No timer. No pacing. No sympathy.
We hit the floor.
Grunts echoed through the arena. Bodies shook. Arms failed. Cadets dropped out one by one, cursed, or cried through clenched teeth.
I didn't stop.
Push after push, like a metronome of controlled aggression.
Scars across my knuckles pulled tight with each rep.
Then sit-ups. Then endurance holds. One drill after another.
No water. No break.
Just war.
Eventually, the instructor called the next phase.
"Cadets, move to the central line. You'll now be sorted into temporary training squads based on combat type."
A secondary officer stepped forward with a list and began calling names.
"Long-range combat—group A."
"Magic and utility—group B."
"Support and healers—group C."
"Close combat—group D."
My name landed here.
Group D.
I walked over in silence.
Three others were already standing there. They watched me with cautious interest.
The first was a tall, blond guy with a polished axe on his back and a jaw too proud for someone his age.
His name was Alric Veil.
The second, a wiry girl with dark hair tied into a battle knot, eyes sharp like she analyzed everything as a threat.
Her name was Rheya Dusk.
The third stood silent, expression unreadable—broad shoulders, clenched fists. He looked at me, then looked away.
His name was Torren Malcair.
No words.
Just tension.
But this was only for drills.
As the cadets lined up again, the two instructors stepped forward.
The lean one spoke first. Direct. Military.
"Name's Instructor Veren. If your class is healer, support, or long-range—you're under me."
The broader one cracked his neck, stepping up.
"Instructor Brax. Tank and close-quarters? That's mine."
He scanned the cadets with a grin that never reached his eyes.
Then Brax stepped forward again.
"If you bleed, it's because I let you. If you cry, it's because I didn't hit hard enough."
I listened.
Watched.
I already knew where I belonged.
My class was Berserker.
But my goal was simpler.
Everything that kills fast—I want it in my bones.
Then came the final announcement.
"Final note," Brax said. "When you deploy into live dungeons, you'll be assigned real squads—four-man teams. Tank. Damage. Support. Healer."
"Those of you who think you're special? You better prove it when steel meets spine."
Everyone started looking around.
Some smiled. Some nodded to their close partners.
Then came my name.
"Kaelen," Veren said, glancing at the clipboard. "No assigned team."
A beat passed.
Brax chuckled.
"Ah, right. The solo freak. Guess you're your own team, huh?"
A few cadets smirked. Some whispered. One or two laughed outright.
I didn't react.
Didn't blink.
I simply stared straight ahead.
Unmoved.
Like stone in the middle of a storm.
Let them laugh.
I didn't come here to join them.
I came here to surpass them.