The wind in the mountains was cold.
As the helicopter descended, the airflow stirred up thick clouds of dust.
The low, heavy roar of the rotors echoed through the mountains.
Lucian stood at the edge of the landing pad.
His black coat shifted lightly in the wind.
Ahead was an entire training facility built along the mountainside.
The perimeter was enclosed by gray-black concrete walls.
Metal mesh covered the upper sections.
There were no family-style decorations.
It looked more like a military zone.
An elder of the Jace Family stood nearby.
His gray-white hair was neatly combed.
He was not tall.
But his posture was steady.
The kind of person who did not need to raise his voice, yet would never be ignored.
He looked toward the training grounds.
"This place will be assigned to you from now on."
Lucian replied calmly,
"I've said before. There's no need to arrange a guard unit."
The elder did not look at him.
"Whether it's necessary is not for you to decide."
"You'll be entering border regions next."
"You'll come into contact with war zones."
"Then someone must follow you."
Lucian did not argue further.
Because he knew—
once something was confirmed at the elder level, it would not be canceled.
They walked inside.
The heavy metal doors slowly opened.
The air carried a distinct metallic scent.
Gunfire echoed from the distance.
Along with dull impacts.
Training had not stopped.
The first area was the physical training ground.
A large number of personnel were running under heavy load.
Each wore black training suits.
Additional weight modules were attached to their backs.
Some were vaulting obstacles.
Some were climbing at high speed.
Others transitioned directly into close-quarters combat after sprinting.
There was no idle conversation.
Only breathing.
Footsteps.
Impact sounds.
The rhythm was extremely tight.
The elder spoke slowly,
"The first group has completed selection."
"Total: fifty people."
Lucian watched the field in silence.
The elder continued,
"Twenty-two retired soldiers."
"Nine border guards."
"Thirteen mercenaries."
"Six technical and logistics personnel."
Lucian said nothing.
He kept observing.
The age gap among them was large.
Some were close to forty.
Old scars were clearly visible.
Others were much younger.
But the common point was obvious—
all of them had truly entered the battlefield.
The elder continued,
"We do not recruit combat-type ability users here."
Lucian slightly shifted his gaze.
The elder's tone remained steady.
"The more combat-oriented the ability, the easier it is to lose control."
"Even after regulation."
"Even after reaching stability."
"The probability of berserk behavior still exists."
"Especially in border environments."
"Continuous combat, mental pressure, ability overuse—
all increase the risk."
Ahead,
a man sprinting at high speed suddenly lost balance.
An instructor nearby kicked him down without hesitation.
"Get up."
The voice was cold.
The man immediately stood up again.
And resumed sprinting.
No one stopped.
The elder continued walking forward.
"The most important thing for a guard unit is stability."
"Not destructive power."
Lucian nodded slightly.
He agreed.
They continued inward.
The second area was the shooting range.
Behind reinforced glass,
gunfire echoed continuously.
This was not a standard range.
Targets moved.
Some sections would suddenly go dark.
Some trained rapid fire in low-light conditions.
Others reloaded while moving at high speed.
Weapons of different calibers were neatly arranged.
Staff nearby continuously recorded data.
The elder stopped.
"The people here don't need perfect scores."
"They only need to survive."
Lucian looked inside.
Some completed consecutive hits with steady movements.
Others were pinned down by instructors after mistakes.
Forced to restart.
No mercy.
Because the battlefield gives no second chances.
They continued deeper.
The air grew colder.
Heavy machinery operated everywhere.
Strength training zones.
Impact resistance zones.
High-speed reaction zones.
Even simulated explosion environments.
Lucian's gaze stopped on a row of black equipment.
These were not ordinary bulletproof vests.
They were full combat suits.
The internal structure was clearly more complex than standard gear.
Numerous metal linkages were hidden inside.
A staff member immediately stepped forward.
"Equipped with a light mechanical assist frame."
"Enhances muscle output."
"Increases load-bearing and mobility."
"Also includes composite ballistic layers."
The staff member raised a gun.
Aimed at the armor plate.
Bang.
The shot exploded in the enclosed space.
The bullet left a visible dent.
But did not penetrate.
The staff continued,
"Standard rounds cannot penetrate directly."
"It also disperses impact."
"And reduces joint stress during high-speed movement."
Lucian reached out and touched the surface of the armor.
Cold.
But stable.
Not a prototype.
Already ready for real battlefield use.
The elder spoke slowly,
"Future battlefields will become more complex."
"Standard equipment is no longer enough."
"Especially in border regions."
"Firepower is becoming increasingly chaotic."
"The human body alone cannot sustain it."
They moved forward again.
Deeper inside,
the training intensity clearly changed.
Metal flooring was covered with impact marks.
The walls even showed dents.
In the distance,
a large man carried an oversized load while sprinting.
Each step caused slight vibrations in the ground.
Lucian's gaze fixed on him.
The elder spoke,
"Former border breaker."
"Codename: Grizzly."
"Survived seven breakthrough operations."
The man stopped.
Slowly turned his head.
Their eyes met briefly.
No hostility.
But overwhelming pressure.
Not from size alone—
but from someone who had truly survived among corpses.
Lucian did not look away.
The elder continued,
"The people here may not be the best."
"But they are very hard to kill."
Silence returned.
Gunfire continued in the distance.
Footsteps.
Metal collisions.
Blended together
into a suppressed yet steady rhythm.
As they moved deeper,
the elder spoke again.
"The guard unit will be divided into three groups."
"Close protection."
"Outer suppression."
"Logistics and technical support."
Lucian listened quietly.
The elder continued,
"In addition, two ability-user support members will be assigned."
Lucian's gaze paused slightly.
The elder added,
"Not combat-type."
"One sensory-type."
"One medical-type."
"These two categories currently have the lowest risk."
"And have been widely approved for use across multiple nations."
Lucian did not interrupt.
The elder continued explaining,
"The sensory-type is responsible for early warning."
"Detecting anomalies."
"Confirming threat direction."
"Identifying ability fluctuations in advance."
"On the battlefield, they are more important than firepower."
"Because many ability attacks have no warning."
"Ordinary people won't even realize the danger has begun."
Lucian nodded slightly.
He had seen similar abilities before.
And the higher the tier—
the more dangerous.
The elder continued,
"The medical-type maintains survival rates."
"Especially in border regions."
"Formal medical support cannot arrive in time."
"Many people die during evacuation."
"A medical-type ability user can extend that window."
Lucian looked quietly toward the distant training grounds.
He said nothing.
The wind blew in from beyond the mountains.
The entire facility continued operating.
No one stopped.
The people here did not discuss ideology.
Nor did they discuss the future.
Their reason for training every day was simple—
To come back alive.
And Lucian knew—
from today onward,
he had truly stepped into the most real side of war.