Everyone disembarked the bus, still following Shera of Uru. She led them into the front courtyard, then stopped, gazing silently at the group of newly Unlocked.
"Alright. This is Sunset 33, where you'll be spending the next few months before departing for the First Finger."
She gestured toward three people standing near the entrance of the armored facility. At the front was a blond man with a sturdy build and the expression of a seasoned veteran. To his right stood a smaller man in a long white coat, his spiky black hair slightly unruly. On the left was a woman with a bright smile and a high ponytail tied into her brown hair.
Each of them stood with arms behind their backs, exuding confidence and authority.
"These are Bright Light, Plark, and Yeri. They'll be in charge of you during your stay at S33."
Only the blond veteran had been introduced by the name bestowed by the Voice of God. Most saw it as an honor, though some preferred to keep their titles hidden.
"Thank you, Lady Shera. We'll take it from here," Bright Light said, his voice steady and commanding.
He stepped forward, giving a small nod to Shera before turning a fierce gaze toward the newly arrived group. A moment of heavy silence settled over them.
"You'll be staying here until the next expedition, which is scheduled in two months. Use this time to prepare. Training is mandatory from seven a.m. to noon. The rest of the day is yours. Yeri will go over your living arrangements."
The brown-haired woman stepped forward, clapping her hands cheerfully.
"Alright, everyone—follow me!"
She took off at a brisk pace, storming through the building, pointing out locations as they passed: cafeteria, bathrooms, dormitories. Most of the facility was underground, the walls constructed from layers of thick alloy and painted stark white. Red banners bearing Goreth's insignia lined the cafeteria, a fast-paced military-style dining hall that didn't inspire much enthusiasm in Elion.
Eventually, Yeri led them into a large room with a raised podium at the front. Around twenty new Unlocked stood in an uneven, loosely organized line. Eshrod stood beside Elion—much to his dismay—but he said nothing.
Bright Light entered and ascended the podium, his tone becoming colder as he began detailing the technical aspects of their stay. Every recruit would undergo an individual interview to assess their physical and mental aptitude. They would not be asked about the name or ability granted by the Voice of God—such information was considered private.
When it was Elion's turn, he stepped into the interview room. A woman in her thirties sat behind a sleek desk, round glasses perched on her nose, papers scattered across the polished black stone surface.
She looked up, her brown eyes meeting his, before gesturing to the chair in front of her.
"Greetings, Sir Elion. I'll be conducting your interview. My name is Elizabeth."
Adjusting her glasses, she continued in a calm, professional tone. Elion noted the absence of markings on her index finger. She was not an Unlocked.
"Let's start simple. Have you ever wielded a sword? Or any weapon?"
Elion met her gaze.
"Yeah. My father taught me the basics when I was younger, but I never really got the hang of it."
Her expression shifted slightly.
"So Golden Thread taught you personally?"
"I guess he did."
That reaction was expected. Golden Thread was regarded as one of the strongest Unlocked alive.
She scribbled something on a sheet of paper, then continued.
"Any history of mental disorders?" she asked, her tone cautious.
"No."
The questions continued—background, education, combat knowledge. Elion answered them all. Of course, he wasn't entirely honest. He played the part of the well-mannered scholar: someone with surface-level combat knowledge, more interested in theory than bloodshed. Someone smart, analytical—someone who could command from behind the frontlines. He was determined to make his intellect shine, especially since his ability wasn't one that dealt damage directly.
At one point, Elizabeth stopped asking questions and eyed him with quiet suspicion, like she was seeing through his mask. Elion tensed slightly, but she said nothing—didn't even write anything down. Just stared for a second too long, then continued.
After about thirty minutes, the interview ended. Elizabeth slid a laminated card across the desk: his ID, complete with his name, photo taken prior in the day, and rank.
"This grants access to all necessary facilities. Don't lose it—Sir Light doesn't take kindly to that."
"Thanks," Elion muttered, grabbing the card and leaving the room.
The rest of the day was theirs to explore the base and get familiar with the surroundings. Elion headed straight to his assigned dorm. The door slid open with a soft hiss.
Inside, four beds were arranged evenly. Two were a mess of blankets and clutter. One was half-made, clearly by someone unaccustomed to the task. The last bed, neatly arranged with tight, wrinkle-free sheets, was clearly meant for him.
He dropped his bag beside it and collapsed onto the mattress with a heavy sigh.
A few days ago, I was just a regular university student… Now I'm preparing to venture into the Depths of Entropy.
It was overwhelming—but there was no time to dwell, it's not like it was a surprise, he was always destined to be an Unlocked since birth.
Right now, he had his work cut out for him. He would need to grow stronger, to learn how to fight. Worst of all, he would need to form bonds with other Unlocked.
Speaking of which… it was nearly noon. Lunch time.
Elion wasn't exactly excited to find out what horrors the military-style cafeteria could produce. He had always enjoyed cooking and was notoriously critical when it came to food. It was a minor miracle that the chefs at White Feather had ever managed to satisfy his palate.
He trudged toward the dining hall. On the way, he passed new recruits, most drenched in sweat and heading for the showers. Mandatory training must've just ended.
Perfect. The cafeteria wouldn't be crowded yet. The food might still be hot.
He slid a plastic tray into place and flashed his ID at the large woman serving food. She grunted in acknowledgment and plopped a generous scoop of meat porridge onto the tray, followed by a helping of mashed potatoes and a hunk of bread.
Elion eyed the contents with disdain, then carried the tray to a table and sat alone, chewing the bland slop with visible pain.
It's not even bad… it's tender, well-cooked… but it's like eating warm beige. No flavor. No heart.
I know spices are rare outside Mirth but come on. Not even pepper?
Then came the dreadful sound of familiar heavy footsteps.
He didn't turn around.
"Hey Elion! This place is really nice, right? So many powerful people around—and the food, wow, it looks so good!"
Eshrod's voice rang out behind him
What do you mean, "looks good"? This is basically edible sadness.
She dropped into the seat across from him and immediately began devouring her porridge with terrifying speed. Watching her, Elion had a thought. One he didn't like—but one that might be useful.
"Say, Eshrod… do you know how to wield a sword?" he asked, keeping his tone casual.
She looked up from her food—reluctantly, as if being asked to part with a dear friend.
"Yeah. Why?"
"How good are you?"
She grinned.
"Pretty good. I killed a Tier I creature alone once, out hunting with my dad."
Yeah, sure you did.
No way she managed that without even being Unlocked… right?
But her eyes were clear and unflinching. At this point, Elion doubted she had the intelligence required to tell a convincing lie.
No. That's dangerous thinking. Underestimating people like her is how you die.
He feigned surprise, widening his eyes slightly.
"You did!?"
"Yep! Wasn't a big deal."
There was only one way to verify it—see her fight. And the easiest way to do that? Have her train him. It would be killing three birds with one stone: improving his sword skills, assessing her ability, and forging a useful alliance.
Elion scratched the back of his head.
"If you're that good, maybe you could teach me?"
She gave him a skeptical look and pointed her fork at him.
"A scrawny kid like you wouldn't survive my training. And even if I did train you, what's in it for me?"
Kid? We're the same age!
Elion's eyes darted to her half-devoured plate. Every bite brought her unbridled joy.
"Well," he said slowly, "I'm quite the cook. And you clearly have a discerning palate."
He cringed a little. Complimenting this slop felt like selling his soul. But in negotiation, you had to butter up the other party—figuratively, in this case. The literal butter was nowhere to be found.
Goddamn it. Why does everything sound inappropriate when I talk to her?
Shoving aside the discomfort, he pressed on.
"Even in this… austere environment, I can whip up something that'll put this to shame."
She narrowed her eyes, scratching her chin with the tip of her fork.
"You're good at cooking, huh?"
Elion nodded with the fakest smile he could muster. He looked like a scammer trying to squeeze every coin from a gullible mark.
She stared at him intensively, then finally leaned back.
"Alright. Show me what you've got. I'll decide after that."
Hook, line and sinker… in a couple hours. If she thinks this is gourmet, she might just die of happiness from real food.