September 2, 3108
The Aether Control lesson started in the morning in the same auditorium as the previous class. No one had assigned seats; it was an unspoken rule that whoever arrived first could choose their preferred spot.
The competition for seats was most intense near Astrel and Nero—the two points of attraction in the room—as well as in the back rows, where students who were either disinterested in the lesson or too tired from the admission celebrations gathered.
My seat, however, remained quite free, as it was too far from all the public's focal points.
At one point, a woman entered the room. She had dark blonde hair and black eyes and was dressed in a shirt and skirt—one that ended rather abruptly after it began.
Immediately, I noticed a shift in the room's atmosphere. A large portion of the male students fixated on her, and I could hear swallowing sounds coming from different corners of the auditorium.
I can't say I wasn't affected. Her beauty was undeniable—a smooth and elegant face, a slim waist, and thighs that awakened primal instincts in most men.
"Good morning," she began, her voice soft yet clear. "My name is Selina Rimberford. During the first year, I will be your Aether Control teacher."
Her words did nothing to calm the students. In fact, for some, it seemed to make matters worse. Her voice carried a delicate charm that almost danced on the ears.
"So, we will start with a little test," she announced. "Please, everyone, use your breathing techniques."
It took noticeably longer for the room to stabilize compared to last time. As mana circuits activated, the space gradually filled with a ManaVentis of all colors. Still, the stability among most of the students—especially the boys—left much to be desired.
"Alright," she continued, "now hold on as long as you can. This test is not graded, so do not push yourselves beyond your limits."
The lights dimmed, the room once again enveloped by the active Mana. A hologram emerged, but unlike the previous lessons—where graphs and statistical data were displayed—this one began with a series of provocative images.
First, a shirtless man appeared, his form on full display. Then the hologram shifted to a woman in the same state. The images continued for several minutes, transitioning between various figures, both male and female, in similar poses—each intended to elicit a reaction.
From my seat, I noticed that the Mana—the faint lights caused by aether circuits—began to flicker and vanish. One student's faltering concentration seemed to trigger a chain reaction, spreading instability throughout the room.
Yet, strangely, it didn't affect me much. The images were certainly pleasant to look at—beautiful women with perfect forms—but that was the extent of it. As long as my breathing and heartbeat remained steady, my concentration held firm.
For me, this was just another exercise.
After somewhere around 100 of the students' active Mana lights went out, the hologram abruptly changed. Instead of static images, a video appeared.
In the video, a person was torturing a child—throwing it, kicking it, mocking it in every way possible.
At that moment, the entire atmosphere in the auditorium shifted.
Different reactions erupted across the room. Some students became visibly enraged, their aetheric energy flaring up violently. Others were on the verge of tears, their mana circuits flickering, destabilized by the weight of their emotions. For many, if they couldn't return to a stable state quickly, their Aether faded completely.
What struck me as strange was my own reaction.
Why does it not affect me, at all?
I knew what I was seeing was horrific. I understood that the actions in the video were vile—that no living creature deserved such cruelty. Yet... I felt nothing.
No anger. No sadness.
My body didn't respond. Not a single muscle twitched. My breathing remained steady, my pulse calm. My facial expression hadn't shifted even slightly. It was as if I had been hollowed out—any trace of emotion lost somewhere along the way.
This is strange.
The hologram finally faded, replaced by sunlight filtering in from outside. The room's collective tension was broken by Mrs. Selina's voice as she addressed the class.
"As you could see, even if you possess great stamina and can keep your circuit active, the moment you lose control over your emotions, everything can change."
From my seat, I could hear stifled sobs in the distance. A few students were gripping their fists or the tables in front of them, holding on to their last scraps of control. One boy had bitten his lip so hard it was bleeding.
"Train yourselves to control your emotions during your free time," Selina continued. "This skill will help you immensely in the future."
She paused briefly, her voice shifting into a more instructional tone.
"Regarding the Aether Control curriculum for this semester: we'll focus on theory. We'll study a bit of anatomy and the properties of each type of Aether. We'll also cover breathing techniques and how they work on a fundamental level."
"For today's class, that's all. Does anyone have any questions?"
A boy, who looked ready to explode with aggression, shot his hand into the air.
"The video you watched isn't real," Selina said, preemptively answering the question he hadn't even spoken.
The boy froze, then slowly lowered his hand, as if the confirmation alone drained the fight from him.
No one else dared raise a hand.
"No one?" Selina asked, scanning the room. "Then have a nice day."
And with that, she turned on her heels and left the room—unaffected, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
The room was left scarred, a lingering tension hanging in the air. For many, the scene had been traumatizing, leaving emotional and psychological wounds.
As for me?
It didn't affect me at all.
It means everything is fine.
The physical training session was held on an open sports field, where we were met by three instructors. Two of them I already recognized—Mr. Ronald and the man who had assisted during the physical testing.
The third instructor stood in the center, a figure unlike any of the others. He was the oldest teacher I had seen so far—bald, with a short white beard. His advanced age was evident to the naked eye, yet the impression he gave was unshakable: he could send you to the afterlife with a single move if he wished.
Once everyone had gathered at the stadium, the elderly gentleman's voice boomed across the field. It was thick and metallic, like the sound of bending iron.
"All those oriented toward the tank specialty will follow Mr. Ronald on my right. All those specializing in the scout specialty, follow Mr. Michael to my left. Knights will remain here."
At his command, the groups began to form and split apart:
100 students moved toward the scout group.
200 students joined the tank group.
The largest group—300 students—remained as knights.
The instructors led their respective groups in different directions, leaving the knights behind in the field.
I followed the scout group, moving at a steady jog—not too fast, not too slow. Before long, the horizon revealed an improvised forest.
As we approached, the training area became clearer. The forest was littered with various obstacles, traps, and targets of all shapes and sizes. Beside the entrance, a small warehouse stood, its double doors shut for the moment.
Our instructor stopped in front of the warehouse and turned to face us.
"Hello," he began. "My name is Michael Leafblade, your instructor for the scout specialty. I will be responsible for training you in acquiring information, spatial orientation, and survival in exceptional situations. Questions?"
A hand shot up from the crowd.
"Will we not train in combat?"
Michael's expression remained firm.
"While you'll spend most of your time training with me, each of you will also rotate between the three instructors, where you will be trained in different disciplines."
Another question followed: "Will we train only in this forest?"
"In these territories," Michael replied, "there are other subzones. You'll train in environments such as the desert, high-altitude areas, and abandoned buildings. During these exercises, you are allowed to use any means necessary to complete your assigned missions, including aetheric armor."
He paused. "Any other questions?"
The group remained silent.
"In that case," Michael continued, "please enter the warehouse. You are permitted to take only one set of weapons and a tracking bracelet. The bracelet will determine your location in real time. If you face an exceptional situation, you may activate it, and all nearby specialized personnel will be notified to assist you. However, once the training session ends, you are required to return both the equipment and the bracelet to the warehouse."
With that, the double doors swung open.
The students rushed forward to collect their equipment, but the moment 30 people had entered, Michael raised his hand and called out:
"Stop. The room isn't large enough for all 100 of you at once."
Reluctantly, the first group began to exit, making way for the next set of students.
While waiting for my turn, a familiar boy approached me.
"Hi, Kai!"
"Hello, Liam."
"How are you?"
"Quite okay. How about you?"
"Ahhh, bro, life is hard. I almost melted when I looked at Mrs. Selina."
"I understand you. You don't meet women like that often."
It was true. Even considering the many festivities I had attended—filled with people of all classes, including women who spent a family's annual budget on their skin treatments—none looked as fascinating as her.
The only woman who came to mind as comparable was the elf I had encountered during my first mission.
"How was the physical test? You must've gotten at least a B in speed, I'm sure."
Only one? I have three, but it's better not to say that.
"I have two—stamina and speed."
"Ohoho, you're talented, Kai! But still, you've got a way to go before you catch up to the fantastic man standing next to you! I've got not only a B in stamina but also a B+ in speed!"
So Plus and minus are considered separate grades.
I shrugged. "Can you explain to me how all this grading? I haven't figured it out yet."
Liam smirked. "Do you seriously not know how this system works?"
"Sure, man. So the grades you see on your personal page are the averages between your results with and without armor."
"That's obvious. What about the letters and pluses?"
"Here's the deal:
D- is the lowest possible grade. Anything lower than that means you're a non combatant
A is the maximum grade.
To complete Year 1, all your values need to be C or higher. If not, you'll need to re-test or they will not let you pass. If you achieve an A, it means you have peak physical ability in that category."
"What about the pluses?" I asked.
Liam grinned. "Ah, the + and -? They're considered different grades from their base letters. For example, a B+ is stronger than a B but weaker than an A-. Simple enough, right?"
"And what about more advanced people ? How do they get graded for higher ranks?"
"Well, these are only valid for ManaUsers, that devices can't measure higher abilities—like a ManaWarrior or more advanced ranks."
"Then what's the point of all this?" I pressed.
Liam chuckled. "To get your Altgard diploma, every characteristic must be at least an A. If not, you need to confirm that you've advanced to a ManaWarrior. That's the standard."
Just as Liam finished explaining, the instructor called for the next group to enter.
"Let's go together," Liam said, already moving ahead of me.
Inside, we found ourselves in a brightly lit room with shelves full of weapons. It reminded me of a construction materials store, with boxes neatly stacked and labeled with the model names of each weapon.
Unlike ornate or custom weapons I'd seen before, these were simple, functional tools, neatly organized but otherwise unremarkable.
"Where do you need to go?" Liam asked.
"To the area with ranged weapons," I replied.
"Cool. I need melee, so we'll meet at the exit once we've found our stuff."
"Good."
I headed toward the section with bows, where fewer people were gathered. Most of the crowd seemed drawn to the melee weapons area. The selection of bows here was broad: recurve bows, longbows, and shortbows—each varying in material and design, already adapted to different combat styles.
I gravitated toward the recurve bows.
Most likely, I'll end up cycling through all of these in time, so it doesn't really matter which one I choose now.
Then, my eyes fell on a box filled with folding bows. They were constructed of metal, and the bowstrings were tightly secured into the limbs. Curious, I picked one up to figure out how it worked.
Its limbs were tightened in two places: the thicker part extended slightly ahead of the riser, while the shorter segments were locked in place farther down. The bowstring remained taut, its tension clearly dependent on the structure of the limbs.
How does it works?
I glanced at the instructions on the box: "To unfold, make a sudden movement backward, then forward."
Placing my hand on the riser, I pulled it back sharply. The thicker parts of the limbs snapped into position with a smooth motion. Then, with a forward push, the shorter limbs locked into place.
Klank.
The sound of a mechanism confirmed it was properly tightened.
Not bad.
The bow felt sturdy in my hands, requiring less effort than steelflag but still maintaining considerable power. The materials were high quality and stable, which gave me confidence in its durability.
Satisfied, I grabbed a quiver and a set of arrows, selecting the ones that looked decent enough. To collapse the bow, I pressed a button on the upper limb, and it neatly folded back into its compact state. I secured it to my back using a bow sling from the box.
When I returned to the entrance, Liam was already there, two daggers strapped to his belt.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
I grabbed one of the bracelets from a nearby box, fastening it to my wrist.
"Now I am."
"Then let's go."
We headed off together.