But Carole wasn't done with him yet. "Wait."
Though not loud, her voice was commanding enough to make him stop in his tracks. She stepped forward, her eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded him with curiosity.
"Tell me," she called out, her tone softer yet still full of authority, "What's your name, Number 37?"
A ripple of shock passed through the gathered recruits. Calling a slave by their number was standard, but requesting a recruit's name was a sign of respect. For a captain to ask for a recruit's name was unheard of. Murmurs spread through the group as they exchanged incredulous glances.
Omen turned back toward her, his expression unreadable. "Omen," he answered simply, his voice even and calm.
Carole's gaze lingered on him, studying his face as if committing it to memory.
"Then we shall see what good omen you'd bring to us", she said with a smile.
Omen, however, remained as stoic as ever. He bowed once more before returning to his place among the other recruits, his face betraying no hint of pride or arrogance. But inwardly, he was thinking 'The only omen I will deliver will be a catastrophic one'
…..
Omen remained glued to the ceiling, his body still and tense as he watched the scene unfold beneath him. His mind worked quickly, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. The girl had stripped herself bare and climbed into his bed, lying there as if awaiting his return like a predator setting a trap.
His lips twisted into a grimace of disgust. These infatuations were getting out of hand. Since the day he'd proven his strength by defeating the six-eyed bullock and afterward gaining a captain's acknowledgment, the girls had become relentless, seeing him as some sort of untouchable prize. His sharp looks and prowess in battle only fueled their foolish fantasies. If not for the cursed rules, he'd have snapped their necks without a second thought. Rules. He truly hated them. If not for the stupid imprint he had no reason to suffer like this. Nights like this were becoming too tiring for him, and unfortunately, he couldn't harm them outside of duels. He had already secured the right level of attention he needed, any more and it would be disastrous.
Thankfully [Tree Walker] was a passive ability, so even if he wasn't as flexible or fast in his climbing skills they were still there nonetheless. Silently, he crawled along the ceiling, his body moving with spider-like grace. His sharp senses picked up every shift in the room, every breath, and every rustle of cloth. The girl in his bed shifted under the sheets, getting comfortable as she waited for him. The audacity of it all made his blood boil, though he kept his outward composure calm.
As he moved along the ceiling, he caught sight of another figure—a second girl, lurking near the edge of the room, watching the bed from the shadows. Her face was obscured, but her intentions were clear. She was waiting for her moment, likely hoping to confront the first girl or to make her move once the opportunity presented itself.
Omen felt a surge of irritation. This was getting ridiculous. The room had become a breeding ground for these pathetic infatuations, their minds clouded by lust and delusion. He wasn't here for such trivialities. He had goals—real goals.
His eyes flicked down to the girl in his bed, and for a fleeting moment, a dark thought crossed his mind. It would be so easy to end it—so easy to descend from the ceiling, silent as death, and snap her neck before she even realized he was there. The second girl wouldn't even have time to scream before he took her down too. Two simple, clean kills and the room would return to its normal, quiet state.
But the rules...
Omen ground his teeth. These girls weren't worth the trouble. Instead, he shifted his weight and crept farther along the ceiling toward the far side of the room, his movements [imperceptible]. He pulled out the book he had been reading from underneath his clothes. He had been reading the book using his night vision before the lustful girls suddenly interrupted him.
Omen, still glued to the wall, remained completely calm as chaos unfolded beneath him. His sharp eyes flicked down to the two girls, their once intimate moment now devolved into a ridiculous catfight. The sight of them grappling on the bed, half-naked and furious, might have amused anyone else, but to him, it was just another distraction—another moment of human folly he had no patience for.
The soft thud of boots echoed through the corridor before the staff sergeant barged in, his temper already boiling over. The room went still as the lamp's harsh light swept across the scene, illuminating the ridiculous spectacle. Two girls tangled in each other's limbs on Omen's bed, half the room awake and stifling laughter, and then… him, casually suspended upside down on the wall, unbothered and silent like a lurking shadow.
The sergeant's eyes locked onto Omen, and for a moment, there was a flash of disbelief, followed by immediate understanding. He glanced at the girls on the bed and then up at Omen, who remained impassive, the book still in hand. The sergeant's lips twisted, no doubt torn between anger and reluctant amusement at the absurdity of the scene.
"All of you—a hundred pushups!" he barked, his anger returning in full force. The laughter died immediately, replaced by groans and hasty movements as the recruits dropped to the ground.
"Count out loud!" he bellowed, clearly offended by their previous joviality.
Omen, still perched calmly on the wall, waited until the last of the recruits fell in line before slowly detaching himself from his position, landing soundlessly beside the others. The sergeant's glare followed him, and for a brief moment, their eyes met.
Omen dropped to the ground and began his pushups without complaint, While the others grunted and struggled, he performed the exercise with ease, his body a finely-tuned machine of strength and precision. Before a cockroach suddenly approached him, Kol.
"Hey Omen, could you—"
…..
The male instructor had made everyone extremely enthusiastic, an intense energy crackling in the air as the recruits gathered around the long, oak table, its surface scarred from countless battles. Soon, one by one, they began walking up to the table to view the contents on its surface. The assortment was staggering, swords with blades that shimmered like starlight, spears tipped with obsidian points, shields embossed with the sigils of ancient houses, gauntlets that seemed to hum with latent power, and projectiles that whispered promises of precision and death.
Laughter and shouts of excitement filled the chamber, echoing off the stone walls, as recruits eagerly familiarized themselves with their new weapons. The air was thick with the scent of oiled leather and the metallic tang of steel, a heady mix that ignited their spirits. They swung swords through the air, the whoosh of blades slicing the atmosphere, while others practiced thrust with spears, their faces alight with the thrill of newfound strength.
Omen silently nodded as he felt the connection form between him and the dual scimitars. Like the others around him, he chose weapons he was familiar with. He had trained alongside his siblings when he was five and always listened to the instructors back at him. His body then was weak, but he understood all the theoretical aspects of this particular dual-wielded sword, it was his favorite afterall.
'the weapon is good but the quality is low, it might not last more than a year even' Omen gave the weapon an experimental twirl, watching as the silver curves sliced through the air with a deadly grace. Even now, untrained, he could feel the potential lying beneath the surface.
As he returned to his place, Dahlia stepped forward, eyes glinting with excitement. Her choice was a pair of adamantine gauntlets that allowed her retractable claws to move efficiently, sleek, and wickedly sharp. She tested them with ease, her feline nature perfectly suited to such a weapon. He wanted to talk to her about something important, but he'd never had the opportunity, he much preferred her to Virgo, even Kol was better than Virgo to him.
"Now that you have your weapons," the instructor said, voice loud enough to carry over the murmurs, "you will learn to master them. Training will begin tomorrow at dawn. Be prepared, these weapons are not just for show. They will demand everything from you, and in return, they will give you power."
Omen's grip tightened on the hilts of his scimitars. Power. Yes, that was exactly what he needed. He tossed both blades into the air, watching them spin gracefully against the light. In a heartbeat, he caught them back, the swords slicing through the air with a whisper before sliding back into their scabbards with a satisfying click.
The instructor, a tall figure clad in dark armor, observed with a stoic expression, his eyes betraying nothing. He had seen many recruits come and go, but Omen's potential was undeniable. Omen was already popular among the captains, a special rank personally recruited by the general himself—a privilege not granted to many. Captain Varyn, the instructor, allowed them to familiarize themselves with the weapons, his gaze sweeping over the recruits, but mostly Omen 'Hmm, an omen indeed'.
…..
The next day dawned with a chill that seeped into the bones of the recruits as they gathered for their first assassination class. The instructor, a young captain with an air of authority that belied his age, stood before them, his presence commanding immediate respect. His name was Captain Vex, and he was known for his ruthless efficiency and unparalleled skill.
As the recruits snickered at the captain's short stature, a sudden silence fell over the room. In a blur of motion, Captain Vex struck, his speed, a terrifying flash that left three adult recruits sprawled unconscious on the floor, their bodies crumpling like rag dolls. Gasps filled the air, and Omen's heart raced as he realized the gravity of the situation.
"I'm sure Captain Coral told you the first lesson was to never underestimate your opponent; didn't you pay attention in class?" The captain's voice was cold "My name is Captain Vex, and I'll be your assassination instructor."
The recruits stood frozen; the laughter that had once filled the room was now replaced by a heavy silence. The atmosphere in the training hall was thick with anticipation as Captain Vex continued his lecture on the art of assassination. Omen, seated among the recruits, felt a sense of detachment wash over him. He had grown up steeped in the field of stealth and deception, so he was well-versed in the subject. The term 'assassin' had originated from their realm eons ago, a legacy steeped in shadows and intrigue. As the emperor's son, he had been granted access to knowledge that most could only dream of, and he was acutely aware that the instructor's insights were but a fraction of what he already knew.
Captain Vex was undeniably skilled, his voice smooth and commanding as he explained the nuances of stealth, the importance of patience, and the art of blending into the shadows.
"Ah, yes, Number 17," Vex said, his gaze locking onto Omen as if sensing his thoughts. "What question do you have?"
Omen brought his hand down slowly, a hint of hesitation in his voice. "I noticed that one of the greatest advantages you have as an assassin is your speed. What if, by chance, you come across an opponent with equal speed to yours?"
The instructor's eyes sparkled with interest, a smile creeping onto his lips. "That's a good question, Number 17. You see, everyone is born with different levels of exogene and different abilities. Some are generic, some are unique, some require activation, others don't. Some bring peace, and some bring destruction. Everyone will surely meet an opponent stronger than oneself in one way or another. Let's just say if that day comes, you'd have to do your best to die for your future master."
Omen just looked at him and smiled.