The Simulation Chamber was a cold, circular expanse of white ceramic and humming machinery. It felt less like a classroom and more like the inside of a reactor core. Along the curved walls, twenty teleportation gates stood like dormant obsidian mirrors, their surfaces rippling with a faint, expectant energy.
Instructor Kaelen paced the center of the room. He was a retired Silver Guard, his left leg replaced by a heavy, hydraulic prosthetic that hissed with every step. He stopped in front of the holographic projector, his cybernetic eye scanning the forty students assembled in formation.
"Today isn't a sparring match," Kaelen barked, his voice bouncing off the hard surfaces. "We are simulating a Tier-5 Golem Hunt. Specifically, the 'Iron-Eater' variant found in the industrial graveyards of Sector 4."
He tapped the console. The hologram flickered to life, rendering a massive, quadrupedal beast made of jagged scrap metal and pulsating red veins.
"This is not a target you overpower," Kaelen continued, pointing at the glowing red core in the beast's chest. "This Golem adapts to kinetic impact. You hit it with a sword, its armor hardens. You hit it with fire, it vents heat. The only way to kill it is to destabilize the core while it's distracted. Strategy is key. Coordination is mandatory."
Dorian stepped out of the formation, his golden armor clanking softly. He didn't ask for permission to speak; he simply assumed command.
"I'll take point, Instructor," Dorian said, his voice smooth and confident. He gestured to the students behind him. "My team will draw its fire and keep the aggression focused on the front. We'll need the casters to flank."
Kaelen nodded, though his eyes narrowed slightly. "And your support?"
Dorian paused, a cruel smile touching the corners of his lips. He turned slowly, scanning the back of the room until his gaze landed on Ken, who was leaning against the wall, trying to look as small as possible.
"We need a designated carrier for the heavy salvage equipment," Dorian announced, loud enough for the echo to carry. "Someone who won't get in the way of the real fighters. Someone... expendable."
A ripple of laughter went through the class. Isabella Thorne frowned, opening her mouth to object, but Ken beat her to it. He raised his hand, his posture slouching into the familiar, pathetic curve of the "Lazy Prince."
"I'll do it," Ken stammered, his voice cracking just the right amount. "I... I don't want to get hit."
"Vaelstron," Kaelen sighed, rubbing his temple. "Fine. Grab the logistics crate. You're on cleanup duty. Your only job is to secure the core after the threat is neutralized. Do not engage the target. Do not panic. Just... stay out of the blast zone."
Ken shuffled over to the equipment rack. The "logistics crate" was a heavy, rusted metal box labeled BRONZE WING SURPLUS. To the other students, it was a burden—a box of heavy tools for manual labor. To Ken, it was the arsenal he had been praying for.
He popped the latches. Inside lay a high-torque mana drill, a magnetic grapple-gun, and a heavy lead-lined containment box designed to transport volatile isotopes.
Perfect, Ken thought, his internal voice sharp and calculating, completely at odds with his trembling hands. The drill can penetrate the Golem's chassis without triggering a mana-response. The lead box can mask the Aegis Heart's signal once I extract it. They're handing me the heist on a silver platter.
He hoisted the heavy crate onto his shoulder, feigning a stumble. "It's... it's really heavy, guys."
"Try not to trip over your own feet, failure," Dorian sneered as he walked past, heading toward the main gate. "If you drop that box, I'll have you scrubbing the latrines for a month."
Isabella lingered behind the others. She slotted a fresh mana-core into the hilt of her silver sword, the mechanism clicking satisfyingly. She looked at Ken, her grey eyes searching his face for something—fear, perhaps, or resentment. She found only the blank, cowed expression he wore like a second skin.
"Stay behind me, Ken," she said quietly. "The simulation is set to 80% realism. If that Golem hits you, it will break bones. If it focuses you, drop the box and run."
"I'll be fine," Ken mumbled, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. "I'll just hide in the back like always."
"Just... be careful," she said, before turning and jogging to catch up with Dorian.
At the control panel, Elara Vance was the last to move. She didn't look at Ken directly. Instead, she was watching the biometric readouts on her wrist display. Her Ocular-Circuit whirred softly, the lens contracting as she zoomed in on Ken's pulse rate.
Sixty beats per minute, she noted. He's about to enter a combat zone with no mana, carrying a hundred pounds of gear, and his heart rate is lower than mine. Why aren't you scared, Ken?
"Deployment in ten seconds!" Kaelen shouted, his hand hovering over the master switch. "Masks on! Mana up! Remember: The objective is the Core!"
The teleportation gates hummed to a deafening pitch. The air in the room tasted of ozone and static.
Ken took a deep breath. He wasn't going in to support. He wasn't going in to hide. He was going in to hunt.
"Initiate!"
The world dissolved into a tunnel of blinding blue light. Gravity twisted, pulling at Ken's stomach, before slamming him back into solid ground.
The sterile white of the academy vanished. In its place was the smell of wet rust and rotting leaves.
They had arrived in the Iron Forest.
It was a nightmare landscape of industrial decay reclaiming nature. The trees here weren't wood; they were massive, twisted girders of ancient steel that had burst from the ground like weeds. Vines of copper wire choked the metal trunks, and the ground was a treacherous carpet of moss-covered gears and shattered glass. The sky was a digital grey, simulating a heavy, oppressive overcast.
"Form up!" Dorian shouted, his voice amplified by his helmet. "Shields front! Casters, take the high ground on the girders! Vaelstron, get back!"
Ken didn't argue. He immediately scrambled backward, dragging the heavy crate behind a rusted turbine engine. He watched as the class moved forward, their mana flaring like beacons in the gloom—gold, silver, and blue lights cutting through the fog.
A distant, metallic roar shook the ground. The Golem had found them.
"Contact!" Isabella yelled, her sword igniting with white fire. "Twelve o'clock! It's massive!"
The students charged, screaming battle cries.
Ken waited until the last straggler had disappeared into the fog. Then, he stood up. The slouch vanished. His eyes cleared. He cracked his neck, the sound sharp in the damp air.
He looked down at the toolkit, patted the lid, and then looked toward the north—away from the battle, away from the class.
"The distraction is in play," Ken whispered to the empty forest. "Now for the real target."
He began to run, not away from the danger, but toward a specific coordinate he had memorized from the stolen maps—the coordinate where the real prototype lay dormant, waiting for a master.
End of Chapter 11