Although outwardly calm, inwardly I was seething. I had thought myself prepared for Professor Shawe's unreasonable antics. I knew that he would interfere with my test in some fashion, but to do it so blatantly and without fear of repercussions; it was infuriating. The fact that the other two instructors didn't do a damn thing about it just made the situation worse.

"This concludes this class's combat assessments," Shawe stated. "You may go."

I marched into the prep room, my mechanical fingers clenching and unclenching. The borrowed saber clattered against the weapon rack as I returned it with more force than necessary. The leather armor followed, though I took care not to damage it despite my anger.

"Look at that form! Such grace, such elegance." A nasally voice rang out behind me. "Too bad it's wasted on a pile of scrap."

More students filtered in, their laughter piercing the air. I focused on adjusting my uniform, making sure each fold lay perfectly against my mechanical frame.

"Did you see how it tried to copy Court Style?" Another voice chimed in. "Like watching a puppet try to dance."

My porcelain hand froze on the buttons of my jacket. The urge to turn around, to show them exactly what this "puppet" could do, surged through me. I could picture it clearly; how easily my mechanical fingers could crush their throats, how their smirks would vanish when faced with real danger.

Mallie's face flashed in my mind. Her kindness. Her belief that I could be more than just another monster.

I finished buttoning my jacket with deliberate care. The snickers and whispers continued as I strode toward the door, my steps measured and controlled. Each comment felt like a nail being driven into my skull, but I kept moving.

The hallway beckoned, empty and quiet. I slipped out before my restraint could crack, before I could prove Shawe right about monsters being nothing but violent creatures.

I hadn't made it ten steps from the arena gates when heavy footfalls approached from behind.

"Hold a moment." Casper's deep voice cut through my anger.

My shoulders tensed. I turned to face him, porcelain fingers flexing beneath my sleeves.

"Walk with me." He gestured down the hall.

I followed him around a corner, away from the training grounds to a quiet alcove lined with portraits of past graduates. The isolation made my chassis click with tension.

"That was quite the display back there." He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Your form was impeccable. Each strike targeted vital points with surgical precision."

I remained silent, studying his weathered face.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?"

The question hung in the air. Memories flickered through my mind, images of old battlefields, soldiers moving in perfect coordination, the weight of armor and responsibility. The knowledge of Isparan Battlefield Fencing burned in my thoughts, begging to be shared. But I refused to do so. Not now. Not to him.

I shook my head. Self-taught.

His mustache twitched. "Really? Because those movements... I've never seen anything quite like it. The way you handled multiple angles of attack, how you maintained perfect footwork while striking." He pushed off from the wall. "That's not something you just pick up on your own."

The words sat on my tongue. How easy it would be to tell him everything, about the fractured memories, about being more than just another monster. But then I remembered how he'd stood silent while Shawe humiliated me, how none of the instructors had stepped in.

I learned what I needed to survive. I kept my mental voice firm. Nothing more.

Disappointment flickered across his face. "I see." He straightened his jacket.

"You seem angry about your assessment," Casper said, his tone mild.

Of course I'm angry. For the first time my mental voice annoyed me; I wished it could convey my barely contained rage instead of its usual flat, emotionless whisper.

You just praised my technique. Called it 'impeccable.' Yet Shawe gives me the lowest possible rank? Even you must see how absurd that is.

"Perhaps you deserved better." He stroked his mustache. "A rank B at least, possibly an A based purely on combat merit."

Then why?

"Because Shawe is your Lead Instructor." He met my gaze evenly. "The final, ultimate decision for all members of your class rests solely with him."

My mechanical fingers curled into fists beneath my sleeve. You could have spoken up. You were there to judge as well.

"I could have." He nodded. "But what would that have accomplished beyond soothing your wounded pride?"

The casual dismissal hit like a physical blow. Heat bloomed in my chest, a familiar rage that threatened to overwhelm my carefully maintained control. How dare he reduce this blatant injustice to mere injured vanity?

My porcelain masked face betrayed none of the fury coursing through me. Are we finished here?

He studied me for a long moment before waving his hand in dismissal. "Go on."

I turned sharply on my heel and strode away, each step precise and measured despite the storm raging inside me. My mechanical parts whirred with tension as I fought to maintain my composure. First Shawe's prejudice, and now Casper's patronizing indifference; it seemed the Academy's claims of fairness were nothing but empty words.

I wandered through endless corridors of polished stone, my footsteps echoing off the high vaulted ceilings. Portraits of past graduates lined the walls, their stern faces watching my progress. Many wore elaborate military uniforms adorned with medals and ribbons; clear signs of noble birth rather than earned merit.

The Academy sprawled like a small city. Training yards opened into courtyards filled with students practicing forms. Libraries tucked away behind heavy wooden doors held rows upon rows of tactical manuals and historical texts. Lecture halls with tiered seating could accommodate hundreds.

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My mechanical legs carried me through it all as I tried to map the layout in my mind. The main building formed a rough hexagon, with six wings radiating outward. But the deeper I went, the more confusing it became. Corridors twisted back on themselves. Staircases led to dead ends or circular paths.

I passed the same statue of a warrior wielding twin axes for the third time. The brass plate beneath read "Thorgrim the Unyielding," though I hadn't bothered to stop and read it the first two times. My internal navigation, usually reliable, struggled with the Academy's maze-like architecture.

A group of students hurried past, giving me a wide berth. Their whispers followed:

"That's the monster that got ranked C..."

"Did you see how it fights? Like some kind of machine..."

"Professor Shawe was right to fail it..."

I ignored them, focusing instead on a tapestry depicting an ancient battle. Something about the scene tugged at my fragmented memories. The positioning of the soldiers, the way they held their weapons, elicited ghostly images from my mind. But like always, the memory slipped away before I could grasp it.

The bright morning light streaming through tall windows had shifted to dim afternoon. I'd completely lost track of time, and more importantly, my location. The corridors here were quieter, the stone walls older. Dust coated the display cases holding rusted weapons and torn banners.

I stopped at an intersection, considering my options. Left led deeper into the unused section. Right curved back toward what might be the main hall. Straight ahead, a narrow staircase descended into darkness.

The narrow staircase caught my attention, partially concealed behind an ornate stone alcove. Thick cobwebs stretched across the entrance, undisturbed for what looked like decades.

Curiosity made me descend the stairs, my mechanical feet finding secure purchase on each worn step. The stone walls pressed close, forcing me to turn sideways in places. Cobwebs brushed against my mask, their silvery strands breaking apart at my passage.

The air grew stale and thick with dust. My Mind Sight's ability to partially see in the dark activated, painting the darkness in shades of gray. At the bottom, a single door blocked the way forward, its iron handle crusted with rust.

I grasped the knob carefully, but it crumbled in my grip, some pieces falling to scatter across the floor.

Damn.

The last thing I needed was to be accused of vandalism. I knelt down, gathering the fragments of corroded metal.

Using Assembly, I fixed the knob as best I could. I reached into Depository for some spare metals, and soon the knob reformed under my touch, its components clicking together into their original configuration. Within moments, the handle looked as pristine as the day it was forged. I reattached it to the door mechanism, testing the action. It turned smoothly.

The door creaked open on protesting hinges. A vast chamber stretched before me, filled with rows of wooden crates and storage racks. Ancient weapons lined the walls: swords, spears, and axes whose edges had long since dulled. Armor stands held breastplates and helmets from a bygone era, their surfaces thick with dust.

Tattered uniforms hung from hooks, the fabric stiff with age. More cobwebs draped everything like funeral shrouds. The air was completely still, undisturbed by any draft. This place had clearly been forgotten, sealed away and abandoned by the Academy above.

I moved deeper into the room, my footsteps leaving clear prints in the dust. Crates were stacked nearly to the ceiling in places, their contents a mystery. This wasn't just any storage room; it was a repository of the Academy's history, preserved but untouched for what must have been decades.

I moved between the towering shelves, examining their forgotten contents. Wooden crates bore faded labels: "Training Weapons," "Winter Uniforms," "Historical Records." My fingers traced the edge of a dusty tome, its leather binding cracked with age.

A sharp clicking sound caught my attention. I turned toward a nearby shelf, Mind Sight scanning the area. The clicking grew louder, more insistent.

Something small and dark burst from behind a box. Before I could react, it launched itself at my face. Six razor-sharp legs tangled in my hair as mandibles scraped against my porcelain mask with a horrible screech. The creature's segmented body writhed as it tried to find purchase on the smooth surface.

I grabbed the thing with my mechanical hand, yanking it away from my face. It thrashed in my grip, revealing itself to be some kind of oversized insect. Its chitinous body gleamed dully in the dim light, and multiple eyes reflected back at me like tiny black mirrors.

With a swift motion, I threw it to the ground. My boot came down hard, crushing its exoskeleton with a satisfying crunch. The creature's legs twitched once before going still.

A familiar blue window appeared before my eyes:

Congratulations! You have defeated and have received experience.

I stared at the broken insect corpse. Its mandibles were still moving slightly, leaking some kind of clear fluid onto the dusty floor. The thing was far larger than any normal cricket, nearly the size of a cat.

More clicking sounds echoed through the darkness. My head snapped toward the noise: dozens of reflective eyes stared back at me from the shadows between crates.

I lunged for the nearest weapon rack, my fingers closing around a rusted longsword. The weapon came free with a screech of corroded metal. Three dark shapes launched through the air toward me.

The blade swept in a wide arc, catching two of the Crevice Crickets mid-leap. Their bodies split cleanly, chitinous shells cracking as they fell. The third cricket landed on my shoulder, its mandibles tearing through my uniform.

I grabbed the creature, ripping it away and hurling it to the floor. The longsword plunged down, impaling its writhing form. Two more crickets scuttled from behind a crate. My blade found them both, their bodies adding to the growing pile.

They kept coming. Wave after wave of the oversized insects rushed at me with mindless aggression. I cut them down methodically, my sword arm never tiring thanks to its mechanical nature. Their broken bodies littered the floor around me.

The attacks seemed endless. Each time I thought I'd killed the last one, more would emerge from the shadows. My uniform was in tatters where their mandibles had found purchase. The sword grew slick with their clear blood.

Finally, the onslaught ceased. I stood motionless in the silence, sword ready, waiting for more attackers. After a full minute with no movement, a familiar blue window appeared:

Congratulations! You have defeated numerous enemies and have received experience. You are now Level 13!

I lowered the blade, surveying the carnage around me. Dozens of cricket corpses covered the floor, their legs still twitching. The stench of their innards filled the musty air.

I lowered my sword, the rusted blade dripping with insect fluids. A slight movement of air brushed against the exposed flesh of left hand. Within the grave-still atmosphere of the room, such a slight motion was very noticeable. Following the draft, I made my way between towering shelves toward the back of the storage room.

There, partially hidden behind a fallen weapons rack, a jagged crack split the stone wall from floor to ceiling. The opening was narrow, barely wide enough for a person to squeeze through. Cool air whispered from its depths, carrying the musty scent of earth and decay.

My Mind Sight peered into the darkness beyond, but the crack curved sharply, preventing me from seeing far. Still, there was something familiar about that distinctive smell; it reminded me of the rancid air of the land from where I had first awakened.

Mayor Antos's words to Mallie echoed in my memories. He had told her of the Hellzone under the school, the sole reason the Academy was located in such an out-of-the-way location. It explained why numerous Academy alumni attained such exceptionally high rankings. And the primary motivation for Kaldos himself to grace this place with his presence.

I touched the rough stone edges of the crack. This wasn't just some random fissure; it was a breach into the Academy Hellzone itself. An unguarded, secret entrance into the monster-filled tunnels below.

The implications were clear. Those Crevice Crickets hadn't simply infested an old storage room. They'd been crawling up from the Hellzone through this hidden passage, making their nest among the forgotten supplies.

I ran my mechanical fingers along the crack's edge. The stone felt worn smooth in places, suggesting the breach had existed for quite some time. Yet the faculty either didn't know about it or chose to ignore it. Given how thoroughly they controlled access to the official entrance, this seemed like a significant oversight.

But their loss was my gain. I may have been relegated to rank C status by a pathetic little man on a power trip, but this discovery of mine would even the playing field a bit. While I may not receive the best, accelerated training rank A students received, there were other ways to gain power.

And I had just found the best way to do so.

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