Aidan's fingers wrapped around the hilt, and Morro felt it—a surge of Negacion energy, different from Observation Negacion. This was something else. A deeper technique, actual analysis. Static Analysis Tampering technique. Aidan was trying to break through the obfuscation, to read what lay beneath.
But the Prometheus Obfuscation held. It resisted, blocked, protected. Aidan's expression changed—subtle, but Morro caught it. Surprise. Recognition. Something more.
Aidan released the sword, his eyes sharp now, studying Morro with new intensity. "Interesting. Very interesting."
Morro kept his expression neutral. "What is it?"
"Nothing to worry about," Aidan said, but his voice carried a note Morro hadn't heard before. Curiosity. Suspicion. "Just... the obfuscation. It's more sophisticated than I expected. Where did you say you got it again?"
"From my hometown. Someone there knew about these things."
Aidan nodded slowly, but his eyes were still sharp. "I see. The obfuscation is strong. Very strong."
Aidan examined what he'd sensed. The signature, the patterns, the way it resisted his analysis—he'd seen this before. This was Prometheus obfuscation. From Blackwater. It was used specifically by that one single group from there.
This wasn't the real Prometheus. The real one was protected by a special hash, a unique identifier that couldn't be replicated. This one... it didn't have that. It was just a copy. A copy of Prometheus, but still very strong. The version was from six years ago, and it seemed modified, altered from the original.
To actually break through this, to disassemble it and strip it of its defenses, he'd need to spend a lot of time. Hours, maybe days. And even then, he might not get everything.
But this kid... he was just a nineteen-year-old orphan from a small settlement. He couldn't have gotten this from the real source. Must be some distribution version, a copy that got circulated. That would explain it. A copy, but still strong.
There was zero chance this kid belonged to them. Zero.
Aidan studied Morro again, his expression thoughtful. But the obfuscation was real. Prometheus, version six years ago, modified.
He couldn't read much. He couldn't know if Morro had lied to him or not. He couldn't know anything. Not without spending serious time on it.
Aidan watched him for another moment, then smiled. "Well, regardless. The obfuscation is strong. That's what matters. You've protected your sword well."
But Morro could see it—the suspicion in Aidan's eyes. The curiosity. The recognition of something that shouldn't be there.
Aidan recognized the Prometheus Obfuscation. He's more experienced than I thought. A very experienced reverse engineer. But I don't look like a powerful swordsman who trained under that organization. I look like what I'm pretending to be—a nineteen-year-old orphan from a small settlement. That should be enough. For now.
Aidan stood. "Come on. We should head to the training grounds. The tryouts will start soon."
Morro followed. Aidan was more experienced than he'd thought. A very experienced reverse engineer. He'd recognized the Prometheus Obfuscation, realized it was from a version six years ago, noticed it seemed modified. But Morro didn't look like a powerful swordsman who'd trained under that organization. He looked like what he was pretending to be—a nineteen-year-old orphan from a small settlement.
And that was enough. For now.
---
They walked through the settlement, heading toward the training grounds. The morning air was still cool, the streets beginning to fill with people starting their day.
"How do the tryouts look like?" Morro asked.
Aidan glanced at him, a slight smile on his face. "You'll see. Why reveal everything before the tryout? All you need to know is you don't need any special knowledge for them."
Morro nodded. No special knowledge required. That suggested the tests would be practical, based on ability rather than theory.
"You know what, Junior?" Aidan continued, his tone casual. "We sometimes have to recruit some new swordsmen from outside the clan. Not everyone comes through the academy. Sometimes we find talent in unexpected places."
Morro kept his expression neutral. Aidan was explaining why someone like him—a resident, not a clan member—could even apply. The Fourth Division needed capable swordsmen, regardless of their background. That was useful information.
"This tryout will probably mainly consist of volunteers from outside the clan," Aidan continued. "There might be some people inside the clan, but they will probably pass no matter what they do. You should be glad most clans don't even take outsiders. Our clan is on the more tolerant side of this."
Aidan paused, then his voice lowered slightly. "You don't know this from me, but when engaging in one-on-one fights, avoid sparring with clan members. Try to choose an outsider partner."
Morro nodded, filing away the information. Useful advice. Clan members would have an advantage, and the clan would favor them regardless. Outsiders would be on more equal footing. That made sense.
They continued walking, and as they approached the training grounds, Aidan stopped and turned to Morro. "If you ever need something from me, you can come to Third Division headquarters."
"Yes, that's right," Aidan continued. "I am going to replace Captain Aris after this unfortunate event that has shaken the whole clan. I used to be the Third Division Captain before Aris took over. I did my retire time, but it wasn't a full retirement. Now I'm stepping back in."
"Thank you very much, Elder," Morro said, his voice carefully measured.
I hadn't expected Kael to have connections this big. That's useful. But Aidan might always have this suspicion about the obfuscation. I should have expected that. Even though I cleaned my past well, I need to be more careful.
They entered the training grounds, and Morro took in the facility. The training zone was divided into several distinct areas. At the center stood a large podium where elders and high-rank swordsmen gathered, overseeing everything. Behind it rose the academy headquarters—a huge building that stored special training equipment and training uniforms. It also served as the main headquarters of the instructional subdivision of Division 4, containing the registration and recommendation area for tryouts.
Opposite the podium, an arena stretched out before them. Stairs on both sides led down into the training area, which was divided into twenty slots. Each slot had its own small podium for an instructor, and within each slot, ten white lines ran across the full width—places where training attendants would stand side by side.
Beyond the arena, Morro could see additional training facilities: swimming areas, specialized training grounds, everything that could be needed for any kind of training.
The grounds were crowded. Morro estimated around seven hundred people were present—swordsmen recruits and spectators permitted to watch. The Monogan clan had approximately three thousand members, with about fifty thousand people living on clan territory. But here, at the training grounds, the focus was on those who wanted to join, those who had come to prove themselves.
Aidan led Morro toward the academy headquarters, to the registration table. An elder sat behind it, organizing papers and documents. When they approached, Aidan stepped forward.
"I'm here to recommend this young man for the tryouts," Aidan said, his voice formal. "Morro, submit your documents."
Morro handed over his falsified documents—the papers that told the story of a young man from a small settlement, kicked out at eighteen, looking for a new path. The elder took them, examining them briefly before looking up.
"Today at the same hour, two tryouts will take place," the elder said, his tone matter-of-fact. "That's why, Junior, you see everything is so crowded."
Two tryouts. That explains the crowd.
"The first is the Special Operations Command tryout," the elder continued. "Led by Captain Stenar. Normally, SOCOM doesn't recruit members through tryouts. They choose the best combatant swordsmen through an invitation-based system. They are brutally trained, and the selection is extremely competitive. But today's tryout is different—there will be three hundred participants."
SOCOM tryouts are no joke. Instructors have a permit to even kill the participants. Three hundred participants. That's a lot. But I've already decided. The Fourth Division is my target.
"The second is the Fourth Division tryout," the elder said, his tone shifting slightly. "Led by Captain Valen. Knowledge-focused division. They study swordsmanship theory, techniques, the true nature of the art."
The elder looked at Morro, his expression expectant. "I assume you want to join the SOCOM tryout."
Morro met his gaze, keeping his expression neutral. "No, Elder. I want to join the Fourth Division tryout."
The elder's eyebrows rose slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. Most people, when given the choice between SOCOM and the Fourth Division, would choose SOCOM. It was more prestigious, more dangerous, more respected. But this kid wanted the knowledge-focused division instead.
"Very well," the elder said, recovering quickly. "The Fourth Division tryout, led by Captain Valen."
He gathered the necessary papers from a stack on the table, shuffling through them until he found the right forms. The papers rustled as he pulled them out, setting them before Morro.
"Read these carefully," the elder said. "Sign at the bottom. Your recommender will sign as well."
Morro took the papers, his fingers moving carefully. He began reading, his eyes scanning each line methodically. The documents outlined the terms of participation, the risks involved, the expectations of conduct during the tryouts. Liability waivers. Rules and regulations. Consequences for failure.
He read through every clause. Nothing unexpected. Standard procedure. But he needed to be sure. In this world, documents could hide things. Clauses could be buried. He wouldn't sign anything without understanding it completely.
I need to be careful. Documents can hide things. Clauses can be buried. I won't sign anything without understanding it completely.
Aidan stood beside him, patient, not rushing him. The elder waited as well, his attention already drifting to the next person in line.
When Morro was satisfied—when he'd read every line, understood every implication—he picked up the pen. The ink flowed smoothly as he signed his name. Morro. Simple. Clean. The name on his falsified documents.
Aidan stepped forward, taking the pen. He signed his name as well, completing the recommendation. The elder took the signed documents, stamping them with an official seal.
"Good," the elder said, his voice returning to the matter-of-fact tone. "You're registered for the Fourth Division tryout. Good luck, Junior."
Morro nodded. The documents stayed with the elder—they were already registered, already expected. Aidan had been at the training grounds that evening when Kael left the house, so they already knew Morro was coming. He didn't need to take the documents with him. Registered. Official. Now he just needed to pass the tests.
They stepped away from the registration table, making room for the next person in line. The crowd around them was dense, voices mixing into a low hum of anticipation and nervousness. Morro scanned the faces around him—other recruits, most of them looking tense, some trying to hide their anxiety with false confidence.
Most of them are probably here for SOCOM. Three hundred participants. That's where the real competition will be.
Aidan moved through the crowd with ease, people naturally making way for him. His status as a clan elder, soon to be a division captain, carried weight. Morro followed in his wake.
The training grounds were organized chaos. Groups of recruits gathered in clusters, talking among themselves. Some were stretching, preparing their bodies. Others stood alone, like Morro. Instructors moved through the crowd, checking papers, directing people to different areas.
Morro's eyes caught movement near the arena. A group of swordsmen in spec ops style uniforms were setting up equipment, their movements precise, efficient. Their faces weren't visible—covered by masks or gear—only their eyes mostly, sharp and focused. They looked different from the regular division members—sharper, more dangerous. The kind of people who had seen real combat, real death.
SOCOM. This division was made of killers with decades of experience. The ones who'd been through hell and came out stronger. Three hundred people trying to join that. Most of them would fail. Some might die.
He turned his attention back to the Fourth Division area. The knowledge-focused division. That was his target. That was where he needed to be.
Aidan stopped, turning to face Morro. "The tryouts will begin soon. You should find your designated area. The Fourth Division tryout will be held in the first slot. SOCOM will use the large slot behind all the normal slots."
Morro nodded, taking in the information. First slot for Fourth Division. The large slot for SOCOM. The arena had a special structure—one massive slot positioned behind all the normal training slots, much bigger than the others, with its own podium and equipment.
"Good luck, Morro," Aidan said, his expression serious. "Show them what you can do."
"Thank you, Elder," Morro replied. "I will."
Aidan gave him a final nod, then turned and walked away, heading toward the podium where the other elders and high-rank swordsmen were gathering. Morro watched him go, then turned his attention to the arena.
He made his way toward the first slot, where the Fourth Division tryout would be held. As he walked, his eyes scanned the arena, taking in the layout. The normal slots stretched out before him, each with its own podium and white lines. The first slot had some equipment there—training equipment that would be moved and used during the tryouts. In training areas like this, they didn't really have much equipment set up permanently. It would be moved as needed.
At the first slot, Morro could see the Fourth Division area. A group of about twenty-five attendants stood ready, along with three tryout staff members. And there, standing near the podium, was Captain Valen.
But behind them all, positioned at the far end, was the massive slot—the one reserved for SOCOM.
From a distance, Morro could see the SOCOM area. SOCOM was huge—they had taken over the entire massive slot, which looked completely different from the other slots. Much bigger, with its own large podium. When Morro looked closer, he saw forty to fifty staff members, three hundred attendants, and more people still coming. Among them, he spotted Captain Stenar's uniform.
When Morro looked at the SOCOM members in their uniforms, he saw they each had custom uniform attachments—different gear, different modifications. They all looked slightly different from each other, personalized, but unified in their purpose. Dangerous. Professional.
And then he saw him. Captain Stenar. Standing near the podium, looking out at the crowd. He had that same small smile on his face, the one Morro had seen at the scene of Captain Aris's death. Calm. Unsettling.
The SOCOM staff were absolutely shouting at the crowd, their voices cutting through the noise. Most people were already visibly scared, their faces pale, their movements hesitant. The atmosphere around the SOCOM area was tense, intimidating.
So that's why Stenar was going past my house yesterday. To prepare the tryout.
Morro continued walking, heading toward the first slot where the Fourth Division tryout would begin. The contrast between the two tryouts was stark. SOCOM—brutal, intimidating, dangerous. Fourth Division—knowledge-focused, different approach.
He walked closer, step by step, until he was very close to the slot. Then he looked up, and his eyes met another pair of eyes watching him.
Captain Valen.