The atmosphere inside the fortress had changed completely after the morning assembly because on the first day of the fortress, they were tired.
Many of the Initiate and Adept rankers walked with their chests puffed out, shoulders straight, their newly issued uniforms still stiff and clean.
The emblem of the Monarch of the Fortress shone on their collars, and just wearing it made their expressions glow with pride.
"Did you see us?" one initiate laughed loudly while adjusting his belt.
"We look like real heroes now," another replied, flexing his arm.
"My parents would cry if they saw me like this," someone added proudly.
Their voices seem to be happy and proud as they go through the wide stone corridors as they move toward the dining hall.
I walked behind them quietly.
The dining hall was as crowded as ever.
The smell of cooked meat and warm bread filled the air, mixing with the sound of metal trays clattering and voices overlapping.
Long lines formed in front of the serving counters, and the cooks moved quickly, barely looking up as they worked.
I joined the line without drawing attention.
Ahead of me, initiates with higher ranks laughed freely. Some of them received generous portions—two slices of bacon, extra bread, even a ladle of thick soup.
Then it was my turn.
The cook glanced at the board beside him, then at the badge on my uniform. His eyes lingered for half a second longer than necessary.
Without a word, he placed a single piece of bacon on my tray.
Just one of the beacons.
I stared at it.
"This—" the word almost slipped out of my mouth.
This isn't right.
But before I could speak, I saw the captain looking at me.
I turned my head slightly and saw the female captain standing near the hall entrance.
When her gaze met mine, her brows furrowed faintly in suspicion.
Then I closed my mouth.
"…Thank you," I said quietly and stepped aside.
Behind me, someone scoffed.
"Rank 265," a voice muttered.
"Lucky he even got meat."
I ignored them and moved to an empty seat near the corner, where shadows from the tall pillars stretched across the floor. I ate slowly, chewing each bite carefully.
This is how it starts, I thought.
I couldn't see Rion while I was having lunch.
After lunch, the bell rang again.
GOONG.
"Back to class!" an instructor shouted.
We gathered our trays and moved out and everyone gathered at the classroom.
Sunlight streamed in from tall windows, illuminating floating dust particles in the air.
I took my usual seat in the last row.
From here, I could see everyone—and no one bothered looking back at me.
Whispers spread across the room.
"Isn't he the guy who said his dream was to survive?"
"Yeah. Rank 265."
"A combat fighter, but looks weak."
"What a waste of a slot."
They laughed quietly, not even trying to hide it.
I didn't react.
They saw me as a C-rank combat fighter, weak, talentless, barely worth remembering.
What they didn't know was that my magic affinity was far above what my rank suggested.
(I am not just a combat fighter. I am a top-tier mage user but I hid it.)
Because I remembered.
I was not meant to be important.
I was a mob character—someone who should have died quietly, crushed by events beyond his control.
And that was exactly why I chose to stay weak.
If I shone, I would be noticed.
If I was noticed, I would be used.
If I was used, I would die.
The instructor walked in, followed by the female captain. The room quieted instantly.
She stood at the front, hands behind her back, posture straight as steel.
Then the instructor came inside the class.
"We have received a report," she began, "that low-rank demons have been sighted near the South Meridian Village."
A ripple went through the class.
"Those demons are weak," he continued, "but they are enough to harm civilians, livestock, and crops."
He paused, letting his words sink in.
"To deal with this, you will not be sent immediately," she said. "Instead, you will train harder. Your bodies, coordination, and response time must be refined before you face real combat."
Some initiates looked relieved.
Others looked disappointed.
I felt nervous.
Because this was how it always began in the story.
A simple village.
Weak demons.
A routine mission.
And then I lowered my gaze.
But Mingkong was watching me again and again.
She sat near the front seat.
Then the female captain's voice snapped her back to attention.
"You will begin formation training tomorrow morning," the captain said. "Until then, rest, recover, and reflect on your purpose here."
She looked across the room one final time.
"This fortress does not need heroes who dream of glory alone," she said. "It needs comrades who can be the top national hero."
Then Mingkong turned her head away.
The class was dismissed.
As people stood and began talking again, laughter returned to the room. Plans were made.
Boasts were exchanged. Dreams of becoming legends filled the air.
I remained seated for a few seconds longer.
(South Meridian Village…) I thought.
(too early for the demons to appear according to the novel i read)
(In the novel, that place was the start of a chain reaction small yet crucial. And now…I was here. I'm nervous), I admitted to myself.
Not because I was weak.
But because I knew too much.
I walked back to my dorm slowly.
Inside, I sat on the bed and unfolded the worn notes I had written—records of future events, secret routes heroes never took, forbidden areas hidden from the main story, and demonic skills that were never meant to fall into human hands.
I was still reading when a sudden sound broke the silence.
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
"Huh… who could that be?" I muttered.
I opened the door.
A man about my age stood there, travel-worn, a sword at his side and a bag slung over his shoulder, his eyes…. His eyes seem mad.