The training arena for Squad One was a sprawling expanse of synthetic obsidian, surrounded by high-tension mana-reflectors that hummed with a low, bone-deep vibration. Unlike the general student body, the Apex Tier did not train with wooden dummies or simple illusions. They trained with "Hard-Light Constructs"—simulated monsters that possessed 80% of the physical lethality and mass of their Gate-born counterparts.
As the five of them stepped onto the field, Alaric walked at the center of the formation. He moved with a relaxed, feline grace, his telekinesis already subtly testing the density of the atmosphere and the tension in the mana-cables beneath the floor.
"The drill is a Rank-D Siege," Alaric said, his voice echoing in the vast, hollow space. "Twelve constructs will spawn in waves. The goal isn't just to neutralize them; it's to maintain the integrity of our diamond formation. Caspian, you take the point. Leo, left wing. Elara, right wing. Seraphina, stay four paces behind me. I'll coordinate the mid-line and handle any breaches."
Caspian didn't answer. He simply drew his claymore, the heavy steel thudding against the obsidian sand. He felt the weight of Elara's presence to his right—a cold, needle-like focus that felt entirely disproportionate for a simple training exercise. To Alaric, she was a supportive fiancée; to Caspian, she was a predator whose killing intent was so perfectly suppressed it felt like a vacuum.
"Begin," the automated voice of the arena announced.
The first wave hit instantly. Three Void-Wolves lunged from the shadows of the arena pillars. They were blurs of neon-blue energy and jagged teeth, moving with a ferocity that would have maimed a standard freshman.
Caspian roared, his [Unyielding Bastion] trait flaring. He met the first wolf head-on, his blade cleaving it in half with a single, brutal downward stroke that sent a shockwave through the sand. To his left, Leo moved with surprising speed, his ironwood shield slamming into the second wolf, pinning it to the ground long enough for Alaric to finish it with a precise, invisible needle of telekinetic force.
But the third wolf was faster. It bypassed the front line, using the momentum of its fallen pack-mate to vault toward the rear. Its glowing eyes locked on Seraphina.
Seraphina didn't freeze—not entirely. Her years of ingrained combat reflex kicked in, and she raised her staff, a pale light beginning to gather at the tip. But as the wolf's jaw unhinged, her vision flickered. For a split second, the blue hard-light turned into the oily black ichor of the High-Rank demons that had breached the Lunar Cathedral. The scent of ozone became the scent of burning incense and blood.
The light at the tip of her staff sputtered. Her feet, which should have been stepping back to maintain distance, remained rooted for a heartbeat too long.
A flash of gold and silver cut through the air.
Elara moved from the right wing to the rear in a motion so fluid it looked like a glitch in the simulation. Her rapier didn't just strike the wolf; it dissected it. In a blur of five simultaneous stabs, she hit every primary mana-node in the construct's body. The wolf shattered into harmless light particles before it could even touch Seraphina's robes.
Elara landed gracefully in front of the priestess, her back to her. She didn't look back to offer comfort or a secret threat. She simply stood there, her posture perfect, her blade held in a low, elegant guard.
"Are you alright, Lady Seraphina?" Elara asked, her voice brimming with nothing but polite, imperial concern. "The first time facing a Hard-Light construct can be a bit... disorienting. They have a certain weight to them that the textbooks don't capture."
Seraphina swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her ribs. She looked at the back of the Princess's head. There was no hint of malice, no whispered warning. Just the terrifying perfection of a girl who had moved with the lethality of a god to protect her betrothed's formation.
"I... I'm fine," Seraphina managed, her voice trembling. "Thank you, Princess."
"Formation!" Alaric called out, his eyes scanning the north side of the arena. "Second wave! Two Gargoyles and four wolves. Caspian, hold the line! Leo, tilt the shield ten degrees to the left!"
The drill intensified. Alaric moved like a master conductor, his hands guiding the flow of battle. He caught a Gargoyle mid-air with a telekinetic grip, holding it still as if it were pinned to a board for Caspian to shatter. He created temporary platforms of solidified air for Leo to vault over charging enemies.
Throughout it all, Elara was a whirlwind of efficiency. She never overextended, never showed the SSS-Rank power the regressors knew she held. She played the part of the "Loyal Knight" to perfection—a high-tier S-Rank who was entirely dedicated to the safety of the man at the center.
Caspian watched her out of the corner of his eye. Every time he even considered "accidentally" letting a construct slip toward Alaric to test the boy's reflexes, he found Elara already there, filling the gap before it even formed. She was covering every angle, her movements perfectly synchronized with Alaric's commands.
She isn't just protecting him, Caspian thought, his frustration boiling over. She's insulating him. She's making it impossible for him to even face a challenge. How are we supposed to intervene if she's always there?
The final construct fell, and the arena lights shifted back to a neutral white.
"Simulation Complete," the voice announced. "Synchronization: 12%. Efficiency: S-Rank."
Alaric exhaled, a satisfied smile on his face. He walked over to Caspian and offered a hand. "That last strike was incredible, Caspian. Your power output is even higher than the records suggested. I've never seen a North-born with that kind of mana-density."
Caspian ignored the hand, instead turning to clean his blade with a piece of cloth. "Don't get used to it, Thorne. I'm here because the Academy told me to be."
Alaric's smile didn't falter; he simply tucked his hand into his pocket, seemingly chalking the rejection up to Northern stoicism. He turned to Leo and Seraphina. "Great work, both of you. Seraphina, your mana-purification on the second wave saved us a lot of trouble. Don't worry about the hesitation at the start—it's a high-pressure environment."
"Thank you, Lord Thorne," Seraphina whispered. She looked at Alaric—his silver hair slightly mussed, his eyes bright with the excitement of a successful drill. He looked so human. He looked like the hero the Empire wanted him to be.
Beside him, Elara was gently dabbing a bead of sweat from Alaric's forehead with a silk handkerchief. "You were wonderful, Alaric. The way you managed the spatial field... it's exactly what the Empire needs in a leader."
"We're a team, Elara," Alaric reminded her, though he leaned into her touch.
As they began to file out of the arena, Alaric pulled out his notebook to record the data. He was genuinely pleased. The squad was functional, the roles were clear, and his fiancée was as supportive as ever. To him, the tension in the air was just the natural friction of elite students learning to work together.
Behind him, Caspian and Seraphina shared a brief, silent look. They hadn't spoken about their shared "hallucinations" yet, but in that look, there was a mutual understanding. They weren't just trapped with a future tyrant. They were trapped with a girl who fought like a god and loved like a zealot.
The path forward was narrowing. With Elara standing guard, any direct action against Alaric would be suicide. They would have to be smarter. They would have to watch, wait, and hope that the "Prodigy" made a mistake that even a Princess couldn't cover up.