The mood in Class S was celebratory.
"We killed a King!" Dante shouted, kicking his feet up on a desk. He was tossing a fireball from hand to hand. "Did you see the look on the Necromancer's face? Priceless!"
Elara, the Demon Girl, was polishing her scythe, humming a tune. Grom, the Orc, was eating a raw leg of ham he had smuggled in.
They felt invincible. They were the crazy class, the monsters of the basement.
SLAM.
The door flew open.
Kaelen walked in. He didn't look happy. He looked like a storm cloud.
He walked to the front, sat in Professor Sylas's chair (which was now unofficially his), and looked at them with cold, dead eyes.
"Are you done celebrating mediocrity?" Kaelen asked softly.
The room went silent. Dante's fireball fizzled out.
"Mediocrity?" Dante scowled, sitting up. "We cleared a dungeon in record time! We are the strongest class!"
"You cleared a dungeon of mindless zombies," Kaelen corrected. "Yesterday, I fought Lancelot, the Student Council President."
The name sucked the air out of the room. Lancelot was a legend. A Spirit Ocean Level 5 prodigy.
"And?" Elara asked, her yellow eyes narrowing. "Did you win?"
"I survived," Kaelen lied (to keep them humble). "But if he had fought you... you would all be dead in ten seconds."
Kaelen stood up. He walked to the chalkboard. He picked up a piece of chalk and drew a circle.
"The Inter-Academy Tournament is in one month. We are not just fighting students. We are fighting the Eclipse agents hiding among them. If we lose, the Principal will erase this class. Literally."
He turned to face them.
"You are strong. But your techniques are garbage."
Dante stood up, offended. "Garbage? My Hellfire Art is a High-Tier technique!"
"It leaks mana like a sieve," Kaelen retorted instantly. "You use 100 units of mana to create 50 units of damage. You focus on size, not heat."
Kaelen pointed at Elara.
"And you. You rely on your Demon instincts. You swing that scythe like a farmer cutting wheat. You leave your entire left side open."
He pointed at Grom.
"And you... you just get hit and hope you don't die. That's not fighting. That's being a punching bag."
The class was furious. They were proud warriors. Being called garbage stung.
"If you're so smart," Dante stepped forward, his fists igniting, "teach us."
Kaelen smiled. A wolfish grin.
"I thought you'd never ask."
Kaelen waved his hand over his Spatial Ring.
Clatter. Thud. Ring.
He dumped a pile of scrolls, weapons, and strange artifacts onto the teacher's desk. These were items he had looted from the Pirate King's Treasury.
"Dante, step forward."
Dante walked up, suspicious.
Kaelen threw a blue scroll at him.
"The Azure Lotus Flame Scripture," Kaelen said. "It compresses fire. Instead of a massive explosion, it creates a needle of blue flame that can melt steel. Learn it."
Dante caught the scroll. He opened it. His eyes widened as he read the first few lines. The complexity was beyond anything he had ever seen.
"This... this is a Lost Art from the Southern Isles! How did you get this?"
"I have my ways. Elara."
The Demon Girl walked up.
Kaelen didn't give her a scroll. He took her scythe.
It was a rusty, jagged weapon.
"This blade is cursed," Kaelen said, running his finger along the edge. "It resists your mana because it is hungry."
Kaelen bit his own thumb. He smeared a drop of his Dragon Blood onto the rusty blade.
HISSSSS.
Steam rose from the metal. The rust flaked off instantly, revealing a gleaming, blood-red metal underneath. The scythe hummed, releasing a terrifying aura.
[Weapon Upgrade: Blood-Drinker Scythe (Grade 3)]
Elara gasped. She felt a connection to the weapon snap into place. It felt alive.
"Feed it the blood of your enemies," Kaelen handed it back. "And fix your footwork."
"Grom."
The Orc lumbered up.
Kaelen handed him a pair of massive gauntlets made of black iron. They were heavy—so heavy the desk cracked under them.
"Titan-Grip Gauntlets," Kaelen said. "They have a gravity enchantment. When you punch, they become heavier. When you retract, they become light."
Grom put them on. He punched the air.
WHOOSH.
The air pressure cracked the floor tile three meters away.
Grom grinned, showing his tusks. "Grom... like."
Kaelen looked at the rest of the class.
"Bo," Kaelen threw a bag of rare alchemical ingredients. "Make poison. Make bombs. I want the arena to be a minefield."
"Magnus," Kaelen looked at the giant sitting quietly in the back. "You don't need a weapon. You are the weapon. Meditate on your skin. Make it harder."
Kaelen stood before the transformed class.
"For the next thirty days," Kaelen announced, his voice echoing with authority. "There is no sleep. There is no rest. We are going to turn this basement into hell."
"And when we crawl out..." Kaelen's eyes glowed. "We will be the ones the nightmares fear."
"YES, BOSS!" The class roared in unison. The hesitation was gone. They had tasted power, and they wanted more.
...
Three Weeks Later.
The training was brutal.
Kaelen sparred with every student daily. He beat them down, pointed out their flaws, and forced them to adapt.
Class S became a closed zone. Strange noises—explosions, screams, manic laughter—echoed from the basement.
One afternoon, Class A was walking past the hallway.
Class A was the "Elite" class. Led by a noble named Valerian (not to be confused with the Emperor), they wore pristine white uniforms.
"Ugh," Valerian held a handkerchief to his nose. "The stench of the rejects is unbearable. I hear they are planning to enter the Tournament."
"What a joke," his lackey laughed. "They will be eliminated in the preliminary round."
Valerian stopped at the dented iron door of Class S.
"Hey, trash!" Valerian shouted, kicking the door. "Keep the noise down! The elites are studying!"
The door slowly creaked open.
It was dark inside.
"Hello?" Valerian peered in.
Two blue flames ignited in the darkness.
It was Dante. But he looked different. His hair was longer, wilder. His eyes burned with a calm, azure light.
"Did you say... trash?" Dante whispered.
Valerian scoffed. "Yes. Trash. What are you going to do? Throw a firecracker at me?"
Dante snapped his fingers.
A tiny, blue lotus flower made of fire floated out of the room. It drifted gently toward Valerian.
"So pretty," Valerian mocked. "Is that a gift?"
He reached out to crush it.
"Don't touch it," Kaelen's voice warned from deep inside the room.
Valerian ignored him. He squeezed the fire flower.
BOOM.
It wasn't a large explosion. It was a focused, implosion of heat.
Valerian screamed. His uniform sleeve disintegrated instantly. The heat was so intense it singed his eyebrows off and turned his prestigious Class A badge into molten slag.
Valerian stumbled back, falling on his butt. He stared at his arm, red and blistering.
"My... my hand!"
Dante leaned against the doorframe, smirking. "Oops. My control slipped. Next time, I'll aim for your face."
Behind Dante, red eyes (Elara) and green eyes (Grom) glowed in the shadows. They looked like hungry beasts waiting to be unleashed.
"Run," Dante whispered.
Valerian scrambled up and ran, screaming for the teachers.
Inside the room, Kaelen sat on his chair, reading a book.
"Show off," Kaelen commented without looking up.
"Just testing the merchandise, Boss," Dante grinned, closing the door.
Class S was ready. The monsters had been forged. Now, they just needed a war.
Author Note: "If you like the story, please vote with Power Stones! It helps me write faster."