Dormitory C – Morning
SNAP.
The sound was small, sharp, and tragic.
Yu Tianheng stood in front of the bathroom mirror. In his hand, he held two pieces of what used to be a toothbrush.
"That was the last one," Yu Tianheng whispered, staring at his reflection.
"I have murdered four toothbrushes in two days."
He tried to turn on the faucet. He gripped the handle with the tenderness of a mother holding a newborn.
CREAAAK.
The metal groaned, twisted, but miraculously didn't shear off. A trickle of water came out.
"Success," Yu Tianheng exhaled, sweat beading on his forehead.
"I controlled the beast."
He walked into the common room. Arthev was already there, reading a book titled Material Science: Alloys of the Ancient Era.
On the table sat a long, rectangular box.
"Morning, Captain," Arthev said without looking up.
"I heard the casualty report from the bathroom. Another brush down?"
"I hate this," Yu Tianheng slumped into a chair carefully.
"I feel like a bull in a glass shop. I can't eat. I can't write. If I try to hold a pen, it turns into splinters."
"Your fine motor skills are lagging behind your output," Arthev diagnosed.
"Your brain sends a signal for 'grip', but your muscles interpret it as 'crush'. You need recalibration tools."
Arthev slid the rectangular box across the table.
"Open it."
Yu Tianheng reached out.
"If I break the box..."
"It is made of Deep Sea Ironwood. You won't break it."
Yu Tianheng opened the lid. Inside lay two dark, heavy rods. They looked like chopsticks, but they were thick, grey, and metallic.
"What are these?"
"Lead-Core Steel Chopsticks," Arthev explained.
"Each one weighs five kilograms. Ten kilograms total."
Yu Tianheng picked them up. His hand dipped slightly under the unexpected weight, but then his muscles engaged. The weight felt... right. It provided resistance.
"Because they are heavy, your muscles have to constantly work just to hold them,"
Arthev said. "This feedback loop forces your brain to pay attention to your fingers. Try picking up a peanut."
Arthev tossed a single peanut onto the table.
Yu Tianheng focused. He gripped the heavy metal rods. Click. The chopsticks met with a solid sound. He pinched the peanut.
It didn't crush. He lifted it.
"I... I did it," Yu Tianheng beamed. He ate the peanut.
"I can eat!"
"Keep them," Arthev said.
"Use them for everything. Eating, writing, pointing at people. Until they feel light, you are still dangerous to furniture."
--‐-----
The Classroom
News of the Wyvern Incident had spread.
The classroom was packed. Students who usually skipped theory were now crammed into the back rows, hoping to glimpse the "Science Sect" member.
Teacher Bai, the old man with the glasses, stood at the chalkboard. He looked nervous. He looked at Arthev.
"Student Arthev," Teacher Bai cleared his throat.
"The Board has requested a... explanation. Regarding the vessel theory."
Arthev stood up. The room went silent.
He walked to the board. He didn't use chalk. He picked up a piece of charcoal.
He drew a circle.
"This is a balloon," Arthev said.
"This is a normal Soul Elder."
He drew a square around the circle.
"This is a box. This is the limit of the body."
He tapped the board.
"When you absorb a Soul Ring, you are pumping air into the balloon. If the balloon expands past the box... pop. Death. That is the Grandmaster's limit. 1,760 years for the third ring."
He drew another circle next to it. But this time, he drew thick, jagged lines around it.
"This is not a balloon," Arthev said. "This is a tire. A high-pressure, reinforced rubber tire."
"How do you turn a balloon into a tire?" a student asked from the back.
"Trauma," Arthev answered instantly.
"Controlled, repetitive trauma. You tear the muscle fibers. You heal them. The scar tissue is denser. You compress the bones with weight. The density increases."
He looked at Yu Tianheng, who was sitting in the front row, carefully taking notes with his 5kg lead chopsticks. The desk was groaning under the weight of his arm.
"Captain Yu didn't just absorb a ring," Arthev concluded.
"He spent three weeks being crushed, drowned, and starved. He turned his body into a vessel capable of holding 10,000 years of pressure. It is not magic. It is hard work."
The class stared.
"So..." Dugu Yan raised her hand.
"If I want a black ring... I have to let you torture me more?"
Arthev smiled. "Essentially, yes."
Dugu Yan slumped on her desk. "I hate science."
---------
The Kitchens
Spark was angry.
He was chopping onions. Chop. Chop. Chop.
"He gave the Captain lead chopsticks," Spark muttered to the onion.
"Who does that? 'Here, have some heavy metal to eat your rice.' It's ridiculous."
"Spark," Whisper's voice buzzed in his ear.
"Stop talking to vegetables. Focus."
"I am focusing! I am making the 'Explosive Meatball Special'."
Spark grinned. He had stuffed the meatballs with a special mixture of chili oil and a mild numbing powder. It wouldn't kill anyone, but it would make their tongues go completely dead for an hour.
"Petty revenge," Spark giggled.
"Let's see him lecture about taste profiles when he can't feel his face."
The lunch rush began. The Royal Team arrived.
Arthev took a tray. He looked at the meatballs.
'Shukaku,' Arthev projected.
'High spice. And that's prickly ash in there ,numbing agent.' the One-Tail sniffed.
'The rat is trying to prank you again.'
Arthev looked at Spark. Spark looked innocent or as innocent as a twitchy man in a big hat could look.
Arthev took three bowls of meatballs.
"I am hungry today," Arthev announced loud enough for Spark to hear.
"And I love spicy food. It stimulates the endorphins."
He walked to the table. He ate a meatball.
His tongue went numb instantly. It felt like he was licking a battery.
Arthev didn't flinch. He kept eating.
"Is it good?" Yu Feng asked, eyeing the red sauce.
"Delicious," Arthev lied, his face a mask of calm even though he couldn't feel his lips.
"Very... textural."
Spark watched from the kitchen, jaw dropped.
"He's eating it," Spark whispered.
"He's eating the whole bowl. Is he a robot? Does he have no nerves?"
"He is winning the psychological war," Whisper said.
"Stop cooking, Spark. I have news. I got the job."
-----
The Faculty Office
Qin Ming sat at his desk, reviewing a file.
Standing before him was a tall, thin man with sharp features and glasses. He wore a crisp grey suit that looked professional and boring.
"Mr. Silas," Qin Ming said.
"You were a librarian?"
"I was," Whisper replied, his voice smooth.
"But books are... static. I prefer the dynamic nature of combat theory."
"Your credentials say you are a Level 42 Soul Ancestor. Tool Spirit: The Book of Analysis."
Whisper nodded. It was a fake spirit, projected by his high-level Holo-Technique, but it looked real enough to pass a casual inspection.
"The Royal Team is... unique," Qin Ming said, rubbing his temples.
"We have a Dragon who breaks doors, a turtle who thinks he's a plow, and a healer . And then there's Arthev."
"The Sage," Whisper nodded.
"Arthev manages their physical training," Qin Ming said.
"But I need someone to handle the logistics. Strategy review. Opponent analysis. Paperwork. Can you handle a group of eccentric geniuses?"
"I am very patient," Whisper smiled thinly.
"And I have a keen eye for... anomalies."
Qin Ming stamped the paper.
"You're hired. Assistant Instructor Silas. You start tomorrow. Your first task is to figure out why the Academy's cutlery budget has tripled in the last three days."
"I shall investigate immediately," Whisper bowed.
-------
The Garden – Sunset
Arthev sat on a bench, letting the cool evening air soothe his numb tongue.
'The librarian is gone,' Arthev noted.
'I checked the library. New guy at the desk.'
'Did he flee?' Isobu asked.
'No. He upgraded.'
Arthev saw a figure walking across the quad. It was Mr. Silas. But he wasn't wearing the librarian's apron. He was wearing the faculty badge of the Combat Department.
Arthev's eyes narrowed.
'He joined the team,' Arthev realized.
'He's moving closer. He wants to see up close.'
'Bold move,' Shukaku grunted.
'Do we smash him?'
'No,' Arthev thought.
'If he is faculty, he has access to the Academy archives. The real archives. The ones I need the Prince's key for.'
A plan formed in his mind.
'If he is a spy looking for secrets, maybe I can help him find the wrong secrets. Or... maybe I can use him to open doors I can't.'
Arthev stood up.
"Welcome to the team, Mr. Silas," he whispered to the wind.
"I hope you like heavy lifting."
To be continued...