The spirit coach descended onto an old circular plaza.
Dim light barely reached the ground — a few rusty brass lamps flickered weakly, and the stone fountain in the center was buried under layers of dust.The surrounding houses loomed in the night like sleeping beasts, their windows dull and hollow.
Rod stepped down with the crowd and followed the driver toward a large building ahead.Before entering, he noticed a glowing lantern hanging by the door — its plaque read:
"Iron Cross District Defense Bureau."
Inside, the hall was bright and functional.A dozen small rooms lined each wall, and in the middle stood a huge table covered with maps.A man in a dark shirt and black vest was leaning over them, lost in thought.
"Commander, the trainees are here," the driver announced.
The man jerked up. A long scar ran diagonally across his face, cutting from between his eyes nearly to his ear, as if someone had once tried to split his head open.
"Oh, good — very good. Finally, reinforcements!"He tried to smile, but the attempt looked painful, the muscles of his face too weighed down by worry to cooperate.
The driver handed him a paper. "Here's the list and details."
The Commander's eyes flicked over the sheet."Retained students, retained students… all retained students? And one special trainee?"
At once, his face lit up for real, and he laughed."Excellent! Iron Cross might just survive after all! I told you our boss wasn't a total idiot. And the Chief Commander—hah!—well, the wife leaving and the kid not being his didn't drive him insane after all!"
Rod blinked.Was that supposed to be classified?
The trainees stood in awkward silence.
Rod tried to disappear into the crowd. Everyone around him was a head taller — muscular, quiet, and steady.They all carried weapons: broadswords, long sabers, chain whips, war hammers the size of dinner plates, even a four-edged axe that looked heavy enough to split a tank.Short jackets, black vests, belts heavy with potions and gadgets — real professionals, every one of them.
And then there was Rod — empty-handed, wearing the academy's pale blue trainee robe. He looked like a lost librarian.
I'm going to drag them down, he thought, recalling the Red Armband's warning. He swore to himself he'd make his real strength clear — even if it meant admitting he was there to pick up scraps.
But the others didn't seem to see it that way.When the Commander called his name, everyone turned — not with disdain, but curiosity, even a hint of respect.
"So, you're Rod? A special trainee, eh? You do look different."The Commander nodded approvingly."Your team will be Raislin, Aig, and Karamon. Your patrol zone covers Whiteflower Street, Stone Street, and Fifth Square — about 3,400 households, twenty-one thousand people. Got it?"
"Understood," the other three replied in unison.
"Here." The Commander shoved a whistle and two… questionable-looking clay balls into Rod's hands. "Signal flare and spirit whistle. If you face danger you can't handle, use them. Support will come. You're full combatants now — know your limits."
Before Rod could say anything, the Commander turned away to assign the next squad.
A gray-uniformed clerk approached. "Your vehicle's this way."
Rod followed the three teammates out.
The spirit coach waiting outside was smaller — no horses, no driver, just a sealed four-seat cabin.When the door shut, it started moving on its own, gliding silently through the dark streets toward the west.
When it stopped, the door opened by itself. The four of them stepped into the cold night, their brass lanterns casting dull orange halos around their faces.
The biggest of the three broke the silence."Evening. I'm Raislin. Freshly certified combatant, staying at the academy for advanced training in Necromantic Defense. Sequence: Spiritfire. Soul trait: Bastion. Tactical role: front-line tank, main defense. Spirit level three."
He gestured to the others."This is Aig, also retained student. Sequence: Spiritfire. Soul trait: White Smoke. Usually middle control or mid-guard. Level three.""And this—Karamon. Sequence: Starfire. Four flames lit. Resonance and Water Healing are his main skills. Rear-line support, level four."
Each one nodded politely when introduced.
"We've been partners a long time," Raislin said warmly. "It's an honor to finally meet the legendary special trainee. Hope we work well together."
They all shook his hand with visible respect.
Rod hurried to explain, "You misunderstand. I may be a special trainee, but I'm really not strong. I just entered the academy — first term, actually."
They looked surprised."What's your ability?" Raislin asked.
"Just… enhanced observation. No combat ability. I can shoot a gun, that's about it."
The three exchanged looks. Rod saw the big one give a subtle signal.The thin one, Karamon, hesitated, then pulled out a crystal sphere filled with pale mist."What do you see in this?"
Rod was already skilled with his Soul Eye. He opened it instinctively — and nearly blinded himself.
"You guys have these things too?" he blurted.
They all stared."What do you mean? What did you see?" Karamon demanded, gripping his arm.
"You really want to know?"
"Of course!"
So Rod gave them a… condensed version of what he saw — a kind of soul-projection video, let's say.
All three froze. Clearly, none of them had been mentally prepared for that kind of content.
Then Karamon let out a strangled cry, dropped to his knees by the curb, and began wailing into the cobblestones.
"What's wrong with him?" Rod asked.
Raislin tried not to laugh. "That's from his ex-girlfriend. She gave him the crystal when they broke up. Said that when he could see the last layer, he'd understand why she left."
Rod stared. …Fair enough.He decided to offer silent condolences to the man's glowing-green aura of misery.
Unfortunately, the incident had a side effect: all three now firmly believed Rod was pretending to be weak.
"Come on, drop the act," Raislin snorted. "You special trainees love that move — pretend to be harmless, then save everyone at the last second. Hate to break it to you, but we're all guys here. No one's gonna fall in love with you for it."
Short Aig puffed out his chest. "Yeah! And if you wanna compare lengths, I'm not scared! Don't let my height fool you — mine's just as long as yours!"
Rod swore he'd never met a team this unhinged.He tried again. "Really, I've only lit one flame. My spirit level's one. No field experience, don't even know what a tactical position is. I—kind of lost my memory, too."
They didn't buy a word.
"Quit faking," Raislin said. "Anyone who can see the final layer of a White Mist Crystal has soul-vision above eighty. I've never met anyone that strong."
"Yeah," Aig added. "Only high-ranking investigators from the Survey Corps hit that. What are you, the King's pet project?"
Karamon, still sniffling, shoved the crystal ball into Rod's hands."Keep it."
"Uh… I don't think I should—"
"I said keep it!" Karamon snapped through gritted teeth. "That woman… wasted my feelings. I never even touched her hand, and she—she—!"
Raislin threw an arm around his shoulders."Relax, man. You'll find someone better. Besides, thanks to Rod here, now we all know what she was up to. Gotta say, brother Rod — you ever take creative writing? Your descriptions were… vivid. Stirred the soul."
Aig laughed. "Seriously! I've never heard anything that spicy in my life. Come on, give us another round!"
Karamon glared, but Raislin shoved him lightly."Don't act shy. She recorded it for you — what's the harm in sharing the joy? Spread the love, huh?"
Aig nodded eagerly. "Yeah, man. Your soul-vision's only ten anyway, you'd never see it yourself. Let the storyteller work his magic."
Karamon hesitated… then sighed in defeat. "Fine. Tell it."
Rod felt extremely awkward, but refusing would've been worse.So he replayed the vision, narrating as he went.
The woman in the recording was… talented. Gorgeous figure, flexible as silk, legs long and pale as moonlight. Even her delicate feet curled at just the right moments — and somehow, that detail set the whole thing off.
The man, on the other hand, was wooden. A puppet under expert control.
The three combatants were soon lost in laughter and wolfish cheers, and the long patrol suddenly didn't feel boring anymore.
Rod's moral integrity, however, was now scattered across the street like broken glass — but at least he'd bonded with his team.
And, to his relief, they decided he was a reconnaissance type — "rear scout," responsible for early warning.That suited him fine.
From Whiteflower Street to Stone Street to Fifth Square was less than two kilometers, but the path was eerie and silent.No streetlights — only the faint glow from the tiny soul-lamps hanging outside poor homes.
This was the First District of the Outer City — the farthest place from the Sacred Flame.The people here were the poorest of the poor, and their lamps were so small and dim that the light barely reached the ground.The houses sat in shadow, their windows glowing like dying embers, unable to chase away the darkness.