As Tyrin observed the situation unfold, he noticed that some classmates began opening the test as soon as it landed in their hands. Curiosity drove him to do the same, but what he found took him by surprise. The questions were not what he expected. Instead of calculations about how many missiles a war mortar could carry or the maximum weight a freighter could bear, the questions focused on mundane details, such as the number of chairs on a ship or how many flushes could be made before running out of water. For most, that exam would be a nightmare. However, Tyrin was never ordinary. His curiosity, combined with his impeccable memory, made the test almost a walk in the park.
"Well, judging by the cries I'm hearing, it seems I've managed to refine the difficulty level quite well," the professor announced, his voice sharp. "Those with blue tests, come to me."
To Tyrin surprise, his test wasn't blue. It turned gold.
"Hmm... How peculiar," said the professor, frowning. "You, in the back there, come to me."
Tyrin hesitantly walked toward the professor, along with the students holding blue tests. Everyone stared at him with a mix of confusion and anger. He still didn't understand what was happening but was startled when the professor addressed him.
"Do you know the last time I saw a gold test, Mr.…?"
"Tyrin , sir," he replied firmly.
"Of course. You must be a very well-known noble. My apologies—I haven't met the new nobility in at least a hundred years."
An assistant approached the professor and whispered something in his ear. The professor narrowed his eyes and smiled, now intrigued.
"Well, well… You had my curiosity, but now you have my attention. I don't think I've ever seen anything like this. You must be an anomaly. Come with me."
"Sir, we still have over 320 students to get through the exam. What should we do?" one of the assistants asked.
"Set up some chairs, let them in. I need to talk to these children to understand how they allowed this... abomination to happen."
Tyrin felt the envious gazes directed at him, but still uncertain of what was happening, he followed the professor.
"Welcome, students. My name is Manfred Von Richt, and this is my class," the professor began, addressing the room. "I'd like to start by trying to understand what happened today. Can anyone tell me what this boy did?"
The room fell silent for a long two minutes until, finally, someone raised their hand.
"State your full name and answer."" Manfred said.
"My name is Viktor Argos, professor. I believe the student in question aced the exam, hence the gold color."
"Excellent, Mr. Argos. I know your family and your history. But I think I wasn't clear in my question. I want to know how a subordinate of our society managed such a feat while you, nobles, failed."
Manfred's words dripped with disdain. Tyrin felt the weight of them and realized that, even light-years away from home, the truth had caught up with him. He was not a noble. Dante had warned him not to stand out for exactly this reason, but he had forgotten, and the professor was making sure to remind him.
The stares from others, once confused, now turned to disgust. Tyrin knew that look all too well.
"Gentlemen, look at this boy; he should be the floor, never the ceiling. In my time, we would have lost our heads for allowing something like this. I hope today is the first and last time this happens. Understood? Everyone back to your seats. You too, vassal. Thank you for motivating my gems, and I hope you continue doing so. Go back to your desk."
The lesson continued as usual, but Tyrin felt his blood boil. Even so, he held himself back. At the end of the day, he didn't want to win. He just wanted to survive.
"Well, that concludes the class. Be prepared for the flight simulator next time. We need to eliminate 21 people, so your grades will determine who stays and who goes. Was I clear?"
"Yes, professor," the class replied in unison.
"Dismissed."
That night, Tyrin gazed at the sky, lost in thoughts about the day's events. Even so far from his home planet, the injustices and hierarchies seemed to repeat themselves, immutable like the stars. Still, there was something uniquely beautiful about that night, almost consoling. The colors of the sky, with hues he had never seen before, seemed to weave into a mosaic of hope and longing.
He took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill his lungs, and for a moment, he felt connected to the past, the present, and the unknown future. He murmured to himself, his voice heavy with tenderness:
"You would love the view from here, sister."
The next day, Tyrin was on his way to the last class of the day when he heard a voice call out to him.
"Ty, wait! Let's go together."
In the distance, he saw Damian and Cassandra, dressed in clearly expensive linen clothes.
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"I see you went shopping," Tyrin commented, amused.
"Yes," Damian replied. "Father left some money with my sister, but, well, I only managed to get one outfit. Never trust your money to someone else."
"Brother, I can hear you! Do you want me to beat you up again?" Cassandra retorted.
"Hey, you two, cut it out. How was your week?" Tyrin asked.
"If I had to sum it up, I'd say it was hell," Damian replied. "I regretted choosing the swordsmanship class. At least my sister is already recognized as the best shooter in the group."
"I've been training since I was little, while you waste your time chasing girls," Cassandra shot back. "But what about you, Tyrin ? I heard about a commoner who stood out. I bet it was you. Was I right?"
"It got to you, huh? I guess I overdid it. It was just luck," Tyrin deflected.
"Luck? Sure!!!" Cassandra retorted.
When they arrived at the scouts' classroom, Tyrin felt an immediate sense of relief. He noticed that most of those present were like him: young people from simple backgrounds, far removed from noble pomp. It was a well-known, though rarely discussed, fact that contact Astras—those who would become combatants in real missions—were less appealing to the elite, who preferred to enjoy their accumulated fortune without risking their lives on desolate planets. Thus, most of the students present were lower-ranking nobles or commoners. However, this same reality also explained the high mortality rate of these classes.
Unprepared people being thrown into situations they had never trained for, facing enemies they had never seen, was, in every possible way, a perfect recipe for carnage. And yet, there they were, ready to face the challenge. Tyrin , Damian, and Cassandra sat together, observing the room as they waited for the lesson to begin.
The professor didn't take long to appear. His presence was impressive.
"My name is Custer. George Custer, general of the Vex Brigade, stationed on the border with the Tyranos. I'm on reserve this year, which is why I've been assigned to lead your classes. Before we begin, I want to get to know you and test you. So be prepared."
The general wore full armor, something extremely rare and symbolic. He didn't seem to care about the grandeur his presence imposed, but it was impossible to ignore. His features carried an exotic, almost magnetic beauty, though the countless scars marking his face dispelled any notion of perfection. He exuded the aura of someone who had survived indescribable horrors.
"You've probably noticed my battle armor," he continued, striking the chest plate. "This is the uniform of border warriors and scouts, and it will be yours too. That is, of course, if you survive."
Tyrin felt the weight of those words. There was no room for doubt or hesitation.
"To test you properly, I've brought one of my most memorable battles. I've updated the data in Astral Fight. Anyone who survives the first ten minutes will be deemed fit. Take your collars."
Most of the students hesitated, but Tyrin knew he couldn't afford to stop and think. He grabbed one of the collars being distributed and held it, while Damian encouraged him:
"Ty, don't worry. Just put the collar on, and you'll be taken into the game mode. We'll be waiting for you on the other side."
Damian confidently placed the collar around his neck, followed by Cassandra. Tyrin watched as a translucent bubble, resembling water, enveloped Cassandra's face. She seemed to fall asleep instantly, though she was still breathing. The same happened to Damian.
Tyrin looked at the collar in his hand, took a deep breath, and placed it around his neck. For a moment, the world around him dissolved, and he was thrown into the unknown.
"So this is how it works. Alright. Let's do this."
The Abyss of Trundu
"Welcome, player. Please wait… mirroring data… All set."
When Tyrin opened his eyes, he found himself in a vast plain that ended in an abyss behind him. Ahead, on the horizon, columns of smoke rose against the gray sky. The metallic smell of blood hung in the air, and the sound of something distant and menacing grew louder. Everything felt terrifyingly real.
"Alright, soldiers. We're in the Battle of the Abyss of Trundu," Custer announced, his voice firm. "As I said, your objective is simple: don't die. Those fighting in melee, come to my right. Those who prefer ranged combat, to my left."
Tyrin felt the blood-soaked ground beneath his feet and the weight of the hostile environment around him. The noise of the unknown closing in made his heart race. He had never held a firearm in his life, so he moved to the melee group, trying to ignore his growing anxiety.
"Very well, soldiers. Prepare for the wave of enemies."
One of the recruits nervously asked:
"Professor, what's coming?"
Custer gave a cold smile and leaned toward the boy.
"Who said that, in war, you'll know what the enemy will use? Or what it'll be? Prepare for everything, and die for nothing. Grab your weapons and get ready."
Next to Custer, a holographic projection of weapon options appeared. Tyrin quickly assessed his choices and selected the only weapon he recognized from his homeworld: a serrated automatic knife, similar to one he had seen in the holster of Yank, a veteran Astra warrior from his planet.
"I hope this works... Now, what the hell is coming?"
The sound of the enemies approaching was like distant thunder, growing louder by the second. When they finally appeared, the sight was enough to make Tyrin and the other recruits shiver: green-skinned, humanoid forms. Tyrin recognized the creatures immediately. He had seen them in an old book.
"Bakus from the Nova Vex constellation," Tyrin said, a mix of fear and certainty in his voice.
Custer smiled, satisfied.
"Ahhh, well done, recruit. He recognized them! You all heard the boy! Now, what are you going to do about the Bakus? Impress me."
Despite the professor's words, most of the recruits were panicked. Aside from Tyrin , no one had any idea how to fight these creatures or even understood what they were—for all intents and purposes, they were new enemies encountered in humanity's expansion. Damian and Cassandra moved closer, and soon others gathered around him, including members of the Baron's circle. All of them looked at Tyrin , waiting for an answer.
"Ty, how do we kill these monsters?" Damian asked nervously.
Tyrin took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.
"The Bakus are strong, but they have clear weaknesses. They're not very intelligent, but they're extremely dangerous because of the protection they use. The key is to find whoever is controlling their flesh shields. If we don't find them, we're absolutely doomed."
Cassandra frowned.
"And how do we know who the controller is?"
Tyrin shook his head.
"There's no way to know immediately. It's trial and error. But there's one clue: the controller will be the only one who, for some cultural reason or eccentricity, isn't wearing armor."
The environment around them seemed to close in like a trap. They were in a completely disadvantageous position. Behind them, the abyss blocked any retreat. Ahead, the Bakus advanced in suicidal waves, relying solely on the protection of their shields and their superior numbers. Tyrin knew time was short, and every second wasted put them in greater danger.
He looked at the companions around him. Everyone was depending on him for survival. He couldn't let them down.
"Listen, we need to act quickly. Grab the biggest shield you can. Form a defensive line and protect the shooters while I try to locate the controller. Don't spread out, and stay alert. We'll get through this. Together."
The words were more for himself than for the others. Tyrin gripped the knife in his hand, feeling the vibration of the automatic serration. He didn't know if they could win, but he was determined to fight until the end.
The deafening sound of the Bakus drew closer, and the first impact was imminent.