Elijah woke up at 7 a.m., the morning sun casting a soft glow through the curtains of his room. After a quick shower, he stood in front of the closet, staring at the neatly arranged white camp uniforms. There were nine sets in total, each spotless and neatly folded. With a sigh, he grabbed one and changed.
When he walked into the living room, he found Visconti and Kieran sitting on the couch, their expressions tense as they bickered back and forth. On the table in front of them was a modest breakfast spread: bread, cheese, an assortment of jams, tea, and juice.
Elijah grabbed a slice of bread, spreading strawberry jam on it as he joined them. It was rare to see the two interacting this much, even if it was through constant sniping.
"What time does your class start?" Kieran asked casually, glancing between them.
"Eight," both Elijah and Visconti replied simultaneously.
Kieran snorted. "Figures."
Elijah leaned back on the couch and turned to Visconti. "Can I ask you something?"
Visconti raised a brow. "Go ahead."
Elijah hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Aren't the 17 Families supposed to be exempt from joining the Corps? I mean, they operate just like the Corps themselves, right? And as far as I know, the Zenon family is based in District 3. Why are you even here?"
Visconti paused, his expression unreadable. Then, with a wry smile, he said, "Ah, family stuff. You know how it is—politics, power struggles, and all that. The Zenon family is... complicated. It's bigger than most of the other 17 Families, with far more branches. More branches mean more problems."
He paused, sipping his tea thoughtfully. "And by problems, I mean assassination attempts."
Kieran and Elijah both froze, their expressions turning serious.
"That's... all," Visconti finished lightly, as if discussing the weather.
Neither of them said another word after that, an awkward silence falling over the room until the clock struck 8 a.m.
They each left for their respective classes, heading in different directions. The buildings for each role were spread across the camp, with about a seven-minute walk between them.
Elijah took his sword with him as he made his way to the Swordsman Training Hall. The building was large and somewhat barren, with an open, cavernous interior. No decorations or equipment adorned the space—just smooth stone walls and a polished floor, giving it the air of a dojo.
When Elijah arrived, only seven students were present, himself included. He recalled that there were supposed to be 11 Swordsmen in total. Perhaps the others were late.
Noticing the lack of chairs, Elijah simply sat on the ground, his sword resting across his lap.
The student beside him, a lean boy with sharp features, was polishing his sword. The rhythmic movement of the cloth against the blade was oddly soothing.
After a short while, an unfamiliar man entered the room.
"Hello, everyone." The man's deep voice cut through the low hum of chatter. "I'm Officer Oreon, a Level 9 Officer, and I'll be your instructor."
Oreon was tall and sharp-featured, with jet-black hair and an air of authority.
"Before we begin, let's talk about swords," he began, pacing in front of the group. "As you know, there are many types of swords, and each one caters to a different style. Your choice of weapon should match your comfort and abilities. But here's the thing: Gift users, or Espers as you're called, rarely use weapons. Most of you rely entirely on your Gifts. That's a mistake."
The students exchanged glances.
"Why? Because your powers aren't absolute. Let me remind you: every gift has its own weakness. That's where weapons come in—specifically, imbued weapons and shards."
Oreon held up a sword with a faint glow around its blade.
"Imbued weapons," he continued, "are ordinary items that Espers enhance using their gifts, making them an extension of their abilities. Shards, however, are different. These are naturally imbued items, containing their own gifts. For example, a shard imbued with earth magic can grant its wielder earth-based abilities, even if their original gift is something else entirely."
The students murmured in surprise.
"Shards are rare, though. Extremely rare. Some are sold, some passed down through families. But sometimes... shards choose their owners."
Oreon smiled, his eyes narrowing in amusement as he surveyed the group. "Speaking of shards, it looks like we have two students here who possess them."
The room fell silent as everyone glanced around.
"You, polishing your sword," Oreon said, pointing at the student beside Elijah. "How did you obtain your shard?"
The student looked up briefly. "It's been passed down in my family," he replied dryly, his tone void of interest.
Oreon nodded, then turned his attention to Elijah. "And you, the one with bed hair."
Elijah blinked in confusion, looking behind him to see who Oreon was referring to.
"No, you," Oreon clarified, pointing. "The one with the red eyes."
Elijah's lips twitched in irritation. 'Bed hair? Style is clearly wasted on this man.'
"I obtained mine through... the latter method," he said carefully, unwilling to elaborate.
If he said that he also obtained it from his family then they will get suspicious, after all his background was stated that there's no Espers in his family.
Oreon studied him for a moment before nodding in approval.
"Interesting." Oreon's eyes gleamed with curiosity but didn't press further
With a snap of his fingers, a massive rock appeared in the center of the room. It stood nearly nine feet tall, its surface rough and unyielding.
"Your first task is simple: break this rock into pieces and give me the magic stone inside it." Oreon smiled again, his tone far too cheerful. "But let me warn you, this isn't any ordinary rock. Inside is a magic stone, which makes it exceptionally durable. I'll give you... let's say a week. Good luck."
And with that, Oreon turned on his heel and strode out of the room without another word.
The students stared at the rock in stunned silence.
"Is... is he serious?" one of them muttered.
Another groaned. "How are we supposed to break that?"
Elijah sighed, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. A week to shatter a magic-infused boulder. Wonderful.
The room buzzed with murmurs of disbelief as the students began strategizing—or despairing.