Alden — POV
Morning arrived quietly.
Thin rays of dawn slipped through the dormitory window, brushing against my face with gentle warmth of the dawn sun. I stirred, half-aware, then let out a slow yawn as consciousness returned in reluctant fragments. My hand rose instinctively to rub my eyes, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself the rare luxury of doing absolutely nothing.
Then the day caught up with me.
I pushed myself upright, stretched until my joints protested softly, and stepped out of bed. The Academy dormitory was still quiet at this hour, most students buried in dreams or deliberately ignoring the responsibilities waiting for them beyond their blankets.
After washing up, I dressed in my traveling uniform—simple, durable, and enchanted just enough to resist weather and minor damage. It lacked the flair of Academy attire, but practicality mattered more today.
I stopped before the mirror.
The reflection staring back at me looked calm, composed… and admittedly attractive. I tilted my head, inspecting myself with mock seriousness.
"Damn," I said lightly. "I look so handsome I might get kidnapped by some strange girl with questionable intentions."
The mirror, unfortunately, did not respond.
Satisfied, I reached for a small dagger and slipped it discreetly into my uniform. Missions rarely went according to plan, and relying solely on a storage ring was foolish. Spatial interference, suppression fields, or simple bad luck could render it useless.
A blade you could hold was always reliable.
"Wait," I muttered, pausing mid-step. "I should bring the sword too."
The one I had bought at the market yesterday—after escorting Alicia back to her dormitory. At the time, the purchase had been impulsive. Now, it felt… appropriate.
"Watching Edwin swing his sword around must have rubbed off on me," I added with a faint smirk. "In my past life, I only saw swords behind museum glass. Now I actually get to use one."
I drew the weapon from my storage ring and secured it at my waist.
It wasn't extraordinary. The craftsmanship was solid, the balance decent. Against a B-ranker, it would perform well. Against an A-ranker, it would still be serviceable—assuming skill compensated where raw power did not.
Anything beyond that?
Useless.
Above A-rank lay S-rankers—beings who had surpassed mortal limits entirely. Longevity came naturally to them. Most lived three to four centuries, aging slowly and retaining physical vitality long after ordinary humans would crumble.
SS-rankers existed on an even higher plane.
An SS– ranker could live close to a millennium. SS+ individuals were rumored to exceed two thousand years. True SS-rankers fell somewhere between—monsters wearing human shapes, shaped by time itself.
Even A-rankers could live up to one hundred and fifty years, though age weakened them significantly. S-rankers, however, aged gracefully—remaining strong, sharp, and terrifying until the very end.
Provided they weren't crippled or afflicted by incurable disease.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—most injuries in this world could be healed.
If you could afford it.
Healers were rare, but not impossibly so. Roughly three out of every ten awakened individuals possessed healing abilities. That number sounded generous until one considered population scale. Billions of people meant millions of healers—but high-rank healers were another matter entirely.
And S-rank healers?
Priceless.
This world had no concept of kindness detached from cost. If you could pay, you lived. If you couldn't, you died quietly, forgotten.
Cruel—but honest.
I shook my head lightly, grounding myself.
"Focus."
After tightening my uniform and checking my gear one last time, I walked to the door and opened it. Rather than step into the busy Academy halls, I activated a skill.
[VOID-STEP]
The world folded.
Space warped, and in an instant, I stood beyond the Academy grounds. I preferred it this way—no unnecessary attention, no invasive questions about where I was going so early in the morning.
Academy rules prohibited harming fellow students unless provoked physically. Otherwise, I might have been tempted to punch a few overly curious faces.
I made my way toward the teleportation plaza.
The gate stood at the center like a wound in reality—a spherical distortion of space, swirling with dark blue light. Mana leaked from its edges in visible streams, dense and expensive. The air around it hummed faintly, vibrating against my senses.
So this is a teleportation gate…
I had read about them countless times. Seeing one in person was different. Mana crystals powered these structures—rare resources harvested only from dungeons. Their scarcity made them valuable enough to function as currency in certain nations.
No wonder teleportation wasn't cheap.
I approached the counter, where a beautiful woman sat calmly, her expression professional and practiced. Without hesitation, I placed ten gold coins on the counter.
"One round trip," I said.
She handed me a token—smooth, rune-etched, warm with residual mana. One payment covered departure and return. Efficient.
As I turned away, I muttered quietly to myself, amused, "If you ever transmigrate into a fantasy world, buy the extra token immediately. Don't waste time explaining things to people."
I coughed once, awkwardly.
"So… where was I?"
Ah. Yes.
The gate.
I approached slowly, awe creeping in despite my efforts to remain composed. Reading about portals and standing before one were very different experiences.
After a brief hesitation, I stepped forward.
The sensation was immediate and violent.
My internal organs felt like they were losing their sense of direction, gravity twisting sideways as space reassembled itself around me. When the world stabilized, I staggered forward and barely made it to a nearby bin before emptying my stomach.
"Ugh…"
Apparently, this was common. The staff had thoughtfully placed bins at regular intervals.
After a moment, I straightened, wiped my mouth, and drank from a bottle in my travel bag. Cool liquid settled my stomach, and I exhaled slowly.
Once my vision steadied, I continued walking.
Ahead lay my destination.
The Red Devil Forest.
An unclassified zone.
A variable unknown.
And somewhere within it—
An item waiting to be found.
I smiled faintly.
"Let's see what you're hiding."
And with that, I stepped forward into the unknown.