One would think that the academy responsible for training the regiments responsible for guarding the city would look a little more glamorous. Instead, it looked just like the rest of the city- old and rusted.

It was one of the most sanitary, however. The academy walls layered with pipes carrying the chemicals to heat and cool the building, depending on the time of year, were not cracked or leaking.

Gazing up toward the roof, Noland and others could see the steam rising from vents glowing red hot as he stood at the entrance gates. Looking down, the grass was- there was no grass. Lifeless soil flanking pavement.

"All first-year cadets, make your way inside for attendance immediately!" A grisly, bearded man roared from the large double doors. His Raven black hair was wild, but his well-trimmed beard. "Late arrival will result in immediate expulsion!"

The instructors of the academy wore more formal clothing. This one wore black dress pants, black shoes, and a red button-up shirt. His scarred arms and calloused fists, even from a distance, told a story of a life shaped by training, combat, and disciplining cadets.

"Keh..." Noland scowled, hands stuffed into his cargo pants as he approached the entrance.

The instructor's gaze slowly shifted toward him, brows furrowing. It wasn't just the instructor, everyone nearby was staring- some leaning back as he passed.

The instructor glanced down at his clipboard, then back at him. "First Ranked Cadet Noland - Iron Veil regiment," He read aloud, his scrutinizing eyes shifting up to the right side of Noland's face.

"What happened?"

"What?" Noland sharply replied.

Sighing with aggravation, the instructor lowered the clipboard and stepped into Noland's personal space. His alcoholic breath reeked of alchohol as he growled, "First, cadet, address me appropriately. Instructor Fenrik Greythorne."

"Yes, Instructor Fenrik Greythorne." Noland's tone changed appropriately, aware of repercussions upon failure to show respect to authority. "I don't know, sir."

"You're telling me you don't know how-" He turned the clipboard around to reveal a small portrait of Noland next to his name.

Short, raven black hair with a pale complexion. Sharp and angular facial features, a square jaw, and a prominent but crooked nose. For a city resident, Noland would be considered fortunate- but his features while unyielding were stripped of softness.

"-that massive chemical burn appeared on your face?" Fenrik asked with a tone reserved for speaking to a retard, nodding toward the wound.

Lifting a hand, Noland's fingertips brushed against the burn. Perhaps it was the cold, or the chemicals themselves, but he hadn't felt further pain until just then. He winced.

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Silently observing the cadet, Fenrik grunted, eyes narrowing. "Loss of sensation? Common. When did it happen?"

"This morning."

"Did you wash it?"

"No, it happened on my way here."

Pinching the bridge of his nose with pen in hand, Fenrik exhaled through his teeth. Without opening his eyes, his hand dropped and Noland saw him mark the clipboard.

"Inside. First left. Infirmary. Report to the auditorium afterward." Restrained. Struggling to restrain himself and not look at Noland, his jaw clenched and voice tight.

Without another word, Noland stepped past, not wanting to make an even worse first impression on the instructor, and opened the door.

The interior carried some resemblance to the harsh, industrial exterior. Rusted walls with pipes running along the ceiling. Immediately on the left upon entering was a guest office, and to the right, a janitor's closet. Both had copper or bronze doors. Not very welcoming, but practical- just like the rest of the academy.

Beyond the first set of doors, the space grew more grandiose. Statues of past heroes and city founders alongside artistic displays of battles fought against monsters outside the city's borders. The large, circular lobby opened up with polished tile flooring and a glass dome ceiling, its bronze support beams glistening with copper patterns soldered into place.

At the center of the lobby stood a massive bulletin board. Currently, it hosts cadet scores, results, and placements. Smaller boards circled it, each filled with various events, clubs, and extra duties. Some offered paths to success, while others offered alternatives for those who couldn't handle the pressure.

Noland didn't need to check it. After all, he had a big fat '1' stitched into his uniform. What better indicator of rank did he need? Smirking arrogantly, Noland just kept on walking. His presence drew the attention of students. Some were curious, others jealous, but many held disdain.

Gripping the copper handle, Noland entered the infirmary.

He was greeted by... well, to him, she looked like a blond-haired bimbo. Circular, wire-framed glasses rested low on her nose, and her long blond hair was tied up neatly in a ponytail. And she was well-endowed.

They weren't oversized, she was just better off. But to Noland's comparison, she could've been the equivalent to a mutated cow.

Her skin was smooth, and only a few creases marked her older age- maybe in her thirties. Sharp, icy blue eyes peered toward Noland, marked with contempt as she silently gestured to a nearby seat.

"First day and someone's a problem already." She huffed, sparing a glance to his golden-trimmed shoulder. "First Ranked cadet too. This year will be fun."

Noland didn't appreciate her attitude. Letting out an exaggerated frustrated sigh of his own, he dramatically gestured widely and looked up, emphasizing certain words. "I know! Massive problems and oversized pains on the first day! Really BIG problems."

When his gaze lowered, he was met with an extremely cold, deadpan stare. He felt a chill run down his spine and the humor left him as he sat down without another word.

'Nurse Odessa Coldwell'

A quick flick of his gaze to her chest badge identified her.

Curling her fingers, Odessa conjured an orb of water in the center of her hand, the liquid hovering effortlessly. Without warning, she leaned forward and it pressed against his burn.

"Agh-" Noland hissed in pain surged through his skin. It wasn't healing, just a cleaning process. But it felt like acid.

No magic could heal in this world. At least, not that he was aware of.

When she finished, Odessa calmly reached down into a metal drawer beside her, expression cold and unreadable as before. She pulled out a small, circular tin and held it out to him.

"Apply this ointment twice a day for the next two weeks. The chemical burn was left untreated for too long. This will help soothe it."

Her tone remained flat as she handed him the unmarked tin. Noland's gaze briefly flickered to her delicate hands before taking it.

"Get out."