Rod could manage seven shots in twelve seconds.Mina?Seven in one second, each one a perfect bull's-eye.
It left Rod completely stunned.
Under her careful instruction, his technique improved drastically.He had never realized there were so many fine details in shooting—controlled bursts, heavy shots, soft shots, alternating tempos, and her signature rhythm: nine strong, one light.
The Raven spirit-gun Lauren had given him turned out to be far more advanced than he'd thought.
According to Mina, it was a limited-edition masterpiece forged by the Simmons Factory. Production had ceased after Year 1301—it was too time-consuming and expensive, despite its power and versatility.Mass-produced standard weapons simply made more sense for the army.
"But," Mina said with a teasing smile, pressing a cool fingertip to his cheek, "the Engineering Division has bigger, meaner, stronger spirit guns.Once you become an active combatant, you'll be eligible to request one from the War Ministry.
"So don't worry. Everything you're learning now—you'll use later."
Rod's eyes brightened. "Can I apply now?"
"Patience." Mina chuckled. "You're still too weak. Stronger weapons will overwhelm your control. The Raven will serve you well for at least five years."
Rod sighed.If only he could bring a high-grade weapon into his dream world, his survival odds would skyrocket.But weapons here came with strict requirements—for example, the Raven demanded at least 12 units of spirit-energy just to charge.Anything stronger would need far more.
"Don't drift off," Mina said softly, slipping the gun from his hands. She helped him out of his sweat-soaked jacket, fingertips brushing across his chest in mock inspection."Come on," she said with a playful grin. "Let big sister check your condition."
Rod rubbed his nose, awkward.Mina was beautiful, yes—but his taste leaned toward gentle, smaller girls.Still, a man under someone's roof learns when to bow his head.For survival, even big sisters could be… acceptable.
Sadly, none of them could save him from the real problem—the fading blue star that haunted him like an illness.
Rod suspected it would go dark before he could earn the Tier-One Star of Kingworth medal.If it did, he'd lose the advantage of his two fire-seeds, his ranking would plummet, and the medal would slip away.
From there, the dominoes would fall—and death would follow soon after.
He stepped onto the detection platform and placed his palm on the crystal sphere.
"Hmm…" Mina murmured, studying the readings. "Maximum spirit intensity, seventy-seven marks. Output, eighteen. Pressure level six. Estimated capacity range: 6.5 to 22.1 thousand marks. Rod, have you been overworking yourself?" Her tone softened, eyes full of concern.
Rod's heart sank.It was the blue star, weakening again.
But he couldn't explain without revealing his secret—that he wasn't truly one of the Flame-bearers, nor a registered Star-sequence at all.
"A little," he said calmly. "Just busy. Six core courses, seven electives—I'm aiming for top grades."
"Don't push so hard." Mina smiled gently, noting down his data."Your spirit-ascension ritual is almost ready—scheduled for next Monday. Rest until then, all right?"
Rod nodded. That was at least some good news; it would boost his chances for the medal.But his worry didn't fade.
Thirteen days remained until the Star of Kingworth selection.Would the blue star last that long?
Should he risk it?
He hesitated, lost in thought—until the doors of the Blackdell Training Hall slammed open.
The red-armband instructor strode in with Shore and three other lackeys in tow.
Spotting Rod, he grinned."Perfect. Saves me the trouble of finding you."
He turned and raised his voice, echoing through the dome.
"All special students, cease training and assemble! I have an important announcement!"
The hall was vast and circular, two levels high, with a central arena and dozens of adjoining chambers.At this hour, only special students trained here. The red-armband's voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly.
Students leapt down or climbed up to gather around him—over two hundred in total, chatting, laughing, radiating confidence.Some were bizarre in appearance, but no one cared.
Only Rod, the new face, drew curious looks.
Clusters formed naturally—Rod noticed one group was composed entirely of stunning young women.
"Ahem!"The red-armband coughed, snapping Rod from distraction.
"I've just received notice from Headmaster Theodore. Starting tomorrow, the Academy will conduct live-combat training exercises. Details as follows—"
"All squads will register by department and group. The Academy will assign patrol routes. Students must operate at designated times and locations in four-person patrol teams, including at least one instructor or senior student. Patrol difficulty will match team capability."
"Command authority during patrol belongs to the War Ministry. Disobedience, desertion, or unauthorized departure from post will result in severe penalties—major demerits, loss of credits, or expulsion."
"Note: First-year students may patrol only within campus grounds."
He finished reading and pulled out a thick stack of forms.
"Special students follow a separate process. Your exact assignments will be reviewed directly by the Royal War Ministry. These are your application forms—fill in all data truthfully. False information will be severely punished."
The hall erupted in excitement.
"Don't push!""You rip mine, you pay for it!""Whoever's elbowing me loses credits!"
Amid the chaos, the red-armband finally reached Rod, flashing a self-satisfied grin.
"Rod, you're a special case. I've already canceled your application—you're exempt. No need to thank me."
He barely finished the sentence before noticing the look Rod gave him—a look sharp enough to kill.