The second week of study had begun. From the few hundred students who had started, their numbers had dwindled down to the three hundreds. Some had already given up entirely, their spirits broken after the field trip.
Now, they stood before the massive Academy City of 3rd Base. The city stretched out before them, vast and structured, settled near the coast and the mountains, a fortress of knowledge and discipline. It was home to over two thousand students from different grades, each training to become the world's future defenders.
Serian observed his surroundings carefully as the bus came to a halt. Unlike the first academy they had attended, this one felt different. The atmosphere was heavy with discipline, and the students here... they weren't just learning.
They were being trained.
This wasn't a normal school.
This was a place for warriors.
As soon as they stepped off the bus, instructors were already shouting orders.
"First years, line up! Move!"
Students scrambled to obey. Serian adjusted the strap of his bag, his long silver hair slightly disheveled from the ride, and quietly followed. He glanced to his side—Edward was gone. So was Sienna.
A quick look at the notes in his hand told him where he needed to go.
Room A.
Taking a breath, Serian walked towards the building, joining the other students entering the same section. Inside, they were met with a group of instructors. Unlike the kind and knowledgeable teachers from before—Aldric, Fiona Evan, and Kael—this was something entirely different.
Standing before them was a military officer.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and his sharp blue eyes carried the weight of years spent in battle. His uniform was pristine, and his mere presence was enough to silence the room.
"My name is Commander Darius. I will be your instructor." His voice was deep, unwavering. "Welcome to hell."
Some students tensed. Others exchanged nervous glances.
Serian remained still, his violet eyes studying the man.
"You are no longer civilians. You are no longer children. You are recruits." Darius took slow, deliberate steps, his boots clicking against the polished floor. "And you will be treated as such. We are at war. This academy does not produce graduates. It produces survivors."
A murmur spread through the students. War? Survivors? Wasn't this supposed to be a school?
"All of you will be tested. Not by paper. Not by exams. But by sweat, blood, and endurance."
The doors suddenly burst open.
A group of senior students in combat gear stormed in, their expressions cold and unyielding. Some had scars. Others carried weapons. They looked experienced.
One of them—a tall girl with dark brown skin and braided hair—crossed her arms and smirked. "You can still leave. No one will stop you."
No one moved.
Serian's gaze flickered to his holographic quest screen.
Quest 1: Act 3, Chapter 2 – Survive the First Test.
A moment later, the orders came.
"Outside. Now."
The students rushed to obey, filing out of the room and into the open field behind the academy. It was massive, stretching towards the distant cliffs. The wind was sharp, the sun glaring down on them.
Darius stood at the front, hands clasped behind his back.
"We will begin with basic endurance. 100 push-ups. 3-mile run. Followed by combat drills."
Groans erupted from the students.
"If you can't do it, leave. If you stay, don't complain. Now—drop."
The first real challenge had begun.
Serian dropped to the ground along with the others, placing his hands firmly on the dirt.
"One!" the seniors counted.
Serian pushed up.
"Two!"
He lowered.
The rhythm continued, but the struggle began fast. Around him, some students were already collapsing after barely reaching twenty. Their arms trembled, faces drenched in sweat.
"If you can't handle this, you have no place here!" one of the senior students barked.
Serian gritted his teeth. His body wasn't built for this level of exertion—he was more brains than brawn. Yet, remembering the fate of the world, the fallen leaves of Yggdrasil, the gods who had pleaded for his help…
He forced himself to keep going.
He felt his arms shake, his breath becoming ragged.
A few feet away, a boy groaned in frustration and collapsed. "I— I can't do it!"
A senior immediately walked up and kicked his side—not painfully, but enough to make him flinch. "Then get up and run instead! Move! Move!"
Serian clenched his jaw.
He continued.
Push-up after push-up, ignoring the way his muscles screamed.
Across from him, a girl with short blonde hair panted heavily, her face red. "I—I think I'm dying—"
"You're not dying," a senior said flatly, standing over her. "But you will if you don't keep going."
Behind Serian, another voice muttered, "This is insane. They're treating us like soldiers."
A senior passing by overheard and smirked. "That's because we are soldiers. Now stop talking and work!"
Serian glanced up, spotting Commander Darius watching from a distance, his sharp gaze never missing a single movement.
The moment push-ups were done, they were immediately ordered to their feet.
"Run! Now!"
Legs burning, lungs gasping for air, the recruits began their three-mile run.
Some fell behind almost instantly. Others cursed under their breath but pushed forward.
Serian?
He wasn't the fastest, nor the strongest. But he kept moving.
Ahead of him, one of the bulkier students tripped, hitting the ground hard. He groaned, trying to stand, but his legs refused to move.
Serian paused, glancing down.
"…Need help?" he asked, voice steady despite his exhaustion.
The boy, red-faced with embarrassment, hesitated before nodding.
Serian extended a hand.
Before the boy could take it, a senior student stepped between them.
"Don't."
Serian blinked. "What?"
The senior looked down at him, arms crossed. "If he can't get up on his own, he's out. You don't save the weak. They either stand or they fall."
Serian clenched his fists but said nothing.
The boy on the ground swallowed hard, his face contorted with frustration. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself up.
He staggered, stumbled—but he didn't fall again.
Serian exhaled softly.
Darius, from afar, watched the entire exchange.
A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
By the time the drills ended, only 45 students remained standing.
The rest had collapsed, dragged away by the seniors.
As Serian stood among the survivors, his breath even despite his aching limbs, the holographic screen flickered again.
[Quest 1: Act 3, Chapter 2 – Complete.]
[Status: Passed.]
He glanced up at the darkening sky.
This was only the beginning.
*****
Serian lay flat on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His arms ached, his legs felt like lead, and every breath reminded him of today's brutal training. His silver hair was still slightly damp from the quick shower he had taken. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of his holographic screen, flickering in the air beside him.
[Quest Completed.]
[New Objective Pending…]
He exhaled through his nose. Ever since the day the hologram first appeared, ever since he met the gods in his dreams, something had changed.
He wasn't the same.
His thoughts, his emotions—they weren't entirely his anymore.
He turned his head slightly, staring at the empty bed across from him. Edward still hadn't returned.
His best friend… or rather, the protagonist of this world.
Serian closed his eyes for a moment, trying to push down the discomfort in his chest.
—It wasn't normal.
Before, when he saw someone sad, he simply left. Their pain was their own. Their suffering was their problem. He was never the type to interfere.
But now?
Now, he felt something.
The sharp tug in his chest whenever he saw pain. The urge to reach out when someone was hurting. The instinct to heal, to help.
…Why?
It was uncomfortable. It made his skin crawl.
A God wasn't supposed to care.
A God wasn't supposed to feel anything.
And yet…
His eyes flickered to the corner of the room, where his record book lay, pages filled with the history of this world.
The story of Edward Rutherford.
The young man who would become a hero. The young man who would face monsters, an apocalypse, and betrayals. The young man who would eventually find his brother's killer.
Vincent Rutherford.
Edward's older brother. Murdered in cold blood. His death had shaped the entire course of the story. It had been the catalyst for Edward's journey, the reason he fought, the reason he pushed forward despite the darkness.
Serian had read it all. He knew how it ended.
Edward would find the murderer.
Edward would fight.
Edward would win.
And yet—Edward would still die.
The world, in the end, would fall apart.
That was the truth of this timeline.
Serian clenched his fist. His long silver hair pooled around him as he turned onto his side, staring at the wall.
—He shouldn't care.
But something deep inside of him twisted, an unfamiliar emotion clawing at his chest.
Was it pity? Regret? Guilt?
He didn't understand.
He wasn't supposed to feel this way.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath.
He pressed a hand over his face, exhaling sharply.
Then, the door clicked open.
Serian didn't move.
Edward stumbled in, looking utterly exhausted. His uniform was wrinkled, his golden-brown hair messy, and there was a faint bruise on his cheek. He muttered something under his breath before flopping onto his bed without even bothering to change.
Silence stretched between them.
Serian stared at the ceiling, listening to Edward's slow, tired breathing.
Then—
"You're acting weird."
Serian blinked. He turned his head slightly. Edward wasn't even looking at him, still sprawled face-down on the mattress.
"…What?"
"You're acting weird," Edward repeated, voice muffled by his pillow. "Since last week. You've been staring at me like I'm gonna explode or something. Following me around like some bodyguard. Eating first before I do. I swear, if you're testing for poison or something, I'm gonna punch you."
Serian didn't respond.
Edward groaned and turned his head, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. "And today, in training, you actually helped someone. You never do that."
Serian frowned slightly. "…And?"
"And it's weird."
Edward yawned, rubbing his face. "You usually don't care. You're the 'watch everything burn from a distance' kind of guy. So tell me—what the hell happened over the weekend? You hit your head or something?"
Serian stared at him.
What happened?
What changed?
The truth was simple.
—The Gods had chosen him.
—The World had given him a mission.
—The Records had shown him the fate of this place.
But he couldn't say any of that.
So instead, he just sighed, closing his eyes.
"…Nothing happened."
Edward scoffed. "Liar."
Serian said nothing.
The room was silent again, save for the faint sound of the night wind outside.
Edward yawned again, rolling onto his side. "Anyway… if you did hit your head, just let me know. I'll be happy to punch some sense back into you."
Serian huffed a quiet laugh. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Good," Edward mumbled, already half-asleep.
Serian remained awake, staring at the ceiling.
His heart felt heavy.
He was changing.
And he didn't know if that was a good thing.