"Eat fast," Rion said, lowering his voice but keeping his eyes on the captain, as if afraid he might announce something else at any moment.
I nodded and stopped thinking. I shoveled food into my mouth without tasting it.
The rice was dry, the soup thin, and the single piece of bacon barely did anything to ease my hunger, but there was no time to complain.
All around us, comrades were standing up, scraping chairs backward, and grabbing their gear.
The atmosphere had shifted completely. Breakfast was no longer breakfast—it was a countdown.
Rion swallowed hard and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Where's your block?" he asked.
I paused for a moment, recalling the tag on my dorm key and the wooden board outside my room.
"Building C, Block 2, D–9," I replied.
Rion raised his eyebrows slightly.
"Not bad," he said. "What about you?"
"Building C, Block 5, B–1," he answered.
I frowned slightly and repeated the information in my head.
(Building C… but different blocks.)
As we stood up and carried our trays to the side, I began to think.
(So the blocks and levels are organized according to strength and combat roles.)
The realization came naturally once I paid attention to how people spoke about their dorms.
No one was assigned randomly. There was a clear order—one that matched the hierarchy described in the novel.
(According to the novel, combat fighters and swordsmen are the first priority.)
(Then come magic users.)
(After that, tanks and healers.)
It made sense.
Those who fought at the front lines needed faster deployment, better facilities, and closer supervision. Support roles, while important, were treated as secondary.
(But I haven't seen anything about combat-magic users or sword–magic hybrids.)
I remembered flipping through the later chapters of the novel.
(I've read about sword-combat fighters among the Sea People.)
(Even then, they were extremely rare.)
A bitter thought crossed my mind.
(Even the top-ranked heroes of the nation don't use double combat styles.)
Because mastering even one path took a lifetime.
I clenched my fists slightly as I walked.
(Then what about me?)
Before I could dwell on it, I finished the last bite of food, set my tray aside, and turned to Rion.
"I'll see you there," I said.
"Yeah. Don't be late," he replied with a nervous laugh.
I broke into a run.
First, I rushed back to my dorm.
The corridors were crowded now, filled with comrades running in every direction.
Boots thundered against stone floors. Someone shouted for their roommate. Another cursed loudly after tripping over a bag.
When I reached Building C, I sprinted up the stairs two at a time, grabbed the small cloth bag I'd left behind, and tightened the strap across my chest.
No time to waste.
I turned and ran again.
Outside, the fortress grounds were alive with movement. Groups of comrades streamed through the paths like rivers converging toward a single point.
Ground One.
I scanned the area desperately, searching for any sign.
"Where is it?"
The fortress was massive, far larger than I had imagined from the novel.
Tall stone walls surrounded wide open spaces, training yards, watchtowers, and barracks.
Without proper signs, it was easy to get lost.
I turned a corner too quickly—
Thump!
"Oof!"
I crashed into someone.
We both staggered backward.
"What the hell—watch where you're going!" a sharp voice snapped.
I looked up and saw a newcomer girl, about my age, dressed in scholar-style robes rather than combat gear.
She had books strapped to her waist and a badge that marked her as a non-frontline unit.
Behind her stood two others who looked similar—likely scholars or support researchers.
"I'm sorry," I said quickly, bowing my head slightly. "I was lost."
She frowned, brushing dust off her sleeve.
"People these days…" she muttered. "Always running like headless beasts."
"I really am sorry," I said again, already stepping back.
She clicked her tongue and turned away, clearly annoyed.
I didn't argue.
Then I resumed running.
After another turn, I finally saw it.
A massive red board, planted firmly into the ground.
GROUND ONE
The letters were huge, painted in bold strokes, impossible to miss.
Found it.
I slowed my pace slightly as I approached, catching my breath.
The sight before me was overwhelming.
At least six hundred comrades were already gathered there. Rows upon rows of people stood loosely organized, some chatting nervously, others silent and focused.
Beyond them, I saw another two hundred walking in through the main gate of the fortress, their silhouettes framed by sunlight.
Different uniforms. Different badges. Different ranks.
Seniors and mid comrades were also there.
Within a few minutes, everyone had gathered at Ground One.
The vast field was now filled wall to wall with comrades standing in uneven lines. The morning sun shone down on hundreds of armored figures, weapons at their sides, badges gleaming faintly.
The noise slowly faded as people noticed the large stage built at the front of the ground. It stood higher than the crowd, made of dark stone and reinforced wood, clearly meant for important announcements.
A moment later, a man stepped onto the stage.
The moment he appeared, an invisible pressure swept across the ground. Conversations stopped instantly.
That aura…
He wore a long military coat trimmed with gold, his posture straight and unmoving.
His eyes were sharp, carrying the weight of countless battles. Even from a distance, it was clear he wasn't an ordinary officer.
(According to what I remember… he must be a commander under the King of the Land.)
(Rank 100+ or higher on the Hero List.)
That alone explained the silence.
"Good morning, comrades," the commander said. His voice was calm, yet it carried across the entire field without effort.
"This marks the first day of the nineteenth batch of comrades in this fortress."
A few people straightened unconsciously.
"Coming here," he continued, "is the dream of the people of the Land. Those who stand here today have already proven themselves. Whether you are ranked first or last, you are already heroes of this nation."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Some faces showed pride.
The commander raised his hand slightly, and silence returned.
"And understand this," he said firmly. "Those who are here will be paid. Your wages will be issued according to your rank."
At that, many eyes widened.
"Your current rank is written on the board behind me," he added. "You may collect your paper rank from the board after I finish speaking."
I swallowed.
So it's official… ranks already exist.
The commander's gaze swept across us.
"Fight hard," he said. "Train harder. You will face pain, exhaustion, and fear."
Then his expression sharpened.
"But you will not face them alone."
"You have my full support," he declared. "And you have the King's support."