Blackmoor's POV
After two hours of deliberation and voting, the results for the class officers were finally announced.
As expected, the position of class president was claimed by Isabel Cyronis, the second princess of the Astrixion Empire and the highest-ranked first-year among the Weapon Masters. Her victory was decisive. More surprising was the election of Isaac Nexarch as vice president, given his long-standing rivalry with the princess.
The secretary position was won through vote by Emily Axiar. Outside of her duties as secretary, she also served as the princess's appointed adjutant, a role assigned directly by the royal court. Jay Virion was elected treasurer, Jessica Thornhook became the information officer, and Mikel Stratos secured the position of first sergeant-at-arms.
Then my name was announced.
Second sergeant-at-arms.
For a moment, I genuinely believed there had been a mistake. I had neither spoken about the elections nor shown any interest in holding office. Slowly, I turned toward Mikel, who was smiling far too confidently.
Only then did it become clear—through the quiet whispers spreading through the room and Mikel's unmistakably satisfied expression—that he had been campaigning for me without my knowledge. How he managed to do so while remaining at my side since the first day was something I could not comprehend. I didn't bother to try to refuse, considering that Mikel secretly campaigned for me; I didn't want his work to go to waste, so I simply accepted my fate.
In the end, the results themselves were not surprising. Almost every elected officer came from one of the Seven Great Houses of Astrixion, each occupying roles their families traditionally held within the empire. The only exceptions were Jessica Thornhook… and me.
"Alright," our adviser, Ma'am Airice Maiz, began. "Now that you have elected your class officers, it is time for what many of you have been waiting for—the Weapon and Blood Ceremony.
"As most of you already know, this ceremony is essential not only to your time here at the academy, but also to your future careers. Today, you will choose the weapon you will train with and specialize in during your years here—one that you will eventually carry into real combat and professional service.
"While it is possible to change your chosen weapon after the ceremony, I strongly advise against it. Your primary instruction and advanced training will be focused on the weapon you select today. Changing later would place you at a disadvantage, as you would be sacrificing valuable time to relearn what others have already mastered.
"Although you will study the fundamentals of all weapon types at the academy, your deepest and most personalized training will be devoted to the weapon you choose during this ceremony.
"Lastly, do not attempt to take too many weapons. Doing so is impractical in real combat and will only burden you with unnecessary coursework and divided focus.
"With that said, please follow me to the ceremony hall."
After reaching the massive doors leading to the training arena and armory—where the Weapon and Blood Ceremony was to be held—the stationed guards made their presence unmistakably clear. One of them announced the rules in a firm voice: the guards were there to prevent fights from escalating into lethal encounters. Critical attacks were strictly prohibited, severe injuries would not be tolerated, and all combat was to remain within student regulations. Fairness was mandatory.
With that warning delivered, the doors slowly opened.
Inside was a grand oblong-shaped arena. Each of its four sides had elevated VIP sections overlooking the floor, while entrances sat at the lower ends of the structure. Adjacent to the main gate was the armory itself. Students from another Weapon Master section were already exiting, their choices finalized, heading through a separate door on the left side of the arena.
As our class entered the armory, we were greeted by an overwhelming sight—a vast collection of weapons in countless styles, weights, and types. This was the moment everyone had been waiting for: the chance to choose the tools that would define their path at the academy.
For me, this felt different.
Having worked as a mercenary in the past, I had already wielded more weapons than most students would ever touch. I knew what suited me—and what didn't. More than that, this felt like a dream I had never been able to afford. For the first time, I could assemble the perfect kit without worrying about money or supply.
I couldn't stop myself from smiling.
I headed straight to the sword section. From there, I selected a short, slightly curved one-handed blade from the east—a wakizashi—and a longer straight one-handed sword, a jian. Next was the firearms section, where I took a Glock 19.
From the shield area, like everyone else, I picked up a full-body forcefield generator—standard-issue military equipment capable of protecting the entire body. Unlike most, however, I also took a compact attachable forcefield shield generator.
In the throwables section, I collected several bo-shuriken, along with two small holders that could be attached to my arms and legs.
Then came the poison section.
While others chose specialized delivery tools—acid dispersers, poisoned arrows, modified ammunition—I kept things simple. I selected:
two vials of lethal poison,
one vial of sleeping poison,
three vials of paralysis poison,
and one vial of laxative poison.
Finally, I walked toward the least crowded section of the armory. Only five out of sixty students stood there—the collapsible weapons area.
That wasn't surprising. Collapsible weapons were less durable, easier to break, and generally lower in quality. Worse, students who chose them still had to take the same classes as those using full-sized versions, putting them at a clear disadvantage.
Even so, I took one.
A collapsible arm-mounted shield. When activated, it formed a compact barrier barely wider than my arm, extending only a few inches past it, with a sharpened edge along its frame.
And with that, I was done.
As I stepped out of the armory, a strange pause settled over the room.
Students slowed, some stopping altogether. Most carried two or three weapons—standard combinations: a blade and a sidearm, a staff with a backup focus, maybe a shield slung over a shoulder. A few, clearly more ambitious, managed four pieces of equipment and already looked mildly burdened by their choices.
Then there were the rare minimalists, holding only a single weapon, faces calm and confident.
And then there was me.
Two one-handed swords rested at my waist, balanced for quick draw.
A handgun secured at my side.
Several neatly sealed poison vials arranged in reinforced slots.
A compact collapsible shield locked around my forearm.
Beneath my uniform, out of sight, slim bo-shuriken holders were strapped along my arms and legs—hidden well enough that they blended into my movement unless someone knew exactly what to watch for.
The shield itself looked modest when inactive, folded metal plates barely longer than my arm. Embedded within it was a shield generator, calibrated so that when activated, a forcefield would form over the equipment itself—silent, invisible, and undetectable unless struck.
I took a step forward.
A few students shifted their grips. Others glanced from my loadout to their own, then back again.
"He's got… more than four, right?" someone murmured.
"I thought there was a recommendation," another whispered.
I glanced down at myself briefly.
…Alright. Maybe I'd pushed past optimal.
Still, I straightened and continued walking. In real combat, preparation wasn't measured by appearance.
It was measured by whether you walked away alive
END OF CHAPTER