Exiting Workshop Delta with the faint, scent of expended mana still clinging to them, the mood was one of quiet accomplishment. Oliver held his sealed orb, the grey mist inside a comforting, tangible proof of something.
"Hey," Leo said, his eyes flickering over the holographic screen from his bronze card. "Did you guys read the notice on the official Bronze Class group? We're to gathered at the Block Delta training ground at 1700 sharp. Mandatory."
Elara groaned, her cheerful energy from earlier deflating. "Seventeen hundred? Don't tell me we're doing sprints in the dark."
"I don't think so," Oliver said, turning his own orb in his hand. "Proctor Grath's morning lecture was about theory and consequence. An evening session right after our first practical mana class… it feels like a follow-up. Applied theory."
Ilana nodded. "A logical progression. The forum suggests upper-year classes have occasional tactical briefings or gear-issue sessions in the evening slots."
As they walked to the cafeteria, they saw other Bronze students clustered in small groups, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of their card interfaces, all likely seeing the same notice. The air buzzed with nervous speculation.
"Field exercise already?"
"Maybe it's a written test on physical theory…"
Lunch was, as always, a lavish spread of mana-infused food—thick stew made from the meat of a sturdy rock-lizard, dark bread seeded with crystalized grains, and steamed greens that glittered with vitality. The students ate with a focused intensity, the unexpected evening summons adding a layer of purpose to the fuel.
At 1650, the entire Bronze class stood in ragged lines on the familiar, training ground by Block Delta. The last of the afternoon sun cast long, stark shadows. Precisely at 1700, Proctor Grath emerged from the academy shadows, his silhouette blocking the low sun. His expression was its usual granite mask.
"In the morning," his voice boomed, effortlessly reaching every ear without seeming to rise in volume, "we spoke of body tempering. Of the conduit. A question follows: *How?"
He began to pace slowly before them, his eyes scanning their faces. "Am I to teach you some secret breathing technique from a lost monastic order? Will the academy feed you costly alchemical elixirs? Perhaps we shall chant under the moon in a ritual of blood and starlight?"
A few hopeful, if nervous, glances were exchanged.
"The answer," Grath stated, stopping abruptly, "is none of those. Those who chase such shortcuts are over-grafting foreign strength onto a weak foundation. They are exhausting their body's true, innate potential for a fleeting spark. The path of power is long. It is gradual. It is time-consuming. There is no cheat. No secret. No shortcut. Only consistent, and effort."
He clasped his massive hands behind his back. "As for tempering this vessel…" He tapped his own chest with a thick finger. "Your body possesses an infinite capacity for adaptation. A miraculous ability to overcome. Our method is simple: we introduce it to controlled, varied stressors—different environments, conditions, and challenges. We then provide it with the highest quality fuel—the food you are given—and ample time for recovery. And we let it **adapt on its own.** We do not force. We guide. We stimulate."
He let the philosophy settle, his gaze sweeping over them. "Which brings us to practical application. Tomorrow at 0600, you will report here, geared and ready. We depart for a **field training sector** in the Ironwood Forest. Attendance is compulsory."
A ripple of excitement and anxiety passed through the ranks. *Field training. Actual wilderness.*
"Now," Grath continued, his tone shifting to one of pure instruction. "Bring out your Guild Cards. Hold it flat in your palm."
Sixty hands reached into pockets. Sixty bronze rectangles were produced, gleaming in the fading light.
"Channel a stream of your mana into it. Not for an interface. Will it to activate its **hands-free deployment mode.** The command concept is 'wear' or 'bind.'"
Oliver focused on the cool, static pool of his grey mana and pushed a thread into the card, envisioning it becoming part of his hand. His card shimmered, its solid form softening into a liquid, metallic stream. It flowed like quick mercury across his palm, around the base of his thumb, and wrapped snugly around his right wrist, solidifying into a smooth, durable bronze band with his unique mana-signature rune etched into its surface.
Around him, soft exclamations of surprise echoed as the cohort discovered the same. Leo's band had a faint, warm glow. Elara's was cool and slightly damp to the touch. Ilana's smelled faintly of fresh soil.
"The band is now synced to your bio-signature," Grath's voice explained. "Focus your will on it and think 'interface.' A holographic screen will appear in your field of vision, private to you. You can adjust its size and transparency with mental commands."
Oliver did so. A semi-transparent, rectangular screen, familiar yet now seamlessly integrated, appeared before his eyes. It was incredible. Data could be accessed without fumbling for a card.
"This feature is locked in classrooms, the library, and other designated areas to prevent distraction and misuse," Grath warned. "For now, access the file labelled 'FT-01: Ironwood Introduction.' Review the equipment checklist and terrain overview. You have one hour to draw your assigned kit from the equipment room behind Block Delta before it closes. Study the materials. Be prepared. Dismissed."
As Proctor Grath strode away, the formal ranks dissolved into a chaotic, excited rush toward the equipment room. Oliver looked at the bronze band on his wrist, then at the holographic checklist floating in his vision—a bedroll, weather-resistant cloak, basic rations, a canteen, a multipurpose tool.
Elara was already comparing her list with Ilana's. Leo was muttering about the weight distribution of a standard-issue pack.
The dread of the morning's ultimatum was still there, the pressure of the one-year deadline. But it was now mixed with the thrill of a first, real step into the world they were training to face. The academy's walls were about to be left behind, if only for a day. Oliver touched his wristband, the grey mist in his orb forgotten in his pocket, his mind already racing ahead to the dark, adaptive depths of the Ironwood Forest.
End of Chapter