The Western Clan Academy's training grounds were packed with hundreds of young disciples. They stood in neat formation, clad in maroon uniforms adorned with clan sashes that marked their rank and region of origin.
At the sight of two sword instructors approaching, they straightened up immediately, fixing their posture in unison.
Xiran walked ahead. He looked striking with three swords strapped across his waist. His face wore a smile as he waved at a few students, who began to murmur in awe. But their expressions quickly shifted when they noticed the instructor walking behind him—an aura of sheer menace cloaking his every step.
Zhen wasn't doing anything dramatic. He simply walked with light steps, a single long sword resting on his back. His once simple black robe had been replaced by an honor cloak, bestowed by the academy itself.
The young disciples lowered their gazes slightly as he passed. A hush fell over them. Even the wind, it seemed, held its breath at his arrival.
A girl in the third row whispered, "That's the instructor who shattered the level-five testing stone… during the last selection, right?"
"Yeah. He looks terrifying…" replied her friend, "…but he's clearly mastered the sword."
They stood side by side in the center of the arena. A senior instructor stepped forward to speak.
"These two new instructors will lead your training throughout the Budding Season. Master Xiran will teach you the basics and group formations. Master Zhen will instruct one-on-one combat and the use of sword instinct."
The senior stepped aside, allowing them to introduce themselves.
The Budding Season marked the beginning of a disciple's training—and the time when instructors would quietly assess each student's talent, marking those worthy of rising into the Blooming Season.
Xiran stepped forward first, his usual charm in full display. He bowed politely and offered a warm greeting.
"My name is Xiran. Don't be too stiff. I was once where you are now—so think of me as just another sword companion sharpening his blade beside you."
Light laughter rippled among the students.
Xiran then stepped back slightly, giving space for Zhen. All eyes immediately turned to the man now standing still before them—waiting for a single word to fall from his lips.
His gaze swept one row, then the next.
"You may call me Zhen," he said softly—but his voice somehow carried to the edge of the field.
Zhen began walking along the rows, examining the footwear each student wore. With sharp eyes, he noticed the distinctions. Patterns revealed themselves without a word.
"I don't care who your family is, how many goldis weigh down your pockets, or whether you dream of entering Oliga—"
He looked up. His gaze was a blade, cutting deep. "None of that matters to me."
"There is only one thing I care about. When death stands right in front of you… will you grip your sword—or surrender?"
A few students instantly lowered their heads, swallowing hard. One even clutched the hem of her uniform, trembling slightly at his words.
Zhen turned back, the ghost of a smile hidden on his face, and returned to stand beside Xiran.
Sensing how the atmosphere had grown heavy, Xiran leaned in with a stiff smile and whispered into Zhen's ear, "You just made half the students want to go home."
To Zhen, the whisper passed like a breeze—heard, acknowledged, then simply ignored.
He replied without even turning his head, letting his words deepen the tension in the air.
"Those who are afraid… should go home.
Those who stay… will learn."
Xiran could only respond with a dry, bitter smile.
Meanwhile, in the observation chamber above, three senior instructors and two academy elders were watching through a scrying crystal.
One of the elders clenched her fist.
"Placing him here was a mistake. His movements—nothing like a swordsman's. Look at him! The complete opposite of Xiran! Did none of you bother to read his character properly?" Her face was red with frustration, her tone laced with disdain for Zhen.
A senior instructor with a white mustache spoke up.
"But Rusty was the one who recommended him. And that boy… is too terrifying to discard lightly. Besides, one day—he might just be the reason more of our students make it into Oliga."
Zhen now stood before a group of fresh disciples, no older than seven. Each of them wore a leaf-shaped badge on their left chest—signifying them as *First Buds*, the youngest batch who would undergo ten grueling years of training before earning the right to even approach Oliga.
"Master…" a boy raised his hand. "…are we going to fight monsters?"
Zhen didn't answer immediately. He stared at the students in silence, then turned to Xiran.
"Alright, alright!" Xiran jumped in, trying to lift the mood. "Today's not about battle. Today is—"
Zhen cut in.
"A test of fear."
Xiran glanced sideways at him, forcing a small laugh. "What he means is… your first experience with nature. We'll be exploring the forest trail around the academy—your task is to find leaf crystals."
~
The academy's artificial forest was not dangerous—at least not to the eye.
But legend said its trees were planted in the blood of fallen warriors. Their roots remembered the footsteps of all who had passed.
Zhen took the lead. Xiran stayed at the rear, guarding the formation. The students began to spread out, each carrying a small map and a leather pouch to collect the glowing plants known as leaf crystals.
Roughly half an hour passed before a small boy suddenly tugged at Zhen's robe. He had gotten separated from his companion and was starting to panic.
Zhen knelt down, meeting the child's eyes.
"Are you afraid?"
The boy nodded quickly.
Zhen pointed to the boy's chest. "Inside there… are two beasts. A rat. And a wolf.
The rat makes you run. The wolf makes you stand."
"What do you mean? I don't get it…"
Zhen's eyes sharpened. "You're a rat if you give up. But you can become a wolf… if you return to the path. Rely on yourself."
The boy felt mocked by his words. He didn't say anything—just gave a quick nod, then suddenly turned and continued walking along his assigned path.
From the rear, Xiran muttered under his breath, "You hurt his pride… He looked upset."
Zhen replied calmly, "The world will hurt worse."
About an hour into the journey, a scream rang out in the distance.
Both of them sprinted toward the sound. They found two students who had slipped down a slick hillside, now barely clinging to a set of hanging roots, their bodies dangling over a narrow ravine.
Without hesitation, Zhen leapt down. Grabbing onto the nearest root, he moved down the slippery slope with practiced ease.
"You too. Get down here!" he called up, his tone sharp—snapping Xiran out of his moment of stunned hesitation.
Xiran began descending, muttering to himself.
"A deadly artificial forest… Damn, there's a centipede in my robe!"
Zhen, holding firmly onto a thick, sturdy root, locked eyes with the two boys—whose faces were red and near tears. As he carefully maneuvered down toward them, he began speaking to redirect their fear.
"Are you crying?" he asked.
"No… n-not really…" they stammered.
"Do you want to live?"
He was nearly at their level now, reaching toward the two frightened boys.
"Y-yes!" they replied in unison, more firmly this time.
Zhen stepped onto a thick root, placing himself right beside them, dangling as they were.
"Then bite my robe and hold on—now."
The boys didn't hesitate. They clenched the fabric between their teeth and clung to him tightly, wrapping their arms around each other as well. Zhen slowly began to climb back up, hand over hand, gripping the roots with fierce strength. Their breaths were heavy, and fear was painted across their young faces. Their eyes shut tightly the moment they realized just how high they were.
"Open your eyes," Zhen said calmly. "Look up. Learn to face the mistakes you made."
He glanced at both of them, even as his body strained to carry their weight, the upper roots now in reach.
When Zhen finally made it back to the top, the group of students fell completely silent. Relief flooded their faces, but their eyes said more.
They looked at Zhen like they were seeing him for the first time.
The rest of the students had already gathered around Xiran. Only a handful of them had managed to collect any leaf crystals, but no one seemed to care anymore.
Silently, they all made their way back to the academy dorms—changed in ways they didn't yet understand.
That night, Zhen couldn't sleep. His body was exhausted, but his mind was heavier than the foundation stones of the academy itself.
Eventually, he rose from his bed and wandered out to the back courtyard—the place where students usually trained at dawn.
He looked up at the night sky, sprinkled with countless stars.
Yet not one of them offered peace.
'Why is my mind in turmoil?'
He dropped to the ground and began to do push-ups. Silent. Slow.
He counted each motion as though diving deeper into the maze of his own thoughts.
"One thousand… One thousand and two…"
Suddenly, a voice echoed directly in his mind—cold, metallic, inhuman.
[Hell Hunt System | Segment: Hour of Death.]
[The System now controls the Hell Hunting World.]
[All Official Blood Hunters will temporarily die.]
[Targets will temporarily die.]
[Countdown begins: 7 days.]
[The System World will reset the moment you leave the Western Clan Academy.]
Zhen froze. It felt like a mountain had dropped onto the back of his skull.
'Seven days…'
'An academy teacher must serve seven years. That's the law. Break it, and you lose your head.'
He remembered that rule perfectly.
'How could seven years compare to seven days?'
"The System is distorting time…" he muttered.
The System never gave time just to wait.
The System gave time only to test—who deserved to live, and who would be consumed by it.
The night draped the Western Clan Academy in a thick, cold blanket. Soft glowing stones lit the corridors. Tonight, the mess hall served a banquet of crimson meat and sky-root stew.
But one name was missing from the roster: Zhen.
Xiran stood hesitantly in front of Zhen's door. He knocked again. Not loud, but enough for any waking person to hear.
There was no response.
"He didn't eat… is he angry because I hesitated on that damn centipede hill?"
With a slow breath, Xiran stepped out onto the balcony, hoping to see outside. He pulled the curtain aside—and just as he suspected, there he was.
In the courtyard below, a shirtless young man was relentlessly doing push-ups. His breath was heavy but steady. Every now and then, he ducked under a fountain, drinking directly from the mouth of the stone beast, before continuing again.
"Is he even human? No food, and still training through the night…?"
Xiran sighed, opened the balcony door, and went down the side stairs. His steps were light as he crossed the courtyard.
At last, he spoke.
"You never eat," said Xiran.
Zhen didn't respond. He kept pushing the earth beneath him.
"You're not hungry?" Xiran tried again.
"…Are you a monster?"
Zhen stopped. Sat back on his knees, resting his arms on his thighs. His breath was still rough—like wind through broken stone.
"Do you not have a goal? Why do you keep asking useless things?"
Xiran clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You're suspicious as hell."
"Who the hell are you… and where were you born?"