The heavy iron doors creaked open.
What met their eyes was a line of stone barracks standing in perfect order, and the rolling roar of voices echoing across the square.
On the training ground, hundreds of veterans in black-iron uniforms stood in formation. They did not speak, did not move. Their cold gazes locked onto the new recruits stepping off the transport—sharp and merciless, like statues carved from steel and blood.
Born felt his chest tighten.
That pressure… it wasn't just their eyes. It was as if a shadow of corpses and battlefields loomed over him.
Even the most "ordinary" veteran here radiated a killing aura born of countless battles.
This—this was what it meant to be a soldier of the kingdom.
True warriors, different from common men.
And among them, the weakest were already fourth-rank Fighters. At the front stood Bobby, whose presence was like a bottomless abyss.
…
The recruits were quickly scattered and assigned to their respective companies. Born and Abbott ended up in the same squad, while Judy was sent elsewhere.
"Roll call!"
Bobby's voice thundered like a stormcloud splitting open.
Names were called, ranks recorded.
"By platoon, register your strength and talent. Form combat squads!" His voice was cold and absolute, allowing no hesitation.
"Each squad must have no fewer than two enhancers or healers, and at least four fighters."
Born exchanged a glance with Abbott and gave a faint nod.
"Abbott… my talent is too weak. Maybe you should team up with someone else," Born whispered.
Abbott only laughed, clapping him firmly on the shoulder. "When a man with an A-rank talent says he's got your back, then he damn well means it."
Born fell silent, shaking his head, unable to argue.
Soon, the squads were assembled.
Their unit formed around Abbott, whose A-rank Combat Talent—Thunder Wrath—made him the natural leader. A B-rank healer joined them, with the rest being ordinary C- and D-rank fighters.
And then, at the very bottom of that roster, stood Born.
An E-rank Archer.
So insignificant, he almost didn't belong.
"This is my friend, Born," Abbott introduced with calm authority.
"E-rank Archer. Best suited for scouting and support."
Born gave a faint smile and nodded in greeting.
The others returned the gesture, though their expressions carried curiosity more than warmth.
"Abbott, why are we forming squads so soon?" someone finally asked.
Abbott's face hardened, his tone sharp as a true captain's. "Because orders are to be obeyed. That's all that matters."
…
"Tomorrow morning. Six sharp. Assemble without delay. Until then, dismissed."
Bobby's voice rolled across the square like thunder. He turned on his heel and strode away.
Their platoon's leader, an older veteran named Lucian, stepped forward. His face was carved in stone, eyes cold as steel.
He shoved open the barracks door and swept the room with a single, icy glance.
Instantly, every recruit leapt to their feet, standing straight at the sides of their bunks.
Lucian's voice cut through the silence:
"Pack your gear. You'll follow me to the armory. Time to claim your weapons."
Excitement rippled through the recruits.
"Sergeant, we get our weapons already?!" one couldn't help blurting out.
Lucian's lips curved into a chilling smile.
"What is a soldier without a weapon? But remember this—your weapon is your life. Lose it, and the price will be your own blood."
The recruits nearly vibrated with anticipation. For any awakened fighter, a talent without a weapon was like a beast stripped of its fangs.
…
The armory doors groaned open, revealing rows upon rows of steel and iron. Spears, greatswords, battle-axes, and blades gleamed beneath the torchlight, their cold light enough to make hearts tremble.
Abbott stepped forward without hesitation, snatching up a silver-white spear. He spun it with flair, smirking.
"Only a spear fits my style. Anything less would be unworthy."
Most of the others reached for swords or sabers, eager hands grasping cold steel.
At last, it was Born's turn.
He raised his head, his voice steady yet unshakable:
"A longbow."
The armory officer arched a brow, then gave a single nod.
From the wall, he lifted a bow of midnight black, its silver-gleaming string thrumming faintly with hidden power. With a heavy clunk, it was placed in Born's hands.
The moment his palm touched the string, Born felt his blood surge. The glyph of his talent burned hot against his skin.
And then—
The Blessing of the Moon Goddess stirred, resonating with him at last.
The armory officer raised a brow, giving Born a half-smile.
"Archers aren't exactly rare. Plenty serve in our corps. Even the captain himself awakened a second talent as an archer."
His tone was casual, yet he clapped Born firmly on the shoulder.
"Do well, kid."
The armory was a treasure trove of steel and fire. Spears, greatswords, axes, and sabers gleamed under torchlight. Alongside them rested several ancient weapons—firelances and crossbows of an older age.
But such hot weapons held worth only against low-tier beasts. Once facing creatures beyond the Warrior realm, their speed outstripped bullets, their armored hides shrugged off shells. Against them, guns were little more than toys.
Born stepped forward, reaching for a longbow of pitch black.
The wood was cold under his fingertips. At his touch, a pulse thrummed through him—familiar, alive.
In that instant, it felt as though the bow had been bound to his bloodline all along.
Not a stranger. An old companion.
The Blessing of the Moon Goddess.
The Ancestor of Longbows.
From this moment forth, any bow Born touched would feel like an extension of his very soul.
Beyond weapons, each recruit received cultivation resources—several spirit-gathering pills, and the core of a Warrior-realm beast. This was the kingdom's tradition: to hurl new soldiers headlong into the path of power.
"Take mine too, Born."
In the barracks, Abbott casually tossed his own share of pills and the beast core toward him.
Born blinked. "You don't want them?"
Abbott shrugged, calm as if giving away scraps.
"For me, they won't make much difference. But for you? They might."
Born couldn't help but laugh. Show-off. He's doing it again.
But he didn't refuse. He knew the truth—his Moon Goddess blessing might be SSS-tier, but his current strength was still the weakest in the squad.
If he wanted to keep up, he had no choice but to grow—fast.
"Thanks," Born said, his voice steady.
…
Night fell. The barracks lay in silence. Each recruit sat cross-legged in their own practice, spiritual energy weaving through the dark.
Born alone sat with the pills and the beast core clutched in his hand, heart beating faster than he liked to admit.
Taking a deep breath, he swallowed a pill.
Gulp.
At once, the medicine melted into searing energy that surged through his veins. Warmth spread—only to explode a heartbeat later.
Crack—crack—crack!
The sound of bones shifting echoed from within.
Born's eyes snapped open, wide with disbelief.
Something inside him… had changed.
—One pill.
In the span of a single breath, it was completely refined.
By all common sense, even a talented trainee would need at least half an hour to absorb such medicine. But him? He hadn't even tasted the lingering fragrance before every drop of energy was gone, swallowed whole by his body.
"So this is… the cultivation speed of an SSS-tier talent?"
Born's heart pounded wildly.
Without hesitation, he grabbed the second pill and swallowed it down.
Minutes later, his eyes snapped open, twin sparks of disbelief flashing in their depths. Two pills' worth of power—completely transformed into pure blood and qi. His realm now pressed against the threshold of a true Warrior.
He reached for the beast cores, slipping both into his mouth at once.
A bitter, metallic tang exploded across his tongue, followed by a torrent of raw energy flooding his meridians.
This time, the absorption was slower—ten full minutes of roaring qi and pounding blood. His veins throbbed, his bones cracked and trembled, his very flesh reforged under the violent baptism.
When his eyes opened again, a faint radiance shimmered over his skin.
First Realm.
Qi and Blood: 21
Strength: 1,100 ~ 1,400
Speed: 21 steps per second
From an ordinary boy to a true Warrior—he had crossed the boundary in barely ten minutes.
Born stared down at his palm, his gaze cold and sharp as steel.
"With this power… justice will be mine."