The early morning sun had just begun to rise.
A thin mist clung to the leaves by the roadside, and pale sunlight filtered through the clouds. The campfire from the night before was nothing but ashes. Thuong Sinh opened his eyes first. He stood up and used the toe of his boot to completely extinguish the remaining red embers, grinding the ashes into the dirt.
Suddenly—
The loudspeakers along the corridor blared simultaneously. It wasn't an announcement, but the "National Anthem." The familiar melody rang out clearly—resolute and heroic—leaving no room for anyone to pretend they hadn't heard it. In this military environment, it meant only one thing: it was time to start.
In the room, Van Binh was still fast asleep. He lay sprawled across his bed, one leg dangling toward the floor and one arm hugging his guitar like a bolster. His blonde hair was a chaotic mess, and his sleeping posture was undeniably terrible. Despite the loud music, he showed no signs of waking, as if the world ending had nothing to do with him.
On the opposite bed, Thuong Sinh sat cross-legged.
The Essence within his body circulated at a fixed rhythm—slow and steady. With every breath, the energy followed the "Source Breath Cultivation" technique, flowing through his meridians and stabilizing his body. He had maintained this posture since the previous night. The anthem acted like a wave of sound sweeping through the hall, carrying tiny vibrations through the air.
Thuong Sinh opened his eyes.
His gaze was clear, devoid of any drowsiness. As the Essence slowly retracted, he exited his cultivation state and tilted his head toward the opposite bed. Van Binh was still sleeping soundly. Thuong Sinh remained silent for a few seconds before speaking:
"Van Binh."
No response. He called again, his voice slightly louder: "VAN BINH!"
The other youth only turned over and pulled the blanket higher, having no intention of waking up. Thuong Sinh let out a soft sigh, then slapped the bed frame hard.
"Get up."
A sharp thwack echoed in the room. Van Binh bolted upright, hair standing on end, eyes wide and dazed, as if he had been yanked straight from a dream into reality.
"Huh—? A fight?"
In the corridor, the anthem continued to play alongside the rapid footsteps of those who were already awake. A new day in the military shelter had officially begun.
The scene quickly shifted to the wide courtyard behind the living quarters.
The ground was paved with rough tiles, with a closed loop marked around the perimeter, resembling a makeshift field track. In the early morning, the mist hadn't fully dissipated, and the air carried the damp, cold scent of metal and concrete.
A man stood at the front of the line. He wore a crisp green military uniform, his cap bearing the red flag with a yellow star. His face was angular, his skin tanned, and most notably, a long scar ran from his temple down to his chin—an indelible mark of the battlefield. In his hand was a rigid clipboard, its edges worn by time.
Over thirty people were gathered in rows—men and women mixed together, each with a different expression. Some were still groggy, others were already tense, and many held gazes filled with curiosity and wariness.
The morning session was simple: a physical endurance test.
A 500-meter run around the courtyard loop, fifteen people per heat. Two consecutive rounds, regardless of gender or age. This wasn't official training, let alone soldier selection; it was a necessary screening step in the military shelter to see who was still fit and who could only exist under the protection of others.
The names were called. The first heat included Thuong Sinh and Van Binh.
At the sharp sound of a whistle, fifteen people lined up and lunged forward simultaneously. The sound of shoes scuffing against the tiles was chaotic, and breathing quickly became labored.
Among them was a tall, lean figure with toned muscles, running with the standard form of a professional athlete. Each step was stable, the force output was even, and his speed was significantly faster than the rest. For him, this hundred-meter stretch was clearly a daily routine he had practiced hundreds of times.
Others were not so fortunate. Before even completing half a lap, people were gasping for air, their steps faltering. A thin young man with glasses turned visibly pale and eventually couldn't take it anymore, collapsing in the middle of the track, hands on the ground, chest heaving violently.
Thuong Sinh and Van Binh kept a moderate pace. Initially, Van Binh ran with a smirk, but as time went on, he began to sweat profusely, his breath grew heavy, and his face showed signs of exhaustion. Nevertheless, he struggled not to stop.
Thuong Sinh was different.
He maintained a steady speed from beginning to end—neither too fast nor too slow. His breathing was even, his steps firm, and not a single drop of sweat appeared on his forehead. His gaze was calm, as if he were blending into the crowd rather than participating in a test. He had no intention of pushing ahead; he simply ran quietly, ensuring he didn't stand out.
The results were as expected. The athletic-looking man led from the start, his rhythm unbroken, and even accelerated slightly at the end to be the first to cross the finish line. He stopped, only slightly adjusting his breathing, his face calm—clearly possessing energy to spare.
Those behind him didn't fare as well. One by one, they crossed the line in various states: gasping for air with their bodies hunched over, stumbling with pale faces, or even needing to be supported off the track by soldiers.
Thuong Sinh finished in fifth place.
He slowed down at just the right moment, crossing the line looking unremarkable, only slightly adjusting his breath as if he had just finished a casual jog. He didn't exude exhaustion, but he also hid any signs of leftover strength.
Immediately after him was Van Binh. He finished in sixth place. The moment he crossed the line, he rested his hands on his knees, sweat dripping onto the tiles as his chest heaved. However, his tired eyes held a spark of excitement, as if he had just pushed past his own limits.
The gap between the two was small—just enough to avoid drawing attention.
The closing whistle blew, marking the completion of the first heat. On the field, those who passed stood to one side, waiting for the next round, while those who failed were noted on the clipboard by the officer in green.
The screening had only just begun.
After the run came a series of basic physical tests: push-ups, sit-ups, balance, and reflexes. The atmosphere grew heavy as the sound of labored breathing filled the air. Some people began to show a clear disparity: those gritting their teeth to push through and those who completely couldn't keep up. Thuong Sinh maintained his average performance; for his current Body Refinement realm, which was approaching the late stage, these tasks were simple.
Van Binh, on the other hand, was clearly exhausted but struggled to complete every task, muttering under his breath, whether in complaint or self-encouragement.
When the final test concluded, the officer in green stepped into the center of the field with his clipboard. His gaze swept over the crowd, his voice deep but resonant.
"Next is the Combat Test, to evaluate each individual's fighting capability."
"Specifically, the use of Awakened Abilities is forbidden during combat."
The officer's voice rang out clearly, not loud but enough to silence the courtyard instantly. Immediately, whispers broke out in the crowd. Some frowned in disapproval, while others murmured with clear dissatisfaction. For those accustomed to relying on their Awakened Abilities, being forbidden from using them was like being stripped of their greatest advantage.
"What are we supposed to fight with without our powers?" "Then how are we different from ordinary people?"
Before the complaints could spread, the officer looked up coldly. The long scar on his face became even more prominent.
"If you want to survive, do not depend on something that isn't always available." His voice was low and decisive, devoid of emotion. "Your Energy can be depleted. Combat conditions may not give you the chance to use them. If you lack even basic physical skills and techniques—" He paused for a beat. "—then on the battlefield, you are nothing but human shields."
The atmosphere grew heavy. The murmurs vanished completely. No matter their disapproval, no one dared to protest. The officer looked back at his clipboard, returning to his steady rhythm.
"Combat ends when the opponent surrenders or is unable to continue."
The group was led to an open area in the center of the previous track. The surface was rough concrete, cleared of all obstacles—clearly a zone dedicated to training and sparring. The officer began reading names for one-on-one combat.
Some stepped out with tense faces; others tried to appear calm while their hands reflexively clenched. The sounds of impact, rapid footsteps, and heavy breathing quickly filled the air. Some matches ended quickly—some were overwhelmed from the start, while others were taken down after a single opening.
Thuong Sinh stood at the edge of the field, watching silently. He memorized the habits, speed, and striking styles of those around him. He didn't seem impatient, nor did he try to push to the front.
After the first round of matches, the courtyard quieted down. The list was nearly exhausted. Thuong Sinh stood in place, waiting for his name, but it never came. He was briefly stunned. Not just him, but several others nearby looked confused, their eyes reflexively turning toward the officer.
Van Binh had finished his match. Despite some struggle, he had ultimately secured a victory. He turned to look around and saw Thuong Sinh still standing on the sidelines, his own expression one of surprise.
At that moment, the officer took a step forward. "Those who just finished—you have completed the basic evaluation." He paused, his gaze sweeping the crowd before looking down at his list. "Next, I will call the names of those in the 'Transcendent' group."
In that instant, Thuong Sinh understood. He wasn't forgotten; he was categorized separately.
The gazes of those around them shifted immediately—some in shock, some in curiosity. Not many names were called, but each one made the air grow heavier. The officer waved his hand. A group of soldiers quickly brought over a weapon rack and placed it to one side. It held various weapons: sabers, swords, staves, and spears—all made of hardwood with smooth surfaces, clearly intended for training and testing.
"Combat for the Transcendent group allows the use of weapons." His voice was firm, brooking no argument.
The list opened again. "First match: Ly Kiet versus Tieu Vu."
A tall, bulky man stepped out of the line. His physique far exceeded that of an ordinary person—broad shoulders, thick back, and muscles bulging beneath his training shirt. Each step he took felt heavy, an invisible pressure radiating around him.
A girl stepped out from the opposite side. Her hair was tied back neatly, and her face looked somewhat elegant, even gentle. But when she looked up, her gaze was the complete opposite—focused, without a hint of hesitation. Her hands were wrapped tightly in white bandages, layer upon layer, indicating she was accustomed to unarmed combat. The bandages were slightly frayed at the edges—not something recently issued, but something that had followed her through many battles.
Neither chose a weapon. They stood opposite each other in the center of the clearing, only a few meters apart.
"Begin."