Chapter 135: Chapter 135

Julian looked at them, his expression still pale but steadier now. “I really didn’t know what I was getting into. You’re telling me this is real? All of it?” His voice wavered, caught between disbelief and reluctant acceptance, the words shaking out of him like loose stones tumbling down a cliff. He rubbed at his arms as though trying to warm himself, as if the weight of what he had seen had chilled him through to the bone.

“Yes, kid, it’s very real. And now that you know, you’re part of it whether you like it or not, ” Imujin replied, his tone flat and uncompromising. His gaze never wavered from Julian’s, as though measuring the weight of his words against the boy’s reaction. His presence filled the meadow as heavily as the storm still lingering in the soil, and there was no softness in his delivery, only the simple truth that this path had no exits.

Julian swallowed, his throat dry. “Gods… I thought I wanted answers, but this is heavier than I imagined. I thought I could handle knowing. I thought I was ready. But now…” He stopped himself, realizing that once spoken aloud, the weakness in his voice would be something no one would ever forget.

Imujin’s lips curled into the faintest trace of a smile, humorless and sharp. “Welcome to the team, Julian. It’s good to have you on board. Vaeliyan is going to need a liaison, someone who can bridge the space between him and the rest of the Legion. We’re going to start grooming you for that role. The problem, of course, is that you’re a third year already, and by the time Vaeliyan reaches the frontlines, you’ll technically be out of my hands. That creates complications.”

Julian’s eyes flicked toward Vaeliyan, his stare bright with nervous energy but also alive with something closer to awe. “So what’s the plan then? What do you need from me? Because I’m ready to help, whatever it takes.” His voice cracked on the last words, but he held his ground, forcing confidence he didn’t fully feel.

“Well, ” Imujin said slowly, as though testing the shape of the thought, “I still need to figure out what we can do to get you into the right faction in command. Not everyone will take kindly to this arrangement, and the wrong sponsor could bury you before you even begin. You’ll need allies who understand what we’re building here.”

Josaphine, finally upright after what felt like an endless round of retching, wiped her mouth on her sleeve and grimaced. Her face was still pale, her body unsteady, but her voice carried its usual sharp edge. “I think I can help with that. I know the right strings to pull, and I’ve had to navigate worse political tangles. And Imujin, maybe it’s time we start training him for the Shatterlight Trial. If he’s set on making his class the next 49th, they need to know what that means sooner rather than later. Ignorance won’t protect them. If anything, it’ll break them faster.”

Imujin studied her for a long moment, then inclined his head, the faintest glint of approval flashing in his eyes. “I was going to wait. But I guess you’re right. No sense pretending they can just be half in. Once this door is opened, it can’t be closed.”

Jurpat, who had been frowning at the exchange, finally spoke up, his voice carrying a mixture of curiosity and unease. “What is this Shatterlight Trial? You all say it like it’s common knowledge, but I’ve never heard of it. Is it another one of those tests the Legion buries in secrecy? Another nightmare you spring on cadets when you want to see who breaks?”

The air shifted at his question. Isol gave a short, humorless laugh, the sound biting like frost. Even Josaphine looked uneasy. Imujin didn’t answer right away, letting the silence press in on them until it felt like the meadow itself was holding its breath. The wind stilled, and all that remained was the weight of expectation.

Imujin’s gaze swept across the cadets, steady and unflinching. The air seemed heavier, as if the walls themselves leaned in to catch his words. His voice came sharp, measured, and merciless.

“You want to know what the Shatterlight Trial is? Fine. Once a year, every one of you is thrown into a real warzone. No simulations. No safety nets. No training wheels. You won’t be sparring against classmates or running drills with stat suppressors, you’ll be on a battlefield where the enemy’s only goal is to kill you. They don’t care about your name, your potential, or that you’re cadets. To them, you’re just another body to erase.

Where you land is luck of the draw: Princedoms, Neumen, Nespói. You don’t get to choose. I don’t even get to know. You’ll find out the moment you hit dirt, and by then it’s already too late to hope for better.”

He crossed his arms, slow and deliberate, his tone flat and cutting. “Your role looks simple on paper. It won’t feel simple once it starts. You’ll serve as support to the real Legion, soldiers who’ve fought a hundred battles and will fight a hundred more. Your class track decides your place.

Class One runs with Imperators, shadowing them, trying to survive long enough to learn why they’re ghosts on the battlefield. Command cadets back command, reading maps, calling support, making decisions that save or bury whole units. Infantry cadets march with infantry, packs heavier than your bones can stand, lines that bend but can’t break, flanks buried in mud and blood.

There are no tricks, no shortcuts, no masks to hide behind. You’ll be stripped down to what you are, and you’ll live or die by how fast you adapt. Some of you won’t come back. Some of you won’t even know you’re dead before it’s over. That isn’t cruelty, it’s the truth. Better you hear it now than pretend you’re untouchable.”

Imujin leaned forward, eyes narrowing, his voice dropping into a low growl that rolled through the hall like thunder. “It’s called the Shatterlight Trial because it’s the moment the light breaks in your eyes. You’ll see friends die. People you ate with, trained with, laughed with, cut down until they’re just meat in the dirt. And no one will stop it.

You’ll learn what war really is: the sound that never leaves your ears, the stink that clings to your skin, the weight that crushes your chest. If you’re lucky, if you’re strong, cruel, and stubborn enough, you’ll still be standing when night falls and the light shatters from the sky. If not? Then you were never Legion to begin with. Better the war finds that out now, when your death is only a name on a list, than later, when your weakness costs the Legion blood.”

Vaeliyan looked over at Imujin and asked, “I forgot to ask you… how can we get three members who aren’t in the top four to become the High Imperators’ apprentices?” His voice carried a mix of curiosity and challenge, as though he already suspected the answer wouldn’t be straightforward.

Imujin gave a small nod, as if only just remembering the question after burying it beneath a mountain of chaos. “Oh, yes, you did ask that earlier. With all the commotion going on, it completely slipped my mind.” He let the silence stretch just long enough to build tension before adding, “They have to challenge a rank holder of another year and win. That’s the path. Simple as that. Beat one of them in open combat, and the door to apprenticeship opens wide.”

Vaeliyan blinked, his brows furrowing. “Wait… you can actually challenge cadets in the years above us? That’s allowed?”

“Sure you can, ” Imujin replied evenly. “There’s no rule written against it, no secret clause keeping you boxed in your year. The only law that matters is survival. If you can still stand after the fight, then you’ve earned what you’ve taken. That’s the Legion way. Most cadets, however, avoid it. They don’t want the risk. They don’t want the humiliation. Imagine marching in with confidence, only to get broken and tossed aside by someone you thought you could surpass. That kind of failure cuts deeper than steel. And the wound it leaves behind never quite closes.”

Vaeliyan scratched the side of his head, frowning. “Huh. So is that the only thing you can challenge upper years for? Just apprenticeships? Or does it go further than that?”

Julian answered before Imujin could, his tone sharp, almost impatient. “Yes, that’s it. And remember this, if an upper year loses, they can’t punch down at you afterward. They don’t get to come looking for revenge, no matter how much pride you shatter. The rules hold firm in that way. You win, and you keep what you earned. Period.”

Imujin’s lips curved slightly, but it wasn’t a smile. It was a warning in shape more than expression. “Not quite, ” he said, his tone shifting into something heavier, something that seemed to press the air down between them. “There’s more to it than what you see written, more than what any of you yet understand. That is all I can say. The rules bind me to withhold that knowledge, I cannot simply hand the truth over. You’ll have to live it, bleed for it, and learn it yourselves. You already know the framework. And by the letter of what I am sworn to, I can’t say more than that.”

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The weight of his words hung in the silence that followed, thicker than before. Vaeliyan and the others felt it settle over them like armor and chain, making them wonder what truths the upper years had already carved into their bones, and what prices they themselves might one day pay before those truths became theirs.

They separated not long after that, and the next day of classes began with the Citadel’s relentless rhythm. Beneath the surface, though, something new pulsed, something no one else could feel yet. Vaeliyan carried a plan, one sharp enough to cut through tradition itself, one that would rock the Citadel to its foundations if it worked. Class One of the 93rd was about to attempt the unthinkable, all because he had taken the time to read the handbook again and again. He had not only read it but dissected it, turning each rule over like a blade, testing its edge, searching for hidden loopholes and buried traps. He had found one, and he meant to use it. The difference between cadets who endured and cadets who defined history was not strength or birthright, but the ability to twist the rules until they screamed.

The Citadel’s second week had only just begun, and with it came the unveiling of the challenge boards. The first week was meant for settling in, for grinding cadets down to dust until they understood what survival cost. No one expected fresh blood to step into the world of challenges so soon, certainly not when the entire year stretched before them like a blade waiting to fall. Yet Vaeliyan wasn’t interested in waiting. Patience was for those who believed the system was unbreakable. He knew better.

When he entered the student lounge that morning, the air shifted like pressure before a storm. Cadets turned toward him instinctively, their gazes sharp with hunger, suspicion, or outright hostility. Conversations faltered, words drying in throats. Dice games stopped. Laughter faded into silence. The banners of challenge had only just been unfurled across the great board, their heavy cloth hanging like execution warrants, each name and demand a nail in the coffin of the 93rd. Until today, no one had ever looked at that side of the board in the second week of a first-year’s life. Tradition dictated that the challenges came later, after the weak had been ground down, after the survivors had proved they belonged. For the youngest class, the challenge board was something distant, almost mythic, to be feared and avoided until they had scars of their own.

Sub-instructor Michael was there, his eyes gleaming with predatory interest as if he were watching a cage door swing shut. Damien Stone leaned lazily against a wall, arms crossed, a grin carved into his face that promised satisfaction at the inevitable collapse. Both men looked on as though Vaeliyan’s fate was already sealed, as if Class One of the 93rd had already been broken before the fight even began.

But then Vaeliyan moved, and the world around him seemed to falter. He didn’t walk toward the acceptance board. His boots struck the floor in deliberate rhythm, each step echoing with defiance, each one louder than the last. Instead, he turned and headed for the opposite side of the board, the side reserved for predators, the section where cadets issued challenges. The lounge erupted in murmurs, disbelief cutting through the crowd like blades. Cadets leaned forward, whispering, swearing under their breath. The noise grew until it broke against the moment of silence when Vaeliyan laid his hand on the challenge side.

The announcement cracked through the hall like a hammer blow, carried on the Citadel’s own voice:

“Vaeliyan Verdance has challenged Deic Welhiker to a squad battle between all members of both classes.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Fourth-years in Deic’s lounge froze in mid-motion. A mug of water halted halfway to a mouth. A pair of dice fell from a cadet’s hand and clattered to the floor, rolling across the tiles without being claimed. Conversations died as if someone had cut their throats. For a long breath, no one moved at all. Then expressions began to shift, hardening from shock to grim certainty. It wasn’t bravery they saw, not even ambition. It was madness. No first-year class had ever dared such a thing. Not in decades. The gulf between first and fourth year wasn’t measured in days or rank, but in scars, funerals, and survival. The fourth-years had carried friends to graves and then laughed in the face of death at the next battle. The first-years could barely hold their weapons without fumbling.

Whispers surged. Some sneered, calling it suicide. Others muttered that it had to be a stunt, a desperate grab for attention before the 93rd was erased. The idea that a single first-year could challenge an entire fourth-year squad was beyond absurd, it was heresy against the Citadel’s unwritten laws. The halls themselves seemed to hold their breath.

Yet Vaeliyan stood calm, unflinching, eyes steady and unreadable. He hadn’t come here to be part of the cycle. He had come to bend those terms until they broke. If the Citadel had rules, then he would twist them into a weapon. If tradition declared that strength flowed downward, he would force it to flow back upstream until the entire institution drowned in disbelief. And if the world believed a first-year could never stand against a fourth-year, then he would drag his entire class with him into legend, or into ruin. There would be no middle ground.

Deic plummeted from the upper deck, the impact rattling the floor so hard that nearby cadets stumbled back, choking on the plume of dust that shot upward. The stone-bound girl hit like a meteor, her form entirely swallowed in jagged armor, each plate grinding against the other with a noise like tectonic plates shifting. Her crouch cracked the tiles, and when she rose, it was like watching a mountain unfold. Her entire body rippled with motion, slabs of earth sliding, shards jutting out like teeth, her outline shifting as if the stone itself was alive and hungry. She was not just armored, she was consumed, a walking avalanche that carried with it the weight of fury old as bedrock. Her presence stole the air, crushed the mood, and commanded silence. When her eyes locked on him, it was like being burned under the gaze of a desert sun, and when she spoke, the words tore the air apart with the sound of rock grinding against steel.

“What the hells are you doing?” Deic’s voice exploded, each word coated in spittle and stone dust. “You think you can use me as your shield? Some cheap excuse to duck out of challenges you’re too cowardly to face? And you dare drag your entire worthless class into this?” The words landed like hammer strikes, heavy and merciless. “Who the hells do you think you are, boy? You walk into my house, my ground, and I actually tried to help you. I offered you a chance, a hand. And you spit in my face. I swear on the gods themselves, I’ll bury you so deep that even Imujin won’t speak your name again. You’ll be nothing. Less than nothing.”

Her fists clenched, the sound of stone cracking loud enough to echo through the chamber. Splinters split off her arms, sharp blades rising, then collapsing back into hammers, her body shifting between weapons like she couldn’t decide how she wanted to destroy him most. Each twitch of muscle sent shards scraping into the ground, and every step she took shook the floor. It wasn’t just rage she carried, it was physical, alive, and manifest. The room thickened with her fury.

She leaned forward, teeth bared, eyes glowing cruel with the thrill of what was to come. “I choose Nespói as the terrain.” Her lips curled into something that wasn’t a smile so much as a promise. “And we’re the insurgency. You’ve just thrown yourself into my war, Verdance. Good luck.” The grin widened as she spat the words like a curse. “Not that it’ll help you.”

The 93rd erupted into chaos the moment Vaeliyan returned from the challenge board. Voices flew like thrown daggers, each cadet shouting over the other in a storm of disbelief and fury. Chairs scraped back, fists slammed against tables, and the air itself seemed to vibrate with outrage.

“What the hells were you thinking?” Roan shouted first, his face twisted in a mix of anger and fear. “A full class battle? Against them? You’ve lost your damned mind.”

“You dragged us into this without even telling us!” Lessa added, her voice sharp, cutting through the din like a blade. She stood with her arms crossed, eyes burning into Vaeliyan as though she could sear the truth out of him. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just signed us up for? We’re going to be slaughtered.”

Ramis slammed his fist into the nearest wall, the impact ringing through the lounge. “You think you get to decide this for all of us? This is suicide!”

The twins, Leron and Vexa, spoke in eerie unison, their words bouncing from one mouth to the other. “We didn’t agree. We didn’t plan. You made the move for us, and now we’re bound to it.” Their synchrony only made their fury more unsettling.

Sylen shoved her chair back and stood, pointing directly at him. “We’re not ready. We’ve had what, a week of classes? And now you want us to take on people who’ve been here for years? Hells, Vael, I thought you were reckless but this… this is beyond even you.”

Elian stood apart from the others, his usually calm face pale and unsettled. His words came slower, but the disbelief in them was heavier than any of the others’ rage. “What… what did you just do? You challenged Deic. A fourth-year. Do you have any idea what that means? Do you even understand the weight of it? This isn’t a duel, Vaeliyan, this is a death sentence for all of us.”

The arguments overlapped, rising higher and higher until the room felt like it might explode. Everyone had something to shout, some accusation to hurl. Everyone except one.

Jurpat leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, the faintest ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. He didn’t join the shouting, didn’t bother adding to the storm. His eyes never left Vaeliyan, calm and steady, a silent declaration of loyalty. Whatever plan Vaeliyan had, Bat was already in.

“Enough, ” Vaeliyan finally said, his voice low but cutting through the chaos with a force that stilled the room. He met each furious glare in turn, unflinching. “You can scream all you want. But the challenge is already made. The board doesn’t care about your feelings. Only that she accepted.”

Vaeliyan looked at his updated stats and grinned. His level of growth had been something Julian explained wasn’t normal. He was far too strong for his level, and now he knew why.

Even the fourth-years didn’t utilize their stats as effectively as he did, because they still carried the weight of being human. They thought in terms of limits, in terms of walls to break and ceilings to shatter. Vaeliyan had never once seen himself as human. He had no human limits to break. For him, there was no ceiling, no imagined restraint, only the steady climb upward, faster and sharper than any of them could dream. That was why his numbers meant more. That was why his strength stretched beyond what the Citadel had ever prepared for.

Vaeliyan Verdance — Level 25

Third threshold requirements met

Class: Wake Dancer Official source ıs NoveI★Fire.net

Alignment: Green Zone Citizen

Unallocated Stat Points: 0

(Three Skill Upgrades available)