The announcement came during morning assembly. The Headmaster stood on the platform, his scarred face impassive as always, but his voice carried unusual weight.
"The Academy's purpose is not merely academic," he declared. "Warriors are forged in real combat, not practice yards. Therefore, every student will participate in a mandatory field mission."
Murmurs rippled through the assembled classes. This was earlier than usual, typically, subjugation missions weren't assigned until second year.
"Gloomwood Forest, twenty miles north, has reported goblin activity. Intelligence suggests a moderate infestation approximately fifty to seventy hostiles.
Mixed ranks from F to E, with possible D-rank leadership."
The headmaster continued, his scarred face showing no emotion. "You will form teams of two to four members.
Each team receives an assigned patrol route. Mission duration: three days. Objectives are threefold: eliminate goblin threats, secure the forest perimeter, and demonstrate tactical competence."
He paused, letting the weight settle. "Ranking points will be awarded based on confirmed kills and mission completion.
Top-performing teams receive Academy commendations and material rewards. Failure to meet minimum objectives results in disciplinary action."
The elite students of Class A were already forming teams, confident and eager. These were nobles with expensive equipment and years of training. This mission was an opportunity for glory.
Class B students partnered quickly, selecting teammates based on complementary abilities and established friendships.
Even Class C and D managed to form cohesive groups, bonding over shared nervousness and mutual support.
In Class F, chaos reigned.
"Not partnering with you, Stark," Grol said bluntly. "You're skilled, but that F-minus mana makes you a liability. No offense."
"None taken." Robin had expected this.
The other Class F students were scrambling, forming desperate alliances based on whoever would accept them.
Everyone wanted to avoid being stuck with the weakest links.
Norman stood apart from the crowd, arms crossed, golden eyes surveying the chaos with detached amusement. No one approached him either.
The half-beast was too dangerous, too unpredictable. Even in Class F, he was an outcast among outcasts.
Master Torren called out team assignments as they were formed. His expression grew progressively more disgusted as he watched the political maneuvering and desperate partnerships.
Finally, only two students remained unpaired.
Robin Stark. Norman Grey.
The two outcasts no one wanted.
Torren's scarred face twisted into something that might have been a smile. Or a grimace. "Well. Looks like you two get each other. How touching."
The instructor pulled out a map, spreading it across the table. His finger traced several marked routes through Gloomwood Forest.
"Class A gets the western perimeter. Closest to the command camp. Safest route." His finger moved. "Class B takes the northern approach. Moderate risk. Class C and D split the eastern sectors."
His finger stopped on the deepest penetration into the forest. The route that extended farthest from support and went directly through the densest terrain.
"Class F get this one."
Robin studied the map. The route was deliberately punishing. Whoever drew this assignment was being set up for failure, maximum danger, minimum support, furthest from reinforcements.
"That's the highest-risk area," Grol protested. "Intelligence marked it as potentially D-rank density."
"Then they'll have an excellent opportunity to prove themselves," Torren said coldly. "Or they'll fail spectacularly. Either way, I'll have data for my evaluation."
The other students looked uncomfortable. Even in Class F, this felt excessive.
But Robin and Norman exchanged glances. A silent communication passed between them.
This was perfect.
"Understood, sir," Robin said calmly.
Equipment distribution was equally lopsided.
Class A students received enchanted weapons, healing potions, emergency flares, and lightweight armor specifically designed for forest combat.
Class B got standard military-grade equipment, solid weapons, basic healing supplies, and functional armor.
Classes C and D received worn but serviceable gear. Nothing fancy, but adequate.
Class F got leftovers.
Robin was issued a standard iron sword, decent quality but nothing special. Basic leather armor that had seen better days.
A single healing potion that looked like it had been sitting in storage for years. No flares. No emergency equipment.
"That's it?" Norman asked, staring at his own meager supplies.
"Budget constraints," the quartermaster said without sympathy. "Class F gets what's left after everyone else is equipped. You want better gear? Earn a higher class ranking."
Norman's eyes flashed gold briefly. Robin put a warning hand on his arm.
"It's fine," Robin said quietly. "We don't need their charity."
They left the quartermaster's building. Norman was seething. "This is bullshit. They're deliberately handicapping us."
"Of course they are." Robin examined his sword, testing the balance. "The Academy wants to see how we perform under adverse conditions.
If we succeed with minimal resources, it proves competence. If we fail, we're just two Class F rejects who couldn't handle a simple mission."
"And if we die?"
"Then we were weak and deserved it." Robin's voice was matter-of-fact. "That's how they think. The system selects for strength. Everything else is irrelevant."
Norman looked at him. "You're not bothered by this at all."
"Why would I be?" Robin met his golden eyes. "Let them give us the worst equipment and hardest route.
When we return with the highest kill count, the contrast makes our success that much more impressive."
Understanding dawned on Norman's face. "You wanted this assignment."
"I wanted them to underestimate us. They obliged." Robin shouldered his pack. "Besides, being far from command oversight means we can operate however we want. No instructors watching. No rules. Just results."
Norman's feral grin returned. "I'm starting to understand how you think. It's terrifying."
"Good. You should be terrified." Robin started walking toward the Academy gates where teams were assembling. "Because for the next three days, we're going hunting. And I intend to show everyone in this Academy exactly what Class F is capable of."
The assembly point was chaos. Hundreds of students in various states of readiness. Class A looked like a military parade, polished armor, confident bearing, experienced teamwork already evident.
The other classes were more ragged but still organized. Teams huddled together, reviewing maps and discussing tactics.
Robin and Norman stood apart. They didn't need to discuss strategy. Three weeks of midnight training had taught them to communicate without words.
"Listen up!" An Academy officer addressed the crowd. "You depart at dawn. Extraction point is here" he indicated on a massive map "in three days.
Any team that fails to report by the deadline is considered lost and will face disciplinary action."
He continued with logistics, supply caches, emergency protocols, communication procedures. Standard military briefing.
Robin barely listened. He was studying the other teams. Assessing threats and potential complications.
Class A's leader was a noble named Theron, skilled, arrogant, and politically connected. He'd try to claim maximum glory regardless of his team's actual performance.
Class B had several competent teams including his brother Leo, but they'd follow doctrine exactly. Predictable and safe.
The real wildcards were Classes C and D. Desperation made people dangerous. They might take unnecessary risks to prove themselves.
"What are you thinking?" Norman asked quietly.
"That we're going to need to move fast and finish early," Robin replied. "When other teams struggle to meet their quotas, some will venture into our sector looking for easy kills. I'd rather complete our mission before that becomes a complication."
"You think they'd poach our territory?"
"I think desperate students with ranking points on the line will do whatever they need to succeed. Including stealing kills from Class F students who can't politically retaliate."
Norman's expression darkened. "Then we make sure there's nothing left for them to steal."
"Exactly." Robin's smile was cold. "Total extermination. We clear our entire sector so thoroughly that anyone who ventures in finds only corpses."
The officer finished his briefing. "Dismissed. Get rest. Dawn comes early."
Teams dispersed. Robin and Norman headed toward the dormitory, but Robin's mind was already in Gloomwood Forest.
Goblins. F-rank trash mobs to most students. Annoyances to be dispatched efficiently.
But to Robin, they were experience points. Each kill was quantifiable growth. And in a target-rich environment far from oversight, he could level up faster than any controlled Academy exercise would allow.
"Three days," Robin murmured. "Seventy goblins divided among all these teams. Most will be lucky to get five or six kills each."
"And us?"
Robin's eyes held the cold calculation of Commander Justin, a man who'd planned campaigns that killed thousands.
"We're going to kill them all."
Norman's laugh was genuinely delighted. "Now you're speaking my language."
They reached the dormitory. Around them, other Class F students were nervous, anxious about the coming mission.
Robin and Norman felt only anticipation.
The Academy thought they were sending two rejects into the forest to struggle and fail.
They had no idea they were unleashing predators into a target-rich environment.
Dawn couldn't come fast enough.