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Mingma sat among a sea of students in the grand assembly hall of the Royal Military Academy. The hall was vast, with high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings of legendary warriors, battles, and magical symbols. A faint golden glow emanated from enchanted chandeliers, casting an aura of majesty and gravity over the gathering. The room buzzed with nervous energy—new faces, fresh dreams, and an unspoken acknowledgment of the trials they had just endured to be here.
At the front of the hall, a massive stage stood elevated, and at its center, an imposing figure emerged. The murmurs of the students fell to silence as the man stepped forward, his sharp gaze scanning the hall. His aura was suffocating, a mix of authority and strength that immediately commanded respect. This was the Dean of the Royal Military Academy, General Darshan Khadga, a legend in both the battlefield and academia.
The Dean's voice rang out, deep and steady, carrying a weight that made everyone sit straighter in their seats. "Welcome to the Royal Military Academy," he began, his tone neither warm nor cold, but piercingly direct. "You have been chosen—not because of luck, but because you earned your place. Each of you represents a fragment of humanity's hope in these trying times."
He paused, his eyes sweeping over the students. "But let me make one thing clear: this academy is not like your regular schools. We are not here to coddle you, to indulge your whims, or to simply fill your heads with knowledge. This is the Royal Military Academy, and every one of you has been chosen because you have the potential to contribute to humanity's survival."
The room was utterly silent now, the gravity of his words sinking in.
"Every graduate of this academy is required to serve a minimum of three years in the military. That is not negotiable. It is what you owe to this nation. It is the price of the opportunities you are being given here. If you cannot accept this, then you are free to leave now."
Mingma felt a lump form in his throat. The weight of the responsibility was palpable, but no one moved. The Dean continued.
"Our academy is closely tied to the military, to the very frontlines where humanity fights for its survival. We train warriors, leaders, and strategists—people who will make a difference, not just in their lives but in the lives of millions. Every decision you make, every spell you cast, every battle you fight could determine the fate of our people."
He took a step forward, his voice growing more intense. "But make no mistake: not everyone here will make it. At the end of each year, you will face assessments. These are not mere exams—they are tests of your progress, your will, and your ability to grow. Those who fail will be expelled without hesitation. There is no room for weakness here. We are at war, and war does not tolerate the weak."
Mingma's hands clenched into fists. He could feel the pressure mounting, but beneath it was a spark of determination. He had come too far to falter now.
The Dean's gaze softened slightly, though his tone remained firm. "Do not mistake this for cruelty. It is necessity. Humanity stands at a precipice, and we cannot afford to fall. You are the future, and the future must be strong."
He raised a hand, gesturing toward the banners hanging above the stage, each bearing the crest of the academy and the motto engraved in bold letters: Strength through sacrifice. Unity through struggle.
"Remember this: you are not alone. Look around you." The students turned to glance at one another. "These are your comrades. Some of them will become your allies, your brothers and sisters in arms. Others may become your rivals. But every one of you is here because humanity needs you. And humanity does not stand alone. Together, we will rise. Together, we will endure."
The hall erupted into applause, a mix of admiration and fear coursing through the students. Mingma felt a surge of emotions—pride, anxiety, and an unyielding resolve. The trials had tested him, but the words of the Dean crystallized the path ahead. This wasn't just an academy; it was a battlefield in its own right. And the war was only just beginning.
As the Dean stepped back, an instructor took the stage to announce the schedules and upcoming challenges, but Mingma barely heard them. His mind was already racing, thinking of the year ahead. The trials might have ended, but now the real fight had begun.
support me with stones.i dont care if you throw or smash it on my head,but give me the stones.