"Valerium. Kirden. Kirdenia."
Everything echoed in Neale Sanchez R.'s mind. This was no time to falter or let himself be consumed by useless thoughts. He needed a date, a plan, and a safe way to travel the final stretch of territory to Kirden, the stronghold of humanity. That was his only goal for now, and the Kirdenia Academy would be the key to his ascent.
Approaching the soldiers was not an easy task, but it was necessary, and he had to act cautiously. They were the most immediate source of information that could actually lead him somewhere. The risk was high: the backpack, even covered by the torn overcoat, still emanated faint traces of its former owner's Righteous Wrath, and the white streaks in his hair were a genetic legacy almost impossible to hide.
With the stale bread in his left hand—a pathetic prop to simulate misery—and his face covered in dust, demon blood, and sweat, he adopted the posture of an exhausted, starving boy. Both were, in fact, the truth. He stood up slowly, the pain of everything he had endured making his body beg for even a scrap of rest, yet he began to walk toward the main gate, blending into the horde of refugees. Some, perhaps even drugged, formed a sea of tired bodies colliding with one another. The moans of the people and the whistling wind hitting Valerium's old buildings provided his best camouflage.
The Kirden soldiers, in their worn, burnt-yellow tactical uniforms, looked tense. Some wore details in iron or oxidized copper, while others had extra pieces that expressed their unique personalities—hoods, cloaks, or belts—but all bore the Order's symbol prominently on their left shoulders. They were visibly exhausted, some more than others, due to the quarantine and the lingering fear of Angelic possession. Even from a distance, Neale could tell this was the main topic of their conversations.
Neale felt the Righteous Wrath emanating from them as a slight discomfort, even without knowing why he felt it. To him—someone who could not yet feel, see, or understand Righteous Wrath—it was impressive that he could sense the "level of discomfort" others' energy caused him. It was like a small, light wave of heat under his skin, but it didn't burn or overheat. It was very different from the winged demonic beast, whose presence made him feel like his own bones were breaking. The diary entry regarding Sergeant O.M. had made it clear: if he couldn't see or understand Righteous Wrath, he was likely "Colorless." Entering Kirden or the academy seemed impossible based on what he knew so far.
Neale dragged himself to a pile of old crates leaning against a wall, about ten meters from two soldiers who were talking. He pretended to scavenge the ground and the crates for scraps and junk, keeping his head down and his face hidden by his bangs, but his ears were fully alert.
"...I can't take this escort route anymore. Let those Kirdenia Academy brats come on their own—spoiled bunch," grumbled one of the soldiers, his Righteous Wrath at the Dark White level.
The other, slightly taller and with a unique hairstyle, emanated a stronger energy at the Orange level. He replied in a dry, gravelly voice: "Shut it, Jarrick. They aren't just 'brats' and you know it. They're children of couples who possessed Righteous Wrath before the mothers even conceived. You know damn well this mission is important because kids born like that have a much higher hidden potential than us Kirden soldiers. The Order wants them safe. They say the new convoy of students will be the largest in five years—the generation with the best odds of reaching the highest levels of Righteous Wrath."
Neale gripped the bread so hard it nearly crumbled. Convoy. Students. Fifth generation. The information was coming. Neale leaned in closer, his focus sharpening.
"I know... just... ugh, forget it. I heard Route 305 is more dangerous than usual lately. A small pack of Wisps was slaughtered near the pass, but I talked to some soldiers who said it might be the work of one of those groups... you know the ones. But this time, they think it was the Power Mercenaries positioning themselves near the end of Route 305. Seems they want to steal the few weapons forged by the Forgers—the ones the Order is sending for the students."
"Yeah... but forget the mercenaries, Jarrick. What worries me is the date. Word is the Order changed the plans for the arrival in Kirden. They aren't coming through Route 305 anymore. Seems the big shots think it's too obvious. The new route passes through the old steel bridge, about five days' journey from here. Once they hit Valerium, they'll head straight to Kirden. The students, the new class, should arrive here with the convoy in a week of non-stop travel. Our duty is to make sure this point is secure for the arrival. Same for the route we'll take with the convoy using Vehicle Zero."
Vehicle Zero. Neale's breath hitched at the name, nearly making him forget his hunger. One week.
"Vehicle Zero? Never heard of it. Is it a new Order security transport?" Jarrick asked.
"Yeah... sounds like V-Zero is a new joint creation. All the Houses of the Order collaborated on the project. It's a type of transport tank using pre-war technology, with metal layers reinforced by Righteous Wrath. It's supposed to be the safest thing they've built since the Barrier of Kirden. It's operating specifically to carry these students because they don't want a repeat of previous years where kids ended up dying on the way to the Absolute Races."
Neale had his information now. One week. The student convoy in V-Zero—coming to be trained at Kirdenia Academy to learn about combat, weapons, and Righteous Wrath—would arrive in Valerium in seven days, coming from an alternative route near the bridge that was once a famous tourist landmark. This was Neale's chance to get into Kirden.
He stood up with some difficulty and began to move away, heading back toward an isolated building he had found while looking for food earlier. His heart beat with a feverish determination, cooled internally by his logic, forcing him to act calmly. Neale had won a small victory, but he still had to wait for the convoy and find a way to infiltrate the students and get inside V-Zero before it departed for Kirden. It was one victory, but he needed many more.
As Neale walked away, the chaos of Valerium's people and sounds faded into background noise. However, his peripheral vision caught a subtle movement, accompanied by an icy discomfort on his skin coming from between the buildings. A short man in a worn leather coat with a large hood seemed excessively focused on watching him. Neale didn't know it yet, but the man's scent was strange—it wasn't demonic, angelic, or human. It was a mix of scents typical of someone accustomed to hunting and killing everything... a Mercenary.
Neale subtly picked up his pace, weaving through the people and the shadows. He had one week, and the game was just beginning. As he ate the "good" parts of the bread (if there were any), he looked at his mother's overcoat and the diary inside his pack.