On the bright side, Thea and I were the first to line up, groggily crawling out from behind the two tents. Everyone was present, so thankfully, no one got to find out what ‘reprisals’ meant for not showing up on time.

Although I’d been expecting it, I still let out a groan when the familiar gruff voice barked, “Keep up.”

Another hour of marching later, we arrived at the same clearing as before—this time, a little less ragged than yesterday. Behind the instructor stood a row of plants, and beside them, several creatures in cages. One was the now all-too-familiar Carapace Hound, and another looked like a rabbit, if rabbits were armed with claws better suited for a grizzly bear than their small frames. The third was…a squirrel. A completely normal-looking squirrel. Suspiciously normal.

“Alright,” the instructor began, his gravelly voice carrying across the clearing. “Those who managed to bring back food yesterday, step forward.”

A handful of the tank recruits walked up, their shoulders squared with something that almost looked like pride.

“Present your point orbs.”

The recruits held out their glowing orbs, and the instructor pulled out his own—its number carefully obscured by his massive hand. When he tapped his orb against theirs, each recruit’s number ticked upward by ten points.

The collective gasp from the group was almost comical. In an instant, the attitude around camp shifted. What had felt like just grueling survival drills suddenly carried the weight of potential rewards. These classes weren’t just some random obstacle course; they were a real chance to earn resources.

I didn’t know if this was unique to our commander or if all instructors did this, but I suddenly felt far more motivated to pay attention to his lessons.

“Now,” the instructor continued, after distributing the points. “If you want, you can stay, and I will teach you about the woods. About plants you can eat and those you can use to treat your wounds,” he gestured behind him to the rows of strange greenery. “What not to eat, and how to avoid—or catch—dangerous creatures.”

He shifted slightly, the massive bulk of his frame casting a longer shadow. “But I know some of you are more eager. You will not be forced to stay. You can head into the woods again. Hunt. Gather. Bring something back. You’ll be rewarded based on your haul.”

Then he added, his tone sharp as stone striking flint, “Those who stay to learn will get nothing.”

Nothing… but a better chance of survival.

I turned to Thea. “I’m staying. I think we both should.”

Although we were both desperate for points, Thea nodded in agreement, her storm-gray eyes flicking toward the row of plants thoughtfully.

Apparently, we were in the minority. The rest of the recruits scattered almost immediately, disappearing into the trees with barely a glance back. Boys and girls alike, their faces full of determination—and more than a little desperation.

The instructor’s sharp eyes settled on us, and for a moment, I thought I saw something that almost resembled approval tugging at the corners of his stern mouth.

“You two again?” he said, his gruff voice softer than usual. “Well, come over here.”

I leaned slightly toward Thea and whispered, “Maybe he likes us.”

Thea rolled her eyes, though a small smirk tugged at her lips. “I think he just likes hard workers. Now be quiet and listen.”

And with that, we stepped forward, ready to learn.

The instructor stood with his arms crossed, a towering figure that made the Carapace Hound beside him look almost…manageable. The creatures and plants arranged neatly behind him gave the scene an odd balance, like some bizarre classroom from a survival horror story.

“Alright, listen up,” he said, his voice sharp and commanding. “These are just a few of the creatures and plants you’ll encounter in the wild. If you want to survive out there—and not waste all your points on healers—you’ll need to understand them.”

He pointed to the Carapace Hound first, its armored six-legged form lying still, jaws slightly parted to reveal sharp rows of teeth. Its segmented back plates glistened faintly in the morning light.

“This here is a Carapace Hound. Ambush predator. They rely on stealth and patience, attacking prey when it’s vulnerable—most commonly when it’s resting or distracted.” His sharp gaze swept over Thea and me, lingering for just a second longer than I was comfortable with. “You two should know about that firsthand, I’d wager.”

I shifted uncomfortably wondering how he knew about our encounter.

“They prefer single targets and will avoid groups if possible. Their armor’s thick, but not invincible. Aim for the joints, the neck, or if you’re lucky enough to get above them, the underside of their plates.”

The hound let out a low growl, and I instinctively tensed. The instructor silenced it with a single sharp look before moving on to the next creature.

The rabbit-like beast—if you could even call something with bear-like claws a ‘rabbit’—twitched nervously in its cage, its long ears flicking toward every tiny sound. Its wide eyes seemed perpetually alert.

“This one’s a Pack Claw. Don’t let the size fool you—they’re vicious, especially in groups. They’re pack hunters, coordinated, and surprisingly intelligent. Their claws can tear through light armor without much trouble, and they’ll target ankles, hamstrings, and wrists to disable larger prey.”

I swallowed hard, imagining a dozen of those little horrors swarming around me, claws flashing like knives in the dark.

“They’re skittish alone, though. If you see one by itself, you can usually scare it off. But if you see two…” He let the silence hang for a beat, his dark eyes scanning the recruits. “…run. Because there are always more nearby.”

The Pack Claw let out a high-pitched chittering noise that sent an unpleasant chill down my spine.

“And finally…” He gestured to the squirrel. A squirrel—not exactly the most unassuming death machine I’d ever seen. It sat calmly in its cage, chewing on something and staring at us with soulless little eyes.

“This is a Tree Rodent.”

I blinked. That was… underwhelming.

“Don’t let the name fool you,” he continued, his tone sharp. “This little menace is one of the most dangerous creatures in these woods—not because it’s fast or strong, but because people underestimate it.”

The creature cocked its head, its tail flicking once as if in response.

“It’s venomous. Its bite won’t kill you outright, but within an hour, you’ll wish it had. Fever, nausea, hallucinations—sometimes even paralysis if the venom hits your bloodstream fast enough.”

Thea shifted uncomfortably beside me, her gaze locked on the tiny animal.

“But that’s not the worst part. It’s poisonous too. If you mess up while trying to prepare one for eating—if you so much as nick the poison gland hidden near the spine—you’ll contaminate the meat. One bite and you’re dead in minutes.”

The instructor leaned closer to the cage, and the Tree Rodent froze, its tail curling slightly.

“And lastly, they’re fragile. Their poison sac bursts with the slightest mishandling. Skin it wrong, hold it too tight, startle it… pop. That venom sprays everywhere. Your skin, your eyes, your food. If you’re unlucky enough to have an open wound, well…” He let the silence hang, his sharp gaze sweeping over the recruits. “…you’ll find out exactly how fast toxin can travel through your bloodstream.”

The silence stretched uncomfortably long. The creature stared back at us, utterly unbothered, munching away on whatever it was holding.

“Bottom line,” the commander said, straightening up, “avoid them if you can. If you have to catch one, don’t mess up. And if you kill one, don’t eat it unless you know exactly what you’re doing.”

I leaned slightly toward Thea and muttered, “Still think Puffer Squirrel is a better name.”

She blinked at me, her brow furrowing. “Puffer… what?”

I sighed, realizing too late that the joke didn’t land. “Never mind. Just—never mind.”

The commander’s sharp eyes snapped to me again. “Something amusing, recruit?”

“Uh… no, sir.”

He gave me a long, unreadable look before turning back to the row of plants and creatures.

“Pay attention, both of you. Every one of these can kill you if you’re ignorant. Knowledge is your first line of defense in the wild. Ignore it at your peril.”

The commander launched into a rapid-fire explanation about plants, and I tried to keep up. Honestly, I did. But the second he started pointing out subtle differences between leaves that could either save your life or turn your insides into soup, I felt my brain start to fog over. I’m no botanist—one leaf looks pretty much like another to me.

Thea was doing better, or at least she was trying harder. Her brows were furrowed in fierce concentration, and she squinted at every plant like it had personally wronged her. But even she seemed to struggle with identifying the minute details he was highlighting.

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When the focus shifted to edible and medicinal plants, though, I perked up. These felt… practical. Tangible. Something I might actually remember when it counted. I forced myself to pay close attention, mentally filing away every detail. These plants could mean the difference between survival and a slow, painful death in the wild, and I wasn’t about to let that knowledge slip away.

After a while, the commander had gone over all the plants. With a final glance at the rows behind him, he tapped his trusty horn, the metal catching the light briefly.

“If you want, you can head off, but there won’t be much time left before you're expected back,” he said, his gravelly voice carrying over the clearing.

Thea and I exchanged a quick look, silently reaching the same conclusion. Stepping forward, I straightened my posture in what I hoped looked respectful. “We’d like to train here again, sir, if that’s alright.”

He gave a small shrug, his expression neutral. “Go for it. But don’t get too caught up in cultivating. It’s good for building a foundation, but once you both get your systems, it’ll be better to focus on what your blessing can actually do for you.”

I nodded, his words settling uneasily in my chest. There it was again—that casual dismissal of cultivation. But honestly, if the system was as powerful as it seemed, and if the cultivation methods here really were as bare-bones as they appeared, he was probably right.

If only I could actually get a system.

Thea and I found a quiet spot in the clearing and resumed our training together. I definitely couldn’t fit any more world energy inside my main channel, a clear sign that by this world’s standards, I was ready to start forming a core like Thea. But now, neither of us wanted to rush ahead. Our method was working, and we wanted it solid before taking the next step.

Once I felt the familiar pop from the reservoir in my right hand, I stood up, rolling my shoulders and preparing myself for yet another sparring match with Thea.

As usual, she wiped the floor with me. And honestly? It was starting to get frustrating. Theoretically, we were at equal levels now since she had to slow down and adapt to our new cultivation method, but every time we clashed, she dismantled me effortlessly. It was like trying to punch water—it didn’t matter how hard I swung; she just flowed around me.

Suddenly, a booming voice cut across the clearing. “Stop being so reckless!” the commander barked, his gravelly tone silencing everything around us. “Look at the girl—she’s using short bursts of movement, conserving her strength. You, on the other hand, are swinging wide like you’re trying to hit five people at once. And tackling with your head down? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

I froze mid-step, glancing over at Thea, who had the decency to smother a grin behind her hand.

“Focus up!” the commander continued, his voice sharp. “Tighten your defenses. You might not be one for long, but right now, you’re a tank. Act like it. Stay on guard, keep your stance strong, and wait for an opportunity.”

I wanted to ask, What happens if we both just stand there on guard forever? But as if reading my mind, the commander cut me off.

“And if you’re both too stubborn to make the first move, use feints. You two aren’t far apart in strength—it shouldn’t be so one-sided.”

I nodded stiffly, glancing at Thea. She gave me an encouraging nod back, her smirk finally fading into something more focused.

As we squared up again, I found myself really starting to like our commander. Sure, he was massive, intimidating, and his voice could probably shatter glass—but beneath all that roughness, he was sharp and genuinely helpful.

Well… mostly friendly. At least when we weren’t making fools of ourselves.

Once we finished consolidating our gains, Thea and I agreed to target the other shoulder next. Reaching the halfway point in forming the new reservoir, we stood, stretched, and began the familiar cycle again: cultivation, sparring, consolidation. It was a rhythm now—something natural, almost meditative in its repetition.

An hour passed before the heavy crunch of boots signaled the commander’s approach. His sharp gaze flickered between the two of us, curiosity etched into the hard lines of his face.

“You two!” he barked, and we both stiffened instinctively. “You’re moving your internal strength way too smoothly. And the way you’re cultivating… it’s odd.”

Thea, ever the cultivation enthusiast, perked up immediately. “Do you know about cultivating, sir?”

Of course, she couldn’t resist. The moment someone so much as hinted at the topic, she was ready to dive in headfirst.

The commander’s expression softened slightly, his voice losing some of its usual gruffness. “I covered the basics back when I was your age. I never tried to form a core, though. The extra energy was useful, sure, but as I advanced, the focus it took to move the energy became too much of a distraction in battle.” He paused, his eyes distant, as if replaying old memories. “Eventually, I stopped.”

Thea inhaled sharply, clearly ready to launch into a full explanation of our method. But before a single word escaped her mouth, I slapped a hand over it, muffling her entirely.

“Sir,” I said, doing my best to sound confident and not like a kid trying to haggle with an adult. “I can guarantee that what we’re doing isn’t in any book you’ve ever read. It’s… new. But we’re not going to give it away for free.”

The commander raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharp as it pinned me in place. There was no hostility there, but the weight of his presence was enough to make me shift nervously. Behind those rugged features, though, I could see something else—a spark of interest, a hunger for knowledge. Maybe, buried beneath all that armor and muscle, was the heart of a scholar.

“It’s not some grand secret,” I continued, swallowing thickly. “But if you haven’t formed a core, this method could definitely improve your control. It’s still just the basics, sure, but it’s worth something.”

The commander considered me for a moment before shrugging off the massive pack that was always slung across his broad shoulders. From it, he pulled out a rolled piece of parchment and a feather pen—though oddly, no ink accompanied it. Sitting cross-legged on the ground, he glanced back up at me, his expression unreadable.

“How much?”

My heart skipped a beat. I shot a quick glance at Thea, who looked like she was ready to practically give away the secret just for the chance to talk about cultivation. Nope. Not happening. I subtly leaned closer to block her from speaking.

The commander sighed, his lips twitching into something almost like amusement. “You kids should think more before offering up secrets. For something this low-level, the usual price wouldn’t be very high. But… if you’re not lying about its usefulness, I’d say three-hundred points is fair.”

Three hundred. That was no small number, especially for something he considered low-level. I hesitated, glancing at Thea again. Was this the right call? Would he spread the method to others? Would it even matter if he did?

No—probably not. More ready to use inner strength didn’t magically close the gap between cultivation and systems. And besides, the commander had earned some trust. He’d been teaching us, guiding us, and he wasn’t the type to cheat kids out of their hard-earned knowledge.

I cleared my throat. “Um… each. Three hundred points each.”

His brow lifted slightly, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he extended a hand. “Hand ‘em over.”

Thea and I both held up our glowing orbs, and the faint green light flickered as the numbers shifted. When the exchange was done, my orb glowed with 340, while Thea’s displayed 325.

The commander tucked the parchment back into his pack, rising to his full, intimidating height. “Well then,” he said, his voice low but steady, “show me.”

I turned to Thea, who looked like she might actually implode if she didn’t start talking immediately. Her storm-gray eyes were practically glowing with excitement, and I knew there was no stopping her.

“Okay!” she began gleefully, clapping her hands together. “It’s really not that complicated. We’re basically taking the concept of condensing a core and applying it… well, everywhere. Multiple smaller cores—kind of. Although they’re not exactly solid cores either.”

I winced internally. Oh no. She was in full Cultivation Nerd Mode.

“As I’m sure you know,” she continued, turning her full attention to the commander like he was her new favorite student, “a core is essentially a condensed form of inner strength—a solidified storage point for an enormous amount of energy. It acts almost like a bigger, more powerful main channel. A storage point and generator of internal force, if you will. But Peter and I had an idea: what if we didn’t stop at just one?”

The commander’s brow furrowed slightly, but he said nothing, his sharp eyes locked on her.

“What if instead,” Thea continued, her hands gesturing animatedly, “we created smaller channels, web-like structures that could store smaller pockets of spiritual energy? These would act as reservoirs. Immediate access points scattered across the body. We weave them starting closest to the focus point of our main channel, and from there, we spread outward—carefully, systematically. Admittedly they are different from a core in almost every way, but the reservoirs are still incredibly useful.”

I watched the commander’s expression closely. His eyes were locked on Thea, and though his face was hard to read, there was a glimmer of something there—curiosity, maybe even respect.

Thea finally paused for breath, her cheeks flushed and her hands frozen mid-gesture as if she’d forgotten where to put them.

“And… yeah. That’s the gist of it,” she finished a bit lamely, glancing at me for backup.

She instead continued, “After we finished making the ones in our chest, shoulders, and fists, we’d move to our groin, knees, and then feet. And here’s the best part—we would then fuse them into—”

I clamped my hand over Thea's mouth mid-sentence. “The rest is theory,” I said firmly, glancing at the commander with a mix of caution and confidence. “It’s not something we’ve confirmed yet. If you want the rest, you’ll have to pay.”

Thea let out a muffled protest behind my hand, her wide eyes glaring at me, but she didn’t fight it. I removed my hand cautiously, shooting her a look that said, Please, just let me handle this one.

The commander, meanwhile, hadn’t stopped writing the entire time. His thick fingers gripped the feather pen with surprising precision, the ink flowing seamlessly from the tip without the need for a well. His focus was absolute, brows furrowed as he etched our words into the parchment.

When he finally stopped, he looked up at us, sharp eyes glinting with curiosity and something else—something close to respect.

“If you have more to offer that isn’t theoretical,” he said slowly, his deep voice carrying weight, “tell me. And I will pay.”

With that, he stood, grabbed his horn, and—having learned my lesson—I quickly clamped my hands over my ears. The sharp blast cut through the air, scattering birds from the treetops and making a few recruits flinch.

One by one, everyone trickled back into the clearing, carrying whatever they had managed to scavenge or hunt. The commander moved down the line with practiced efficiency, counting their spoils, tapping his orb to theirs, and distributing points with little ceremony.

Once the final recruit had received their points, the commander raised his voice. “Dismissed! Head back to the Hall of Heroes.”

Thea and I exchanged a glance, silent but full of meaning, before falling into step with the others. The path back to the Hall was filled with the crunch of boots on gravel and the faint murmur of tired voices.

But my mind wasn’t on the road or the setting sun ahead. It was on what had just happened. We’d done something no one else here had, something that felt… important.

We’d sold knowledge. Our knowledge.

Thea had practically been glowing when explaining our cultivation method to the commander, and even now, she walked beside me with a satisfied expression. We’d just earned points—not by fighting, not by scavenging, but by teaching. By sharing something we’d created.

And the commander paid. Without hesitation. Without doubt.

It hit me then—this wasn’t just a fluke. If one person valued what we knew, others might too. Selling our cultivation method might actually be… viable.

A chill ran down my spine, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of possibility.

The Hall of Heroes came into view, its massive silhouette framed against the fading light of the sky.

And as we walked through its towering gates, one thought settled in my mind:

This was just the beginning.