Casia's whole body trembled. He felt the atmosphere grow heavy and instinctively stepped back, his hand already reaching for the revolver.
The moment the gun emerged into the dry, cold air of the room, the three figures stepped inside. The man in the lead moved with a swiftness and solidity far beyond Casia's own. His body flowed with the precision of a predator that had been waiting for its prey for a long time—motionless until the strike, then a single blow would be lethal.
Casia hesitated, unsure whether to fire. Before he could even steady the gun, the three had already dodged, and a thick, steel-like hand clamped over the weapon. The force pressed down like a mountain; Casia felt like a helpless ant beneath it.
A crisp snap followed as the revolver's honeycomb cylinder was twisted open by the iron-hard fingers, the silver shells catching the faint light and glinting softly.
Behind him, the other two stood like mountains, their height only slightly above Casia's, yet their stance was upright and imposing, piercing the heavens with their presence.
"Young man, rough toys like this aren't meant for someone as hesitant as you." The man in front looked to be in his thirties, clean-shaven, his voice coarse, weighted with authority like his physical strength.
"Casia Tusos, right?" he asked again.
"Yes… may I…" Casia began, only to be interrupted once more.
"Good. For certain indescribable reasons, you won't be studying at the Imperial Heavy Industry School. You are now a student of the Santolag Military Academy. We're here to pick you up. As for why, well, it's also indescribable—I don't know myself. Don't ask questions. Just come with me."
"By the way, my name is Boheng. I will be your training instructor and life mentor from now on. Don't cause trouble on your first day—especially you, the type who hesitates to fire but draws a gun without thinking."
Boheng reset the cylinder. "People who coat bullets with useless metals have strange tastes—they like pointless work."
"Before you draw your weapon next time, decide if you're going to fire. If not, don't even take it out. This is the world's most effective tension catalyst. Draw it, aim for the enemy's head—like a viper or a hunting dog. Either a fatal strike or a relentless bite. Hesitation has no place in front of these metal tools."
Boheng tossed the revolver back to Casia and strode out of the room.
"Come on. I'll take you where you need to be."
With an increasingly turbulent heart, Casia climbed into a military armored carriage parked in front of the Imperial Heavy Industry School. The vehicle was coated in black steam-powered metal, with densely welded steel plates, rivets, and bolts forming a peculiar aesthetic. The gleaming tires and black rubber wheels were immaculate, stamped with the Webley company bullet emblem.
Boheng and Casia sat in the back. When the key card activated the engine, a low, powerful rumble filled the cabin, both pleasing and awe-inspiring. The seats were soft, and the ventilation system, controlled by an onboard differential engine, kept the air fresh with a subtle scent, almost like perfume left by previous female passengers. Casia's tension eased; by the time drowsiness hit, they had reached the foot of the Blanco Mountains on the eastern edge of Manoma.
Snow-capped peaks stretched in an unbroken chain, forming the Blanco range, where the Santolag Military Academy was nestled.
Unlike the Santolag Theological Academy on the Nulu River, this school sought to produce elite warriors and specialized talent. Harsh terrain and extreme conditions were the most efficient way to forge experience without a battlefield baptism.
Several broad, icy roads ran along the foot of the mountains. Rows of streetlamps, frozen into ice pillars, lined the edges.
Casia opened the window, and a dry, bitter wind swept in, seemingly drawing every drop of moisture from his body. The cold was beyond ordinary comprehension; even in thick clothing, it felt as if he had plunged into an ice cellar. One breath and his lips turned purple; the white exhalation froze instantly on his face.
"Ah, with your body, surviving even a regular military academy will be tough, let alone a three-star one. You'll need to rebuild your bones," Boheng muttered, frustrated, slamming the window shut. The military academy had finished admissions two days ago. Suddenly being told to pick up another student, Boheng initially assumed it was some rare talent, but it seemed Casia was ordinary, and his curiosity quickly cooled.
Casia shivered uncontrollably, struggling to brush frost from his face.
"What… what is this?" he murmured.
"It's the cold air from the Right Continent's icy plains, modified by extreme weather along the way. By the time it reaches the Blanco Mountains, it's like this. Nothing unusual—extreme weather is common on the continent. You'll get used to it." Boheng spoke casually, almost nonchalantly. "Although technology lets us challenge many natural extremes, nature remains unconquerable. Through your studies, you'll encounter many unknowns of both the Empire and the After Continent. With effort, you may even access secrets from the Right and Left Continents." He added a reminder: "First, though, you must pass your training and studies."
At the end of the road loomed a nearly ten-meter-high metal gate, teeth interlocked. The armored carriage could trigger its opening via radio, no card needed. The rumble of steam machinery hidden beneath the mountains could be heard as the gate slowly parted.
The vehicle entered a steel-reinforced tunnel. Overhead lights glowed, and steam pipes, coated with anti-oxidation metal, twisted upward, some descending underground, others following the tunnel into dazzlingly lit areas.
The tunnel was deep; its end was not immediately visible.
"One more stretch. This tunnel is quite long," Boheng remarked, noticing Casia's wide eyes.
At the end, multiple tunnels converged into a massive parking area, constructed from steel plates. The once solitary tunnel now had life, bustling with people.
The cavern inside the mountain spanned five levels. Vehicles of all shapes and sizes—some sleek, some intimidating—lined up neatly, from single-rider bikes to massive war transport trucks. The other floors vaguely revealed machinery and vehicles operated by analytical machines.
The armored carriage stopped on the first level. The four disembarked and followed Casia along conveyor belts, eventually reaching a steel door at the far end.
"Troublesome," Boheng muttered, inserting the key card. Steam hissed as the heavy door slowly opened.
"Welcome, Casia Tusos, to the Santolag Military Academy," Boheng said, smiling, stepping aside. Beyond the doorway, buildings rose in light and shadow—a steel rose, a testament to bolts and rivets.
Blocks of steel, steam pipes forming models, endless electrical light, precisely meshing gears, and ever-running supercomputers created an alien environment seemingly detached from reality. In the valleys of the mountains, clusters of towering buildings pierced the sky, shrouded in white steam.
Above, a massive transparent canopy of steel frame and hexagonal reinforced glass blocked the extreme cold. Six small maintenance airships tended to each glass panel. Each pane could bear hundreds of tons; even the most advanced sniper rifles in the military would leave only faint marks.
It was night. Web-like roads teemed with people. Each year, Santolag welcomed nearly one hundred thousand freshmen, elites from all over the Empire, regardless of status, family, or lineage. Talent alone was the entry ticket. With five grades and specialized staff, this secluded academy was always bustling.
The Santolag Military Academy was a living chronicle of the Empire, its history intertwined with military tradition—from generals and frontier governors to elite corps, special forces, and the Rose and Rosarium legions. Nearly every elite unit or officer had roots here.
Casia followed Boheng, tilting his head to take in the unique architecture and the crowds. Everything was unprecedented. The school sprawled along the valley, a long, winding structure following the canyon. At the foot of the snow peaks, rooms of alloyed steel plates were embedded in black rock, stacked like staircases, each with sturdy corridors—students' individual dormitories.
"Good evening, Instructor!" a clear voice called, accompanied by a flawless salute from a student in the corridor.
"Evening," Boheng nodded. Casia followed quietly.
After several floors, they reached the seventh-floor corridor, overlooking part of the campus; the rest remained hidden by the curved canyon walls.
"Here's your room, standard three-star military academy accommodations. Everything inside is yours," Boheng said, pointing to a door.
The door was cold, hard alloy, riveted with "1024." Casia pushed it open. A new world awaited him—a room tinted in icy blue tones, another gateway to experience yet unseen.