Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Field Test

Word count: ~615

The next morning, Julien was jolted awake by the blare of emergency bells.

“—all freshman cadets report to Simulation Arena B in full practice gear. You have ten minutes. Late arrivals will be penalized.”

He fumbled with the uniform. The fabric was slightly too big; the equipment cheap, secondhand. But his hands were steady as he clipped on the stabilizer belt and tucked the new card template he'd managed to repair the night before into his pouch.

He would not fail.

He couldn’t afford to.

---

Simulation Arena B looked like a stadium mated with a mech graveyard. Crushed walls, jagged terrain, and a semi-operational energy dome meant to replicate war conditions. Julien stood at the edge with twenty other first-years—some whispering, others visibly sweating.

The instructor, a tall woman with storm-gray hair and a voice like thunder, stepped forward.

“You're here for your first combat sync test. You’ve all read theory. Now let’s see if you survive practice.”

She tapped her wrist. A screen lit up in the sky, displaying today’s scenario.

> [Objective: Survive.]

[Sim Type: Tactical Chaos Field.]

[Duration: 10 minutes.]

“Inside the dome, enemies will be randomized. You're permitted to use any cards you've forged or tuned. Group cooperation is allowed. Betrayal is expected.”

Someone behind Julien muttered, “What the hell kind of academy is this...”

Julien didn’t answer. He was too focused on the flickering shapes appearing beyond the barrier. Drone beasts. Arcana-forged illusions. Real enough to injure, maybe even maim if the stabilizers failed.

“Begin.”

---

The dome shimmered. Then the world dropped out beneath them.

Julien hit the ground rolling, ducked a blast of heat, and immediately drew his only functioning card. The rune structure wasn’t perfect—but he’d reinforced it by hand.

“Form: Shield. Trigger: Proximity Threat.”

The card flared and wrapped a translucent barrier around him just as a leaping wolf-beast slammed into it. The impact cracked the shield, but it held. Julien pivoted, used the rebound to launch himself over broken metal scaffolding, and tucked behind a collapsed wall to catch his breath.

He wasn’t the only one fighting smart. A girl with twin blades was taking down targets with ease—and eyeing him like a meal.

But Julien had no time to deal with her.

Because up in the observation booth, behind a panel of blackened glass—Veldaric Hill had arrived.

---

“Which one is he?” Veldaric asked, eyes narrowed.

The instructor nodded toward a hovering cam. “Far quadrant, third row—there.”

The Marshal said nothing for a long moment. Just watched.

Julien moved differently from the others. Less frantic, more calculating. He wasn’t strong. His output wasn’t flashy. But he kept surviving. Blocking just right. Dodging just enough.

Not a genius.

A survivor.

Veldaric’s lips curled. “He’s adapted.”

“Barely,” the instructor sniffed. “He’s using a junk card with patched rune stabilizers. Impressive he hasn’t blown his own fingers off.”

Veldaric turned his head slowly.

“You trained at Centauri Fortress, did you not?”

The woman paled slightly. “Yes, Marshal.”

“Then you should know. War isn’t about flash. It’s about what doesn’t break.”

---

Julien’s body burned by the seventh minute. His shield card had shattered. He had one backup: a hastily tuned trap glyph, volatile and incomplete.

He waited until a duo of stronger students cornered him—and when they struck, he triggered the trap.

The explosion wasn’t pretty. But it leveled the field.