The western combat training grounds of the Imperial Academy sat at the foot of an old stone mesa, its packed sand floors scored with the marks of centuries of sparring matches and spell drills. The air smelled of iron dust and burnt essence, sharp and familiar to anyone who'd ever trained for border duty.
Laia stood in the back row of the small group of apprentices, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her scuffed robe, and tried not to look too out of place. There were five of them total, not counting her: three quiet upperclassmen with calloused hands and sharp, wary eyes, all senior cadets bound for the frontier corps… and then Murong Xue and Soren Shaw, standing side by side near the front, glowing like polished silver next to the worn leather and plain wool of the others.
She blinked.
Of course they're here, she thought, dry as dust. Why bother winning a tournament for an apprenticeship when your family can just buy you a spot?
It made sense, in a way. The secret Lord Thorne guarded was valuable enough that every great house in the empire would claw over each other to get a foot in the door. A tournament spot was just the poor man's way in. People like Murong and Soren didn't need to win third or second place. They just needed their families to make a donation, or pull a favor, and walk right in the side door.
Laia sighed quietly to herself.
Whatever. None of my business. As long as this apprenticeship comes with a stipend.
Lord Thorne stood before them in the center of the training ring, his dented plate armor clinking softly as he shifted his weight. He did not look like a legendary War God. He looked like a weathered old drill sergeant who'd spent too many years sleeping in the mud on campaign. There was no fancy cloak, no glowing regalia, just a scar across his left cheek and a gaze sharp enough to cut through stone.
"Alright, listen up," he said, his voice rough as gravel, loud enough to carry across the grounds without amplification. "I don't do lectures. I don't do essay assignments. I don't grade papers. If you're here to collect a fancy certificate and pad your family resume, you can turn around and walk out right now. Save us both the trouble."
He paced slowly in front of the line, his boots scuffing the sand.
"You're here because you all think you want to know the secret of the western marches. You think it's a spell, or a treasure, or a battle trick that'll make you unbeatable. You're wrong. The secret is a problem. One no one has solved in three hundred years. And the only people who get to hear about it are the ones tough enough, smart enough, and stubborn enough to not get themselves killed learning it."
He stopped, his gaze sweeping over the group. It lingered on Murong Xue for half a second, on Soren for another. Then it landed on Laia, all the way in the back, and held.
"Tournament winner," he said, flat as a stone. "Laia. Step forward."
Laia froze for half a second, then stepped up, her heart sinking a little. Great. First day and I'm already in trouble.
"Your subjects fought well in the arena," Thorne said. "Clever. Cautious. Good at surviving on very little. That's useful. But surviving student tournaments and surviving the Abyss are two very different things."
He gestured to the great iron gate set into the stone wall at the far end of the training grounds.
"First lesson. No more practice dummies. No more illusions. We start with the real thing. Low-tier void spawn. Minor corruption. Nothing that'll eat you alive… if your subjects have any resistance at all."
Laia blinked.
Wait, she thought. Already? On the first day?
The other apprentices shifted nervously. The three upperclassmen looked grim, but ready. Murong Xue's jaw tightened, but she nodded, regal and composed. Soren's eyes lit up with sharp, hungry excitement. This was exactly what they'd come for.
Laia just thought, No one mentioned field work on day one. Am I getting paid overtime for this?
The iron gate rumbled open.
A wave of cold, wrong-smelling air washed out over the training grounds, thick with the sickly sweet reek of void corruption. Six hunched, shadowy creatures with too many teeth and glistening black claws scuttled out into the sand, hissing. Low tier. First Rank, maybe Second at most. But to anyone who'd never faced real void spawn before, they were terrifying.
"Deploy your vanguard," Thorne said, stepping back. "Fight them. No forbidden scrolls. No trump cards. Just your standard line troops. I want to see how your subjects hold up against baseline corruption."
One by one, the apprentices stepped forward and summoned their vanguard units through small divine portals at their feet.
The upperclassmen brought out armored infantry and light mages. Solid. Well trained. They formed ranks and advanced carefully, shields up. Their soldiers fought bravely, but every time a void spawn's claw scraped their armor, they flinched. Black corruption seeped into the edges of their shields. They were holding, but barely. You could see the dread in their shoulders.
Murong Xue summoned a squad of radiant knights. Holy light blazed around them as they charged. The void spawn hissed and shrank back from the light. For a minute it looked like she'd win handily. But when one of the creatures managed to rake a knight's pauldron, the golden light dimmed. The knight staggered. The corruption bit deep, even through the holy blessing.
Soren brought out trident warriors and a pair of sea giants. They fought hard, brutal and direct, smashing the void spawn under heavy blows. But their skin blistered where the corruption splattered on them. They were tough. They kept fighting. But it was clearly hurting them.
Thorne watched, his expression unreadable.
Then it was Laia's turn.
She hesitated for half a second, then reached for her divine link. She didn't call the dragons or the demon smiths or any of her heavy hitters. She just summoned a small squad of stonehide drakes and a handful of silverback apes. The same backup troops she'd used in the tournament. Nothing fancy.
The drakes lumbered out onto the sand, snorting. The apes cracked their knuckles. They looked at the hissing void spawn, and then they looked at each other like, Really? This again?
Then they charged.
No fanfare. No glowing buffs. No battle cries. Just Borgul's second-in-command barreling straight into the nearest void spawn, slamming it into the sand with one claw, and biting its head off. The apes grabbed two more by the tails and smashed them against the stone wall like they were beating rugs.
The void spawns' claws scraped across drake scales. Black corruption seeped into the cuts.
And nothing happened.
Well, almost nothing. The drakes shook the corruption off like water off a shell, growled, and kept fighting. The apes wiped the black gunk off their fur with a grunt and went right back to punching.
The whole fight was over in less than a minute.
Six void spawn. All dead.
Laia's vanguard had barely broken a sweat.
The training grounds went dead silent.
The three upperclassmen stared. Their mouths were slightly open.
Murong Xue's composure cracked, just a little. Her eyes widened. She'd known the tunnel rats were tough. She'd known they were clever. But she'd assumed their strength was in their tactics, not in raw resistance to void corruption. This level of tolerance wasn't just training. That was innate. That was something you only got from generations of living with the stuff.
Soren's grin faded. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes sharp.
No wonder she won, he thought. No wonder her subjects can live off void beast meat. They don't just fight the void. They're used to it.
Lord Thorne stood very still, his gaze fixed on the drakes licking their claws in the middle of the training ring. For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, very quietly, he said, "Well."
He looked over at Laia, and for the first time, there was something like real interest in his face.
"Not bad, tournament winner. Not bad at all."
Laia blinked.
She hadn't really thought about it. Her subjects had been fighting void spawn and eating void beast meat for as long as she'd had the realm. It was just… normal. Like breathing. You got scratched by a void creature, you washed it off, you kept going. Everyone knew that.
Wait, she thought, looking around at the shocked faces. Is it not normal?
Thorne waved a hand, and the remains of the void spawn dissolved into smoke. The iron gate rumbled shut behind them.
"Good first showing," he said, gruff as ever. "All of you pass. Barely. We'll do this again tomorrow. Twice as many spawn. Higher tier. And the day after that, we start talking about how to build real resistance, not just tough it out."
He paused, glancing at Laia again.
"Meet me here an hour early tomorrow. We need to talk about your subjects' baseline tolerance. There's more there than you think."
With that, he turned and walked off toward the stone barracks on the edge of the grounds, leaving the six apprentices standing alone in the sand.
The three upperclassmen dispersed quickly, chattering quietly among themselves. Murong Xue and Soren both lingered, their eyes on Laia, both clearly thinking the same thing: there was far more to this quiet, scruffy scholarship student than met the eye.
Laia didn't notice. She was already walking toward the exit, her mind elsewhere.
An hour early, she thought. Does that mean overtime pay? Or at least a free breakfast? Those little glazed tarts they served at the tournament would be nice.
She sighed, a little wistful.
One way or another, she was going to get her ten thousand crystals' worth out of this apprenticeship.
Even if she had to eat every free pastry in the academy to do it.
Behind her, the sun dipped low over the mesa, gilding the stone walls of the training grounds. The first day was over. The real test was just beginning. And no one—not Thorne, not Murong, not Soren, not even Laia herself—knew exactly how far that strange, innate void tolerance would take her.