The Next Day
All five first-year classes gathered in the academy's training grounds, the vast expanse lined with greenery and old stone arches.
Students whispered in small clusters, their eyes darting not at the scenery but at each other. The air was thick with the scent of fresh-cut grass and a simmering, nervous energy that had nothing to do with the day's training.
The talk of the day wasn't about lessons, or training, or the academy itself.
It was about her.
"Did you hear what happened last night?" a girl whispered, her fan barely hiding the excitement in her eyes.
"Yeah… apparently Lady Emilia locked herself in her dorm. Won't eat, won't come out, won't talk to anyone."
"What happened to her? Did anyone find out?"
"She refuses to say a word."
The speculation spread like wildfire, mostly among the girls.
They whispered behind their hands, their voices filled with a saccharine mix of pity and shock, but to me, it was just the sweet sound of gossip. It was a flavor people wore when a scandal tasted better than sympathy.
I listened. I always listen. But to me, their words were nothing more than noise carried by the wind. They were guessing, speculating, creating drama where there was none—not for me, at least. Because while everyone else wrung their hands, only I knew the truth.
I was the reason Emilia locked herself away.
I didn't expect her to go that far, but… it doesn't change anything. After our beautiful date—our last date—I left her a letter. Nothing flowery, nothing cruel on the surface. Just plain. Simple. Direct.
Divorce papers. Already signed by me. No explanations. No words of comfort. No reason offered.
A single line that severed everything.
And alongside it, another letter. To my father. Informing him of my decision.
Justifications laid out clearly: how she humiliated herself and me by choosing a commoner in the duel, how she dared demand I apologize to that same commoner. A string of exaggerated half-truths, sharpened into daggers. Her family would read those words soon enough.
My father would already be in talks with them. And in those talks, the question would echo again and again: Why?
Why did she do this? Why betray her engagement? Why bring shame to her name?
The blame would fall on her shoulders, not mine. Her tears would be hers alone. And me? I had already cut the rope, and now I was watching her fall.
Ryan leaned in, his voice low. "Hey, man. You know what happened, right?"
"About what?" I asked, tilting my head, a faint, mocking smile on my lips.
"Don't play dumb. It's about your fiancée."
"Oh. That," I said lightly, as if he were referring to an old, forgotten memory.
"Well… I'm as clueless as you. Everything was fine yesterday. No idea what happened after."
He frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"You sound like it's just another errand."
"Do I?" I gave him a faint smile. Inside, I thought: Errand or not, does it matter? It's over. The rest is just cleanup.
Ryan shook his head, looking troubled, before he changed the subject. "So you have any idea why we're all here today? This isn't our usual training spot."
I smirked. "Hmm… maybe. But it'll sound better coming from the instructor."
As if on cue, heavy footsteps echoed across the hall, drawing all five hundred students to silence. The instructor strode in, his presence alone dragging everyone's attention to the front.
His name was Brandt Stoneborn, and he was known for being as unyielding as the rock in his last name.
"Attention, everyone." His voice was firm, carrying a weight that silenced even the most restless nobles. "As you've already guessed, today is not an ordinary class."
A ripple of tension spread through the students, a quiet wave of anticipation.
"Today," he continued, eyes sweeping over us like blades, "all first-years will experience their first dungeon dive."
The air shifted. Some students gasped, others straightened in their position, and a few tried to hide their nerves behind cocky smirks. The announcement hit with the force of a physical blow.
"It will be a lower-ranked dungeon," he explained, "filled with monsters within your capabilities. But don't mistake that for weakness. If you underestimate it, it will break you to the bone."
He paused just long enough for the words to settle like lead in our stomachs.
"Teams will be formed at random, across all five classes. You will not be choosing your companions. The academy has already selected them for you. Your performance will be judged as a group."
He raised a hand, listing the rules with cutting precision.
"The team that slays the most monsters earns the highest points."
"Coordination will be weighed just as heavily as raw strength."
"Slimes: 1 point. Goblins: 5 points. Hobgoblins: 10. Ogres: 20."
"Remember this well—teamwork matters more than individual glory. A hero who cannot fight alongside his allies is no hero at all."
A faint smile tugged at his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Sir Garrick Blackthorne and I will be observing every move you make. Fail to impress us, and it will not be forgotten."
The silence that followed was heavy, charged with nerves and ambition.
"That is all. I will not repeat myself." His voice thundered one last time. "Now—let the test begin."
After we got the instructions, everyone started milling about like headless chickens.
The staff handed out these little numbered clips—our only lifeline to figure out who the hell we'd be stuck with.
Random teams, random fate.
I flipped mine over. Number 9.
I nudged Ryan. "So, what'd you get?"
He raised his own, squinting at the number. "Twelve. What about you?"
"Nine. Guess we're not teammates. Lucky bastard."
Ryan smirked, then shook his head. "Yeah, yeah. Do well, Evan. But seriously…" His voice dropped. "I've been thinking. They said we're going into a dungeon for this test, right? Then where the fuck is it? All I see is grass, trees, and more grass."
I gave him a look like he'd just asked why water was wet. "You don't know?"
He blinked. "Know what?"
"That instructor up there—the one who rattled off the rules. Brandt Stoneborn. He's Anzu's Sky's homeroom teacher. And his blessing? Let's just say he's got a trick that fucks with your eyes."
Ryan frowned, his confusion deepening. "Trick?"
"Yeah. Illusion, camouflage, call it whatever the hell you want. The dungeon's right in front of us. Been here the whole time. We just can't see it unless he lets us. When he snaps his fingers…" I mimed a snap, a silent, chilling gesture. "Boom. The thing unveils itself."
Ryan stiffened, his eyes narrowing at the empty horizon. A cold shiver ran down his spine. "You're telling me there's a whole goddamn dungeon sitting right there and we're just… blind to it?"
"Pretty much."
He let out a low whistle. "That's fucked. But also kinda cool."
I grinned. "Cool? Sure. Or maybe the dungeon's just crammed up your asshole, waiting for a snap to spread itself wide open in all its 'true glory.'"
Ryan whipped his head toward me, glaring. "Fuck you, Evan."
I laughed. "Get in line. There's a queue."
Ryan muttered under his breath, but his eyes still lingered on the horizon, uneasy. I didn't blame him.
Because if what I'd heard about Stoneborn's blessing was true… the snap wasn't just some cheap parlor trick. When the veil dropped, the dungeon wouldn't just "appear." It would bleed through reality. Stone, fog, the stench of monsters—all of it spilling into the world like it had always been there, waiting, hungering.
And soon enough, we'd be the idiots walking right into it.
After splitting with Ryan, I wandered around, scanning clips and faces. The place looked like a damn livestock market—students running around, yelling numbers, groups forming like flocks of scared birds. Eventually, I spotted two familiar figures waiting near the edge of the crowd.
My gaze narrowed on the small silver badge clipped to their uniforms.
Number 9.
A grin tugged at my lips. Jackpot.
I strode over, pulling my own clip from my coat and holding it up between two fingers as if I'd just won a bet.
"Well, look at that," I muttered as I walked up. "Guess we're stuck together after all."
The boy turned, bowing slightly. "It seems so, Lord Evan." His voice was steady, practiced, a perfect noble's tone. Wilson.
A name that usually came in a set of three, since he was always glued to his little circle.
"Rare sight, Wilson," I smirked. "I usually see you orbiting the other two like a damn moon."
He chuckled softly. "Yes, the three of us are always together… but it seems fate has split us up for today."
I nodded, then glanced at the third member.
A girl, standing awkwardly to the side, her posture so timid she might as well have been trying to melt into the ground. She had soft features, chestnut hair, and eyes that darted away the moment I looked her way.
"Well, what do we have here…" I tilted my head. "You've been staring at the dirt this whole time. Aren't you gonna say hello or are you waiting for divine permission?"
Her shoulders jumped. "Uh–uh… so–sorry, Lord Ev–Evan. I was just… I didn't want to interrupt…"
Timid. Shy. The kind of voice that cracked under its own weight.
I sighed, more dramatic than necessary. "Anyway. Name and profession. Are you a mage, a warrior, or just a disappointment?"
She flinched, like the word itself had cut her. "I… I'm a mage. Support type. My name is Jasmine… Jasmine Croft."
"Jasmine, huh?" I tapped my chin. "Not bad. Has a nice ring to it. Alright, Jasmine, since we're doing late introductions, how about you prove yourself useful right now."
Her eyes widened. "M–me? But what—"
"Relax, I'm not asking you to hurl a fireball or heal a broken leg." I gave her a wolfish grin. "It's simple. Our team's supposed to be five, right? But I only see three sorry bastards standing here. So, here's the deal: you're going to shout. Something like—'Number 9, where the hell are the other two of you?!'"
Her face went pale. "Sh–shout? In public? That's… embarrassing…"
I leaned closer, dropping my tone to mock reassurance. "Don't worry, we'll shout with you. Right, Wilson?"
Wilson caught the glint in my eyes and smirked, already in on the joke. "Of course."
I clapped my hands. "Perfect. Alright, positions ready. On three. One… two… three!"
And—
"NUMBER 9, WHERE THE HELL ARE THE OTHER TWO OF YOU?!"
The words rang out across the field. Heads turned. Some students snorted, and others pointed. Jasmine's voice cracked halfway through, trembling and desperate, but loud enough to carry.
Wilson and I? We stayed dead silent.
Her realization hit instantly, and her face went scarlet—tomato red, so vivid I could practically taste the heat off her cheeks.
She clutched her staff like it could swallow her whole and looked like she wanted the ground to open up and bury her.
I chuckled under my breath. "Damn, Jasmine… your voice carries better than I thought. Cute, too. Almost makes me hungry."
Her eyes widened in horror, and I just grinned, letting the moment stew.