# Chapter 2: Arrival at Military Base
Ramon jolted awake to the thunderous blast of a horn reverberating through the dormitory. Nine other boys stirred on their bunks around him, groaning and stumbling in the dim pre-dawn light. The harsh reality of the Velgrath military base crashed over him like a cold wave—this wasn't the cramped but familiar orphanage anymore.
"Wake up, you pathetic worms!" An instructor's voice boomed from outside their door, accompanied by violent pounding. "You have two minutes to reach the training square, and God help whoever arrives last!"
Ramon's feet hit the cold stone floor. He grabbed a dented bucket from the corner, splashed frigid water across his face, and bolted from the room alongside his equally disoriented roommates. None of them knew where the training square was, but they followed the thundering footsteps echoing through the corridors like a desperate stampede.
The training square was a vast expanse of packed earth surrounded by towering stone walls, with black flags bearing a red fort representing the Velgrath military. Ramon recognized several faces from the orphanage and yesterday's Bloodline Energy awakening ceremony scattered among the crowd of new conscripts. The memory of that ceremony gnawed at him—particularly the strange voice that had spoken in his head and the humiliation of being one of the few to collapse after taking the serum.
A man in the crisp black uniform of the Velgrath army mounted a raised platform, his presence commanding immediate silence.
"I am Captain Valern," his voice carried across the square without effort. "Today begins your true training, but first, each of you will undergo Bloodline Energy assessment. All recruits begin at Rank F—what sets you apart is your bloodline inheritance and current level within that rank. Your bloodline type will determine your potential in this army and your very survival. Step forward when called. State your name and origin. Place your hand on the Resonance Stone."
A crystalline altar stood at the center of the platform, its surface pulsing with an otherworldly red glow that seemed to resonate with something deep within Ramon's newly formed Energy Core.
One by one, conscripts approached the stone. Most trembled visibly. Some wept openly. A few screamed as their Bloodline Energy surged through them like liquid fire, their cores synchronizing with the ancient crystal. Ramon positioned himself near the back of the crowd, his heart hammering against his ribs. The only thoughts that sustained him were simple: *Survive. Prove your worth.*
But he wasn't entirely alone in his anxiety.
To his left stood a mountain of a young man—silent, arms crossed, expression carved from granite. Ramon remembered him from the selection: Dane Thorvald, the farmer's son who spoke only when necessary. His massive frame suggested incredible strength, but his eyes held an unexpected gentleness, like a guardian who would gladly stand between his friends and any danger.
To his right, energy crackled in human form. The young man spat contemptuously at the ground and rolled his shoulders like a boxer preparing for a fight.
"Can't wait to see what kind of manifestation I get," he muttered, his voice carrying a cocky edge. "Let's hope it's strong enough to shut up every noble bastard in this place."
He turned to Ramon with a predatory grin. "Kael's the name. You?"
"Ramon," he replied curtly.
Kael's grin widened. "Good. You don't look like a screamer. We'll see if that holds true."
When the next name was called, a recruit with a well-structured and muscular frame stepped forward with unsettling composure. He moved like a predator. His silver hair was woven into a single braid that fell down his back, and when he placed his hand on the altar, he didn't even flinch.
Brilliant crimson light blazed around his palm, steady and controlled.
"Jera Valen," he stated clearly.
"Imperial Bloodline, Rank F, Level 8," an instructor murmured appreciatively. "Impressive manifestation strength."
When he returned to the line, his calculating gaze swept over Kael, paused thoughtfully on Dane, then settled on Ramon. He met Ramon's stare directly. His eyes weren't cold—they were analytical, as if Ramon were a puzzle he didn't know he represented.
Then the inevitable moment arrived.
"Ramon Velkas. Step forward."
Each footstep toward the platform felt like walking to his execution. He placed his trembling hand on the Resonance Stone.
Agony exploded through his bloodstream like molten iron, but this time something was different. His Energy Core pulsed, and he felt the strange presence stirring within his mind. His vision blurred, and his knees nearly buckled, but he forced himself to remain upright. Through the haze of pain, his Bloodline Energy manifested as a dull red glow—weak, barely visible.
"Ancient Warlord Bloodline, Rank F, Level 1," the instructor called, voice clipped, already looking past him—as if Ramon's worth had been written in dust.
The silence that followed was deafening. Ramon could feel the weight of judgment from every direction.
"Next," Captain Valern barked dismissively.
As Ramon returned to his place in line, his new companions' reactions varied significantly.
Kael examined the manifested energy with genuine interest and whistled low. "Dull glow, but raw potential can surprise you. I like you already."
Dane didn't speak, but Ramon caught the slightest nod of acknowledgment—a warrior recognizing another, regardless of rank.
Jera continued his analytical stare, but there was no mockery in his expression. Only continued assessment.
However, not everyone shared their restraint. A boy whose Bloodline Energy had been announced as "Elemental Fire, Rank F, Level 6" stepped closer, his voice dripping with disdain.
"Such pathetic bloodlines shouldn't even be allowed here," he sneered loud enough for the surrounding conscripts to hear. "The army's standards have clearly fallen if they're accepting gutter trash with dead bloodlines now."
The insult hung in the air like a challenge, and Ramon felt the familiar burn of humiliation and rage building in his chest. But before he could respond, the strange voice from the night before whispered at the edge of his consciousness, barely audible but unmistakably present.
A tightness gripped the base of his skull. Like pressure building behind his eyes. Then—
*[Patience, host. Your time will come.]*
"What!" Ramon muttered under his breath.
His heart kicked in his chest. The voice again. Sharper this time. Clearer. He clenched his fists. "No. Not real. I'm not hearing this."
*[Incorrect. I am very real.]*
"What the hell are you?"
*[Designation: Bloodline Energy Refinement System. Current Status: Host Rank F, Level 1 - Ancient Warlord Bloodline. Assessment: Severe suppression detected. Correction Protocol: Initiated.]*
Ramon lowered his head to hide the flicker in his eyes—not shame, but something deeper. In his confusion, he had hope. Deep in his Energy Core.