The day began with the sun peeping shyly in the horizon. Its heat would not be truly felt until another hour, but the signs had begun.
At the far side, on a track that ran through the Emergency Soulbound Knight Station, was a sleek-looking train. One look at it, and one could tell that it did not use coal or electricity, but Aether—that fine, fueling resource from beyond the Glass.
No doubt, it was very expensive to make.
It had the emblem of the Academy: a golden glass heart with a broadsword, held by mecha hands, stabbing through it vertically.
The Soulbound Knights were loading the train with boxes, and some others with the horses they had used to navigate the remote towns of the empire.
An elderly-looking knight in a red tunic, having small eyes, a small nose, a light brown bowl haircut, and a moustache of the same color, spat out orders to the assembly of children in ordered formation before him.
There were a little over a hundred of them.
These were the children from all the towns in this region.
Whether from wealthy homes or not, their rough, rag clothes had been replaced with clean, white cadet uniforms: a buttoned-up shirt with sleeves just short of the elbows and white shorts that stopped just before the knees.
The only other accessory on them was their Glasshearts and their standard-issue digital wristwatches.
"Yes, sir! Yes, sir!!"
From within the room, Soren could hear their shouting responses.
On waking up, he cleaned and changed the white bandages on his body. The pendant around his neck stirred. Soren grabbed it, fingers massaging it a bit.
He remembered that he had once tried to get rid of it, but machos had forbidden it. "It's a part of your identity." The old man advised wearing it back around his neck.
Now, it was the only thing either father ever placed around his neck.
When he was done dressing up, he headed out.
Slowly, he pushed open the door. The cold morning wind hit his skin, stinging his eyes. It was both refreshing and annoying.
It was a day different from the hell he had repeated over 800 times, but it was the first day without Machos.
The bandages filled his body such that even his face was mostly covered with them, adding a kind of mystery to his persona.
His steps were heavy but not sluggish, his shoulders slumped like he was carrying the weight of the world on their fragile form, but somehow still bold.
Over eight hundred days fighting an Eldritch had its changes on him, not just mental, but also physical—if one looked close enough.
However, the moment he stepped out, walking towards the assembly, all attention had been pulled to him.
Whether it was the Soulbound knights preparing for departure or the children lining up.
All eyes were drawn to him. Whispers danced in the air.
"That's him, right? That's the commoner kid that created a miracle."
"The F-rank that piloted a Soul Mecha?"
"I heard he is not only F-rank but also the son of a Dungie."
"Really? Talk about getting a double Whammy from life and returning the favor with a kick to the balls." One knight lamented.
"Oh god of the Neuralink, that's him. He looks so handsome." One particular girl with red hair whispered, licking her lower lip like a snake.
Most others snickered, pride in their stance and tone.
"Trash is still trash."
"F-rank? He was just lucky to pilot a Soul mecha. In fact, I heard it was an old worn-out trash like him. Maybe that's why," a boy with golden hair and a bird on his shoulder remarked.
"I can probably do it too."
Vass looked his way, an annoyed look in his eyes. He had a few bruises peppered on his body.
Tommy smiled at him, and Pencil looked his way but looked away, shame evident in his eyes.
But there were some others that looked his way and remained interested. Aside from the girl with red hair, there was a short boy wearing glasses.
While people had their own thoughts about him, Soren felt different.
His eyes looked drowsy and tired. Like an old man dead of dreams, passion... life.
There was a journal in one hand. It was the one Commander Jared had given him the night before. He held it close to his chest.
Gently, he walked to join the assembly of cadets.
"Cadet Soren!" The old knight addressing the assembly of children suddenly spoke up. "You were supposed to be here at exactly 6:00. What does your time say?"
Soren paused, raised his head to the instructor, and then looked lazily at his standard cadet-issued wristwatch. It was 6:10.
"6:10"
"You mean 6:10, Instructor Funguslus Marcus. Or 6:10, sir!" He corrected, brows creased.
A second name? A noble.
They were the only ones that carried along their surname or family name.
But Soren was a commoner from a very rural place. He had never had an encounter with a noble and, therefore, treated Marcus like he would have any other person he assumed to be of seniority back home.
Soren did not raise his eyes. "6:10, Sir." His lips gave a sluggish reply.
However, Instructor Marcus only frowned. He believed Soren was looking down on him, a noble.
While it was true that Soren had achieved something incredible. No, he had achieved the impossible. It still was not enough reason to look down on his superior in both rank and birth status.
In fact, Marcus had been looking forward to seeing this particular cadet. Rumors of his achievements had spread like wildfire the moment he was brought into the station.
Which in turn gave some young ones wild dreams of their unfortunate future.
That was a few days ago. He was also the reason their departure to the Academy had been delayed until now.
However, Marcus had been teaching for a long time. He was a stern old man of noble blood that demanded respect from all below him regardless of their achievements, especially if they were lowborn.
"Look at me when I talk to you, cadet."
But Soren did not obey. And then he did—raising his eyes steadily.
"How dare you look at an instructor with such disdain. First you come in late, and now you display such abominable disrespect? I can see that the little praise for a mere F-rank has gotten to your head." As he spoke, he approached.
The cadets parted a pathway for him, like sheep avoiding a wolf.
In the days that they had all been gathered at this emergency station, Instructor Marcus had smacked order, fear, and respect into them.
He had done it literally with the whip at his side.
Also, they had come to realize that he was quite sensitive to their status as either nobles or commoners.
Even Vass had been unruly when he came. Those faint long scars he had on his body were evidence of the discipline he had to endure.
While being SS rank was an incredible thing worthy of praise and blessings from the stars themselves, it did nothing to elevate his position in the eyes of this instructor.
Of course, it was majorly because of his status.
But no one had the guts to say that.
Soren did not look at Marcus again. Just that look had taken much effort from him. It had only been a day since he woke up. He was in no mental or emotional condition to face the world.
He was not the same boy he had been some 'eight hundred days' ago. He already understood that the world was not fair.
Right now, if he looked at the instructor, it would be a problem. If he didn't, it was still a problem.
He would rather do what was most convenient for himself, and that was to ignore the old man.
But Instructor Marcus only frowned harder.
SMACK!
A hand landed roughly on Soren's face, causing the boy to fall on the ground. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, Cadet."
Soren grunted. A hard slap from one with an enhanced body could leave a hole in a brick wall.
It hurt. But not enough.
KICK!
Right in the middle of his chest.
Soren coughed out some blood, but his eyes still did not acknowledge the presence of the old instructor.
More eyes had been drawn this way.
Boyed had been giving a report to Commander Jared when his eyes had been pulled to the confrontation between Soren and Instructor Marcus through the window.
He frowned and wanted to step in, but Commander Jared raised a hand to stop him, eyes focused on Soren.
The Commander's smile did not change. "Allow it. The tallest tree always attracts the beating of the strongest winds. The boy has to understand the kind of world he has been pulled into. Even talented commoners face the discrimination. F-rank Commoner achieving the impossible is a cry to be used as an example. Besides... look." He gestured with his chin at Soren's eyes.
Boyed saw it. He could also tell that the experienced Soulbound Knights watching also saw it.
That dead look in Soren's eyes.
If Boyed were to describe it, then it would be like a lion ignoring the bites of a tiger simply because it had once challenged a mountain.
In other words, Soren did not see the instructor as a challenge, even though the man was capable of crashing him to bits.
Marcus's fists tightened. He too saw those eyes, and it infuriated him.
His frown made his face age a couple more years.
He was causing Soren pain, and the boy still refused to acknowledge him.
He had planned to break this so-called 'hero' before they arrived at the Imperial Soulforge Academy, to put him in his place.
But what use was a bully if the victim did not acknowledge their mere presence?
The cadets watched.
Pencil frowned, but fear was the anchor that held him in place. Tommy's fist molded, and he wanted to react.
Meanwhile, Marcus' frown only got tighter. He had wanted to hit the boy a little—using fear to realign him, just like he had done with the others—but he could not stand it. 'this mere commoner F-rank Trash.' He kicked again and again, causing Soren more wounds to the old ones until...
[Author's Note: Please add the Book to your Library.]