Jin walked through the heavy iron doors. The practical combat arena was massive.
It was not a clean, polished classroom. It was an indoor stadium carved directly into the dark mountain. The floor was packed with hard, dry dirt. It smelled like old sweat, rust, and crushed stone.
The walls were completely covered in steel.
There were no books here. Massive wooden racks lined the perimeter, holding every type of weapon imaginable. Thick iron swords, heavy spears, jagged battleaxes, and spiked metal maces hung in long rows. Cold, lethal tools waiting to be used.
The students entering the arena stared at the walls. The rich kids from the capital pointed at the elegant, silver-plated rapiers. The outer-rim mercenaries eyed the heavy, two-handed broadswords. They all wanted to grab a weapon and prove their strength.
Jin did not look at the weapons. He looked at the center of the room.
A man stood in the dead center of the dirt floor.
He was incredibly tall and heavily muscled. His thick arms stretched the fabric of his dark grey combat uniform. He did not pace. He did not welcome the students.
His eyes were completely closed. His massive arms were crossed tightly over his chest. He was perfectly still, except for his right foot.
He tapped his heavy leather boot against the hard dirt. Thud. Thud. Thud. It was a slow, steady, rhythmic tapping. He was counting the seconds.
Jin stopped near the edge of the arena. He kept his back near the wall. Luna stood close beside him. She clutched her silver book against her chest. She looked terrified of the giant man in the center.
The arena slowly filled with students. They grouped together by social class, whispering nervously. The tapping of the instructor's boot echoed off the high stone ceiling.
Jin checked the time on his Aether-band. The first minute of the scheduled block arrived.
He scanned the crowd. The room was not full. Only about seventy-five percent of the freshmen were present. The rest were still navigating the massive, confusing academy hallways or simply taking their time.
The exact second the clock shifted, the tapping stopped.
The tall instructor opened his eyes. They were completely flat and devoid of emotion. He did not say a word. He uncrossed his arms and walked directly toward the main entrance.
His strides were long and heavy. He reached the massive iron doors.
A large group of late students was running down the corridor outside. They were laughing and talking loudly, assuming they could just slip into the back of the class.
The instructor grabbed the thick iron handles. He slammed both doors shut right in their faces.
The heavy locking bar dropped into place with a loud, final clang. The students outside immediately started banging their fists against the iron, shouting to be let in.
"Latecomers are not allowed in my class," the instructor stated. His voice was deep and calm. He spoke directly to the closed door.
Then, the air around his body warped violently.
He vanished.
Jin did not even see him move. One second the giant man was standing by the iron doors, and a fraction of a second later, he reappeared in the exact center of the dirt arena. It was a high-level spatial movement technique, executed with terrifying casualness.
The instructor crossed his thick arms over his chest again. He closed his eyes.
"Start running," he said.
He did not yell. He just dropped the two words into the quiet arena.
Nobody moved.
The students just stood there. They looked at each other in total confusion. They looked at the massive racks of weapons on the walls. They were the elite heirs of powerful families. They came here to learn advanced martial arts and lethal killing techniques. They expected to spar. They expected to bleed.
They did not expect to jog in a circle like common foot soldiers.
A rich boy in the front row scoffed quietly. He crossed his arms, mimicking the instructor. He was not going to run. He was Foundation Level 8. Running was beneath him.
Three seconds passed. The arena was perfectly silent. There was no sound of boots hitting the dirt.
The instructor's eyes snapped open.
He dropped his arms to his sides. He took a single, massive breath. His chest expanded, pulling in a huge volume of ambient Aether.
Then, he shouted.
"Start running, fools! Didn't you hear me?!"
It was not a normal human yell. It was an unfiltered, concentrated sonic shockwave. The raw Aether exploded from his vocal cords and slammed into the crowd like a physical wall of moving air.
Jin felt the impact in his bones. A sharp, stabbing pain pierced his eardrums. The sheer volume bypassed his hearing and rattled his teeth.
The reaction was instantaneous. Dozens of students dropped straight to their knees. They clutched their heads, screaming in pain. Thin trails of blood leaked from the ears of the weaker Foundation students. The rich boy who had scoffed was knocked flat on his back, gasping for breath.
Jin grit his teeth. His head rang violently, but he did not fall. His newly strengthened Level 4 muscles locked his legs in place.
The confusion was instantly replaced by absolute panic.
The students scrambled off the floor. They did not argue. They did not complain about their bleeding ears. The primal fear of a superior predator completely overrode their pride.
They rushed toward the outer edge of the massive dirt track. They started running.
Jin moved with the crowd. He did not sprint. He settled into a steady, calculated jog. He kept his breathing even. He used the rhythm from his Devourer breathing technique, inhaling sharply and exhaling slowly to maximize oxygen efficiency.
Luna ran a few paces behind him. She was already struggling. Her small legs worked frantically to keep up with the larger students. She tucked her silver book under her arm and focused on the dirt in front of her boots.
Soon, the entire class was moving. Hundreds of students formed a massive, chaotic circle around the perimeter of the arena.
The sound filled the room. Heavy leather boots pounding against the hard dirt. Thump. Thump. Thump. The chaotic footsteps slowly merged. It became a heavy, collective rhythm. It sounded like the marching of a massive army.
Jin looked toward the center of the arena as he ran past.
The tall instructor had crossed his arms again. His eyes were closed. He resumed tapping his right foot against the dirt. Thud. Thud. Thud. He did not hold a stopwatch. He did not announce a target distance. He did not say if they were running five laps or fifty miles.
Jin analyzed the psychological tactic immediately.
It was a stress test. Physical exhaustion was secondary. The real torture was the unknown variable.
When a runner knows the finish line, they can ration their energy. They can pace themselves. But when there is no finish line, the human brain begins to panic. The mind breaks long before the muscles fail. The students would constantly wonder when it would end. They would burn their mental stamina worrying about the next lap.
Jin blocked the panic out. A good manager does not worry about the end of the shift. He just executes the current task.
He focused his eyes on the back of the student in front of him. He matched the rhythm of the heavy boots hitting the dirt. He kept his breathing strict and deep.
The rich kids were already sprinting too fast, burning their energy in an angry rush to prove their stamina. The poor kids were lagging behind, their weak bodies failing early.
Jin stayed exactly in the middle. He conserved his Aether. He ran.
The dirt track stretched on. The sound of the pounding boots echoed off the steel weapons on the walls. The instructor kept tapping his foot. The endless run had just begun.