Several days slipped by in a blur of lectures and solitary drills before the date of their second training session finally arrived. The academy itself seemed to recognize the looming Vazrun Island Test: morning lectures were pared down to essentials. Most classes were dismissed before the afternoon bell, and even elective seminars were postponed until after the exam, freeing every scholar with a shred of responsibility to prepare. Squad #69 seized the opportunity. From dawn’s first pale light to the fading glow of dusk, they drilled formations and simulated engagements in the private training hall, each cycle smoothing the rough edges of their coordination. By the time the sun had reached its apex, their limbs burned with exertion but their movements had begun to fall into a quiet harmony. Now, beneath the shade of a small grove just outside the training chamber, they rested. On rough-hewn benches and woven mats, they shared a simple meal designed more for sustenance. Soft millet cakes infused with spiced root extract, thin slices of cured venison and translucent dumplings stuffed with chanterelle and dusk-fruit, all accompanied by steaming cups of ginger-and-mint infusion. The food was light, but nourishing enough to refill their depleted reserves. Yerin moved among them, her composure unshaken even in repose. From the leather pouch at her hip she produced several crystalline vials of Revatelise—a pale emerald elixir that shimmered with suspended motes of restorative mana and energy. One by one, the squad raised the vials, their tired eyes reflecting the potion’s glow, and drank deeply. Within heartbeats, the tightness in their muscles eased. Arlok broke the calm with a grin, stretching out his arms and letting out a satisfied sigh as he leaned back against a shaded stone. “I think we’re progressing well,” he said, his voice tinged with a mix of genuine pride and disbelief. “We managed to take down 4 Lesser-Rank Voidspawns now, and even though a Wretched-Rank almost tore our formation apart, we pulled through in the end. Bit rough, sure, but we’re getting there!” Shima, seated cross-legged with her back perfectly straight, raised a brow without turning her head. In her usual deadpan, she added, “Huh? I’ll start celebrating once they stop tossing you around.” Her tone was flat, her expression unchanging but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of her lips. Arlok blinked, then burst into laughter. “Easy there, shorty, I was just testing how much pain I can take. All for the sake of endurance.” But Ruvian didn’t quite absorb their conversation. He had barely touched his dumpling. His thoughts drifted somewhere else. ‘We’re getting there…’ In the silence behind his eyes, Ruvian recalled a distant memory… Julian Rozenberg, the ever-effortless prodigy of Class A, carving through 5 Lesser-Rank Voidspawn alone without so much as a bead of sweat. Just raw swordsmanship and magic to topple down the Voidspawn. Their gap is still wide. Then there was Calyra and Rosalin who could easily deal with the monstrosities of the Wretched-Rank alone by themselves as well. That was the scale of power he was up against. The reality gnawed at him, not out of envy, but clarity. A mountain didn’t care if a pebble was trying to climb it. And yet, if he was going to survive this world, much less shape it… then the distance between here and there wasn’t just wide. It was vast. And eventually, he would have to cross it anyway. Then, they resumed training not long after. Their bodies were sore, bandaged, and bruised, and yet they still pushed themselves. Their movements, once clumsy and hesitant, now flowed with the rough edges of real familiarity. Spells connected without needing to be shouted. You could be reading stolen content. Head to NovelHub for the genuine story. Arlok’s poleaxe strikes were timed better with Shima’s flanking maneuvers. Horren no longer stumbled in his transitions between ranged support and reactive shielding. They fought again. And again. They managed to raise their level against 6 enemy counts for Lesser-Rank. But they were still not there yet to go against 2 Wretched-Ranks. By the time the final illusion corpse faded into the ether, it was past midnight. Follow current novels on 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝✶𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮✶𝓷𝓮𝓽 The chamber stank of sulfur and sweat, but the mood had changed. They weren’t triumphant, but they weren’t floundering either. The next morning came. Ruvian walked the corridor alone, the faint ache in his limbs a familiar companion now. There were six days remaining until the departure for the Vazrun Island Test. The scent of misted stone and parchment came as he stepped into the Class E lecture hall. The usual disarray was present; scholars slouched in their chairs, half-awake, idly talking. But something was different today. Conversations were quiet but charged, and whispers were leaking through the room. Ruvian didn’t pay much mind at first. He had grown accustomed to the sound of inconsequence. Noise, after all, often masks nothing of substance. But then… he heard it. “Did you hear what happened yesterday?” “No way… Why the hell didn’t the official instructor stop the match?” “I know, right? It’s terrible.” “I was there. Dammit, I couldn’t even keep watching.” The words, at first meaningless fragments, began to thread themselves together. Ruvian’s eyes narrowed slightly, his thoughts slowing with sudden clarity. …She? Infirmary? Match? A quiet alarm stirred in the back of his mind, reaching for something half-buried. ‘Wait… don’t tell me.’ He closed his eyes, a bitter realization drawing its shape within the dark. ‘Fuck!’ He cursed, louder than he ever did. Full of regret. In the original version of the story, there had been a sequence buried deep within the quieter arcs of the academy days. The elective—Magic Combat. Zian and Vanessa, or her undercover name—Violet, had both been enrolled in it. And in that version, during a routine sparring session, Violet was singled out. Not by chance, but by deliberate malice. One of Julian Rozenberg’s lackeys had challenged her. Vanessa, trying to stay hidden, trying to live as Violet and not as Vanessa Eldrienne, had chosen not to fight back. She had intended to take the loss quietly, to let the match end with dignity and disappear back into obscurity. But the instructor never called the match. Because, in the novel, he’d been bribed. The assault dragged on. One-sided. Humiliating. Painful even. She had no strength left to protect herself, and no allies to stand beside her. And just before she collapsed—Zian, the protagonist, had intervened. That had been the catalyst. A turning point in her future role. But now… Zian wasn’t here. He was missing. And Ruvian… Ruvian had forgotten about the event. He’d signed up for the Magic Combat elective precisely for this moment. To stop it. To prevent this from ever happening. But his schedule had shifted. The squad’s training had demanded everything from him—hours, focus, even time, which led him to forget about this event. ‘That match must’ve happened yesterday…’ He clenched his hand into a fist beneath the desk, silent. He had missed it, and because of his carelessness, Violet had paid the price. The morning lecture went on as scheduled—an intensive breakdown of wilderness survival, tailored specifically for the hazards of Vazrun Island: Tracking residual mana trails, identifying toxic bloom fauna, basic shelter conjuration, and how to navigate when even your compass turns against you. But the words barely grazed the surface of his mind. Ruvian couldn’t focus. They hovered elsewhere towards Violet. ‘Will she be alright?’ The question came uninvited; it reverberated heavily, too significant to dismiss. If her injuries were serious… then, it would be bad enough that it might potentially prevent her from participating in the Vazrun Island Test. However, the ramifications wouldn’t end with a missed exam. Her entire progression, her ranking… all of it stood on a fragile precipice. ‘Does her squad teammates even know?’ He exhaled through his nose, barely audible. A dozen branching possibilities tangled in his head, some realistic, others absurd, but all of them concluded the same way: with too many unknowns, and too little time. So, he chose the one thing he could still do. He stood up when the bell finally rang, the clatter of chairs and chatter of scholars fading around him. He would go and see her himself. Because speculation was a coward’s remedy. He needed to have a solid confirmation of her condition rather than making assumptions. Ruvian deeply sighed. Guilt and regret slowly crept inside his heart. ‘Please… let it be nothing serious.’