Chapter 10: Dawn of Steel and Breath

  The soft scuff of footsteps echoed against marble walls as Shouta followed the servant boy in silence.

  The white-robed youth moved with practiced grace, not looking back once. Shouta didn’t mind—he wasn’t in the mood for small talk. His body ached from sleeping on too-firm mattresses, his mind heavy from a week of nonstop lessons on magic, history, and the maddening complexity of Veltherion’s gods. Priest Ira had a voice too gentle for how sharp his teachings were, and every day ended with Shouta’s brain melted into soup.

  Now they wanted him to train his body, too?

  He sighed, rolling his shoulders.

  The corridor ended in a wide archway. Cold morning air hit him like a sp—brisk, biting, and fresh with the scent of wet stone and dew. Beyond, a wide courtyard opened up, the training ground nestled within towering church walls. The rising sun barely kissed the tops of the spires, casting long shadows over rows of yawning, hunched students.

  They were all there.

  Most of them looked like they'd been dragged out of bed by the gods themselves.

  Some were stretching, half-asleep. Others stood in dazed clusters, hugging themselves in the morning chill. A few brave souls were sitting cross-legged on the ground, heads bowed like monks—no doubt asleep again.

  Shouta stepped forward slowly, eyes scanning the familiar faces. Ririka was off to the side, arms crossed, talking to no one. Haruka Nakano stood near the center, posture perfectly straight despite the bags under her eyes. Even Jin Makabe looked different without his usual smugness—maybe the cold didn’t py favorites.

  Their training uniforms were simple but functional: gray, open-colred shirts and matching pants, a bit snug around the thighs but loose enough to move in. The brown boots were surprisingly comfortable. Shouta tugged on his sleeves and looked down at himself.

  "So this is real now," he thought. "It’s not just lectures and stars in the sky anymore."

  He had wolfed down the breakfast bread and soup like everyone else, too tired to care what it tasted like. Now the butterflies in his stomach were starting to wake up.

  A sharp whistle sliced through the air.

  Shouta flinched, turning his head toward the source.

  A tall, dark-haired man in a sleeveless coat stood at the edge of the field, arms folded, gaze fierce. There was no mistaking it—this was their instructor. His eyes were sharper than any priest’s, and the aura around him felt... heavy. A different kind of power than magic. More grounded. More real.

  "Form a line! Alphabetical by first name!" the man barked.

  Murmurs erupted. Students scrambled. Shouta blinked, then moved.

  He found himself beside Hoshino Mirei, who offered him a small nod. Her eyes looked clear, focused. Not a trace of sleepiness. Then again, she was always composed.

  “Morning,” Shouta muttered.

  “Mm,” she hummed, eyes forward.

  When everyone had lined up, the instructor stepped forward.

  “I am Captain Wendel. From today, I will be responsible for your physical conditioning, combat readiness, and battlefield survival. You are not soldiers. Not yet. But we’ll carve the weakness out of you. One bruise at a time.”

  Shouta swallowed.

  Wendel’s gaze swept over them. “If you can’t keep up, you’ll fall behind. If you fall behind, you become a burden. And burdens die.”

  A long silence.

  “Welcome to your first day.”

  Shouta felt the air shift. Tension rippled through the group like a shared breath. Some straightened up. Others fidgeted. He just stood there, letting the cold dig into his arms, feeling something inside him stir—not fear. Not exactly.

  Something like resolve.

  He clenched his fists.

  "Let’s see what I’m made of."

  The silence after Wendel’s words clung to the morning air like fog.

  “Step forward, one at a time,” the instructor ordered, voice like steel dragged across stone. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

  No one moved at first.

  Then, hesitantly, a boy with short brown hair and a normal, unremarkable build stepped forward. Shouta recognized him—Kazuya, maybe? One of the quieter boys in css. The kid tried to keep a brave face, but Shouta could see the stiffness in his shoulders, the twitch in his fingers.

  “N-Nagase Kazuya,” the boy announced, trying to sound steady.

  Captain Wendel nodded. “Good. Now attack me with everything you’ve got.”

  A pause.

  The boy blinked. “S-sorry, what?”

  “Don’t make me repeat myself,” Wendel said, not moving from his spot. “Come at me. Try to kill me if you can.”

  A nervous ripple spread through the students.

  Kazuya hesitated, clearly unsure if this was some kind of joke or trap. But Wendel didn’t look like the joking type.

  So, swallowing hard, the boy let out a shaky breath and took a step forward. Then another. He raised his fist—his form was terrible—and lunged, aiming a punch toward Wendel’s abdomen.

  It never nded.

  In one swift movement, Wendel’s leg snapped up like a coiled viper. His boot smmed into Kazuya’s gut with a crack like breaking wood.

  The boy flew.

  He hit the ground hard, skidding several feet before coming to a wheezing halt, limbs sprawled awkwardly. A breathless gasp escaped his lips—he couldn’t even scream. He clutched his stomach, choking, eyes wide with pain.

  The training ground went dead silent.

  Shouta’s breath caught.

  Students froze in pce. Some let out soft gasps. A few instinctively stepped back. The world around them, the safety of the stone walls, suddenly felt thinner—like a dream about to shatter.

  Miss Aiko broke the silence, rushing forward.

  “What do you think you’re doing?!” she cried, stepping between Wendel and the rest of the css. “These are children! You could’ve seriously—!”

  “I held back,” Wendel said ftly, looking down at her without blinking. “If I used even a little more force… he’d be dead.”

  Mirei was already kneeling beside Kazuya, checking his breathing, her expression unreadable but her hands gentle.

  The instructor turned to the css.

  “You think this world is like the one you left behind? A pce where peace reigns? Where is your worst enemy is a pop quiz or some online rumor?”

  His voice rose slightly—controlled, but sharp.

  “In this world, death lurks in every shadow. Monsters, bdes, magic, men—everything wants to kill you. The strong survive. The weak are left to rot. That’s the w here.”

  His words hit like falling stones. Some students looked down. Others looked away. A few clung to each other in quiet dread.

  Shouta felt it, too.

  The weight of reality. The bitter chill of a truth no one wanted to hear.

  But then—

  A single figure stepped forward.

  Ririka Kanzaki. Her steps were slow, trembling, but she didn’t stop. Her fists were clenched at her sides. Her lips pressed tight.

  She didn’t say a word.

  She just swung.

  A right hook, straight for Wendel’s jaw.

  He caught it with one hand, barely flinching.

  “Strong-willed,” he murmured. “But that alone won’t save you.”

  His fist sank into her stomach like a hammer.

  Ririka’s eyes went wide. The air escaped her lungs with a strangled noise, and she crumpled backward, crashing to the dirt with a heavy thud.

  “No!” Miss Aiko started toward her, but Wendel raised a hand, and this time, even she hesitated.

  More students were stepping forward now.

  Makabe Jin, fury in his face. Behind him, his two loyal friends. Others followed—some out of pride, some fear, some blind instinct.

  They ran toward Wendel like waves crashing against stone.

  And like stone, he didn’t budge.

  One after another, he dispatched them. A twist of the arm. A kick to the ribs. A jab to the throat. None of it lethal—but none of it soft.

  From where he stood, Shouta watched it all, heart pounding.

  These weren’t just demonstrations. This was a lesson. One written in bruises and breathless cries.

  "This isn’t training," he realized. "It’s war. And it’s already begun."

  Bodies littered the ground.

  Bruised. Groaning. Some are completely still.

  Shouta stood frozen in pce, his breath shallow, as Wendel dusted his hands like he’d just finished cleaning dirt off his gloves, not ying out a dozen students.

  Makabe was down, one arm twisted under him awkwardly. Ririka y crumpled on her side, clutching her stomach, her proud face distorted in pain. Even the loud ones, the tough ones… all down.

  Only four remained standing.

  Miss Aiko. Mirei. Haruka.

  And Shouta.

  He could barely feel his legs. His heart hammered so violently in his chest it hurt.

  Wendel’s gaze swept over them, calcuting. Unimpressed.

  “Well?” he said, voice cold. “If you won’t move…”

  He vanished.

  No, not vanished—moved.

  Too fast. Faster than Shouta’s eyes could follow.

  There was a crack like a whip, and Mirei was suddenly airborne.

  She colpsed mid-spin, her body limp as a rag doll. She hit the ground and didn’t get back up.

  “Mirei…!” Miss Aiko shouted, starting forward—but she was too far away.

  The instructor didn’t stop.

  In a blink, he was in front of Haruka.

  “Ah—!” Haruka gasped, startled. She raised her hands in front of her face, stepping back instinctively.

  But it was too te.

  Shouta didn’t think.

  He just moved.

  His body threw itself between the two of them like a shield. A wall. A desperate choice.

  He saw the blow coming.

  He felt it nd.

  The fist smmed into his forehead with terrifying force.

  There was no time to cry out. No time to regret.

  Just white.

  Then bck.

  He dropped.

  The cold ground rushed up to meet him.

  When he opened his eyes again, it wasn’t with crity—it was with confusion. Muffled sounds. Pressure in his head. Like he was underwater.

  But through the blur, he heard a voice.

  Haruka’s.

  “Shouta—!!”

  But she didn’t have time to get to him.

  Wendel struck again. A brutal punch to her abdomen.

  She colpsed with a strangled cough, knees buckling, arms around her middle, tears in her eyes—not from fear, but from the searing pain.

  And then only one remained.

  Miss Aiko.

  She stood between the fallen and the storm.

  “Are you finished?” Wendel asked calmly, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. “Do you see now? This world won’t wait for you to be ready. Every bruise today could mean a spared grave tomorrow.”

  She didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze swept over her students—her children, now. Each one of them curled up in pain or was unconscious.

  When she looked back at him, her voice was quiet.

  “…You may be right,” she said.

  She stepped forward slowly, deliberately.

  “But if you think I’ll just stand by and let them get crushed like this…”

  Her hands clenched into fists.

  “…you’re wrong.”

  She unched herself at him.

  A punch—not elegant or well-formed, but full of resolve.

  Wendel didn’t dodge.

  His fist met her gut like iron crashing into porcein.

  Miss Aiko’s body stiffened. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

  Then she folded forward, coughing, crumpling, eyes wide in stunned pain before the world finally gave way around her.

  She hit the ground st.

  And then there was silence.

  The sound of boots echoed in the stillness.

  A voice, light and ced with mockery, drifted through the air like a breeze before thunder.

  “How cruel of you, Weni… to beat up these poor kids like that.”

  Wendel paused.

  He turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as the space in front of him shimmered.

  Like gss cracking.

  A figure stepped out from nothing—from thin air—her form revealed as the illusion melted away.

  She hadn’t teleported.

  She’d been there the entire time.

  Watching.

  “You were hiding,” Wendel muttered, annoyed but unsurprised.

  The woman smiled, tilting her head pyfully.

  Long violet hair spilled down her back in silky waves, catching the golden light of the sun slowly setting. Her uniform was nonstandard—flowing with yered cloth and glowing runes, clinging in pces that fttered her graceful figure. Her eyes, the same deep violet as her hair, sparkled with mischief and magic alike.

  “What can I say?” she said, striking a dramatic pose like a starlet stepping onto a stage. “I love a good entrance.”

  Wendel sighed, rubbing his temple. “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, come on,” she said, eyes twinkling. “Take a guess.”

  He stared at her.

  Then grimaced.

  “…Those old fools picked you to be the magic instructor?”

  She gave an exaggerated curtsy. “The one and only.”

  Wendel shook his head, turning away. “Of course they did.”

  Priests in white robes arrived in quick succession, answering his earlier call. He gestured toward the wounded students.

  “Take them to their rooms. Tend to their injuries. Inform them their schedule begins again tomorrow—history at dawn, physical training after lunch. No exceptions.”

  The priests bowed and began moving swiftly. One by one, the unconscious or groaning students were pced gently on floating stretchers of light. Murmurs filled the courtyard as magic spells began their work—light healing, stabilizing pulses.

  The woman watched them with a soft expression, arms folded behind her back.

  “You’re too serious, Weni,” she said, her voice quieter now. “You should smile more. Enjoy the sunlight once in a while.”

  He didn’t look back. “I can’t afford to enjoy anything.”

  “…Because of them?”

  He stopped.

  His jaw clenched.

  “These kids,” he said, “were ripped from their world and thrown into this one. Their lives stolen—traded for the whims of greedy old men who hide behind prophecy and righteousness. I can’t give them peace. I can’t give them justice.”

  He finally turned back to her, his eyes sharp, voice low.

  “But I can give them strength. If they have the will, the luck, or if fate bothers to gnce their way… maybe they’ll survive. Maybe they’ll live.”

  Silence stretched between them for a long moment.

  Finally, Wendel stepped past her.

  “I’m returning,” he said. “Join me if you want.”

  She stood there, watching his back as he walked away into the fading light.

  The stretchers floated behind the priests, students slowly vanishing into the corridors of the grand dormitory-church.

  The violet-haired woman exhaled through her nose, her lips curving into a small, secret smile.

  Then she looked up.

  The sun was setting.

  And the sky bzed gold and crimson as another day in this new world drew to a close.

  Chapter 10: End.