I leaned against the stone balustrade, watching students mill about in the courtyard below. The morning sun cast long shadows across the Academy's grounds, making the whole scene look like some grand painting.

The balcony training section protruded from the main tower's third floor, offering a clear view of the surrounding architecture. Wind whipped at my black skirt, and I adjusted my stance to compensate for the height.

Five other students shared the space with me, all of us carefully avoiding eye contact. I recognized the three who'd missed yesterday's assessment: a thin boy with empty dagger sheathes at his belt, a girl in an ill-fitting uniform, and a hulking youth who kept fidgeting with his collar. The other two were students who had failed their golem fights spectacularly.

The larger of the two failures, a broad-shouldered boy with a perpetual scowl, had positioned himself as far from everyone else as possible, nearly pressing against the tower wall. The other, a girl with close-cropped red hair, paced back and forth near the balcony's entrance, her boots clicking against the stone in an irritating rhythm.

We all knew why we were here. The C-rank designation burned like a brand, marking us as the Academy's lowest tier. The resentment was palpable in the way we stationed ourselves at different corners of the balcony, each nursing our own wounded pride.

I traced my metal fingers along the railing, feeling the rough texture of the stone. The height didn't bother me since my body was far too heavy to be thrown over, even if someone tried. Still, the exposure made my combat instincts hum to life, mapping possible escape routes and defensive positions.

A bell tolled somewhere in the tower, its deep resonance vibrating through the stone beneath our feet. Still no instructor. The red-haired girl's pacing quickened, her boots now striking the floor with sharp, angry clicks.

The thin boy coughed, the sound echoing in our shared silence. None of us acknowledged it. We were united only in our mutual desire to be anywhere else, forced together by circumstance and Shawe's apparent disdain.

"Where in the hells is our instructor?" The red-haired girl stopped her pacing, throwing her hands up in frustration.

"Just be patient," the thin boy mumbled, not looking up from his spot against the wall.

She spun toward him. "Patient? I've been patient. This is the War Academy, the so-called greatest school for warriors in the world. Yet all I've seen is incompetence and corruption." Her voice rose with each word. "The instructors play favorites, the rankings are rigged, and now they can't even show up on time to teach their own classes."

No one responded. The broad-shouldered boy crossed his arms and stared out at the courtyard. The other three students shifted uncomfortably.

The red-haired girl's boots clicked across the stone as she strode over to me. "You have to agree with me! Your assessment was total bullshit. Everyone saw how easily you handled that golem."

I turned my porcelain mask toward her. I suppose that the Academy staff does leave much to be desired.

A harsh laugh cut through the air. The broad-shouldered boy pushed off from the wall. "Of course the monster and the commoner would bad-mouth this place." He sneered. "The greatest warriors in history trained here. But I suppose that means nothing to creatures who shouldn't even be allowed inside these walls."

The red-haired girl whirled on him. "Oh? And I suppose you think you deserve to be here? Mr. 'I couldn't even last ten seconds against a training golem'?"

"Watch your tongue, peasant." He took a step forward, hands balling into fists. "You're speaking to nobility."

"Nobility?" She barked out a laugh. "Is that what they call spoiled brats who buy their way in nowadays?"

His face flushed red. "You little-" He lunged forward, arm raised.

I stepped between them before the noble could strike, my mechanical arm catching his fist mid-swing. Perhaps we should save the fighting for training.

"Get your metal hand off me, monster," he snarled, trying to wrench free.

"Now, now, children. Play nice." A lazy voice drawled from the doorway.

We all turned to see a disheveled man leaning against the entrance frame. His dark hair hung in greasy strands around his unshaven face, and his instructor's robes were wrinkled and stained. The sharp smell of alcohol wafted our way.

He stumbled forward, grinning. "Name's Langdon Hassel. I'm the school's remedial instructor. Worry not, for I am here to educate you!" He patted his pockets, finally pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. "Let's see who we've got here..."

The noble jerked his hand free from my grip and stepped back, straightening his uniform with an indignant huff.

"Ah, here we go." Hassel squinted at the paper. "Sven Kallor?"

"Here," the thin boy said quietly, his hand brushing the empty sheaths where his daggers would normally be.

"Copelan Greye?"

The broad-shouldered noble raised his hand stiffly. "Present."

"Yulios of Pern?"

"H-here," stammered the tall, hefty youth who'd been fidgeting with his collar.

"Patter of Calmton?"

The muscular girl in the ill-fitting uniform spoke up. "That's me."

"Annes of Roland?"

"Right here," the red-headed girl answered, her voice still tight with anger.

"And... Widow?"

I raised my porcelain hand. Present.

I watched our new instructor sway on his feet, his bloodshot eyes scanning the group with amusement.

"Such a nice class," Langdon slurred, grinning broadly. "All these cute little kids ready to learn." He stumbled toward the weapon rack, fingers trailing along various training implements before selecting a dulled practice sword.

He held up the blade, squinting at its tip. "Now pay attention, because this is important." He pointed at the sharp end. "This part goes in the enemy. Very crucial detail, that."

With surprising dexterity for someone so obviously drunk, he tossed the sword toward Yulios. The tall youth barely managed to catch it, fumbling with the weapon before getting a proper grip.

"Everyone grab one," Langdon waved vaguely at the weapon rack. "Those training dummies over there? Just practice stabbing them for the next two hours. Simple enough, right?"

He straightened his stained robes and headed for the door. "I'll be at the Silver Cup across the street from the main entrance if anyone needs me. Though I really hope you don't need me; it's their happy hour!"

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

"But sir!" Yulios called out, still awkwardly holding the practice sword. "I don't use swords. I'm an Axeman!"

Langdon paused in the doorway, letting out a wheezing laugh. "That's exactly why we're practicing, my large friend." He gave us another lazy wave. "Have fun!"

Before anyone could protest further, he disappeared into the hallway, leaving us standing in stunned silence.

I looked at my fellow students. Copelan's face had turned an interesting shade of purple, while Annes seemed torn between rage and disbelief. Sven and Patter exchanged bewildered glances. Yulios just stared at the sword in his hands as if it might bite him.

I watched Annes storm off, her angry footsteps echoing down the hall. "Fuck this!" Her shout bounced off the stone walls.

Copelan's jaw clenched as he marched to the weapon rack. He yanked a practice sword free with more force than necessary, the metal scraping against the wooden holder. Without a word, he positioned himself in front of one of the straw-filled dummies and began striking it with precise, if overly aggressive, cuts.

Sven and Patter shared a look before following Annes's example. They slipped through the doorway without ceremony, leaving our numbers further diminished.

Yulios approached a different practice dummy, his movements uncertain. The practice sword looked wrong in his meaty hands: too small, too delicate. He swung at the dummy with all the grace of a drunken bear, nearly losing his balance. The blade caught the dummy's shoulder at an awkward angle, causing Yulios to stumble.

I remained rooted to my spot, mechanical fingers drumming against my thigh. The whole situation bordered on absurd. Here we stood in the most prestigious combat school in the world, and our instructor was a drunk who couldn't be bothered to actually teach.

Copelan's strikes grew more forceful, his technique perfect but rigid. Each hit landed exactly where it should, yet lacked any real combat application. The kind of swordplay that looked impressive in a noble's courtyard but would get you killed in a real fight.

Yulios attempted another swing, this time catching himself before he could fall. His face scrunched up in concentration as he adjusted his grip on the sword.

The greatest warriors in history trained here, I thought, recalling Copelan's earlier boast. If this was their idea of training, those historical figures must have learned despite the Academy's teachings, not because of them.

After watching Yulios struggle with the sword for two full hours, I left the training area. The schedule showed Elementary Magic Theory next, in classroom 204.

I found the room packed with other C-rank students, these ones from other classes. A professor named Gitz stood at the front, his thin face pulled into a permanent frown that deepened the wrinkles around his mouth. Without any introduction, he slapped a stack of books onto his desk.

"Take one and pass it down," he commanded, voice as dry as old parchment.

The book that reached me was titled "Basic Magical Concepts and Theory." Its leather cover showed significant wear, and several pages had been dog-eared by previous students.

"Turn to page one," Gitz instructed, settling into his chair. "Read chapters one through three. No talking."

I opened to the first chapter: "Understanding Mana." The text explained how mana existed in everything, from the air we breathed, to the ground beneath our feet, even in living beings themselves. It flowed through the world like an invisible river, present but unseen except to those trained to detect it.

The second chapter detailed how anyone could learn to manipulate this energy with sufficient practice and dedication. I found this particularly interesting given my recent experiments with mana absorption. The book confirmed what I'd discovered: that mana could be drawn from the environment and stored within one's body. It was considered a pointless practice though, since the human body tended to produce more than enough mana for spell-casting purposes. Mana absorption was considered inefficient.

When I reached chapter three, I discovered why most humans never developed this ability. At Level 5, when they chose their first class, the System automatically sealed off mana manipulation for non-magical classes. The text explained this as a necessary specialization, though it seemed more like an artificial limitation.

For three hours we sat in complete silence, broken only by the occasional turning of pages and Gitz's disapproving sniffs whenever someone shifted too loudly in their seat. Unlike the humans around me, I knew this limitation didn't apply to monsters. We operated under different rules, though I wasn't sure why.

I closed the magic theory book and left the classroom with the others once the three-hour class had ended. The corridors stretched before me, a maze of stone and wood that had confounded me these past days. No more. I had six hours until History of Humanity's Kingdoms, plenty of time to create a mental map.

The Academy's layout followed no logical pattern I could discern. Hallways curved when they should have been straight, stairs appeared in odd places, and rooms seemed to shift locations. My Assembly abilities rebelled at such chaotic architecture.

"Look who it is," a voice called out as I passed the dining hall. "The Gutter House reject."

I kept walking, recording the route in my mind. Three right turns from the dining hall led to the library. The student's laughter faded behind me.

Two noble-born girls in pristine uniforms crossed my path. One wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, another Gutter rat."

The term meant nothing to me, though clearly it carried some social stigma. I focused instead on noting how the library connected to both the east and west wings through separate corridors.

The training grounds could be reached through multiple routes, I discovered. The most direct path led past the equipment room, while a longer route through the gardens provided more cover from prying eyes. Useful information for my future nighttime excursions.

I found several dead ends that served no apparent purpose, architectural anomalies that defied explanation. Perhaps they once led somewhere, or maybe they were designed to confuse invaders. The castle-like structure had clearly been built for defense first, education second.

A group of A-rank students passed by, their golden uniform trim gleaming. One muttered, "Shawe must be scraping the bottom of the barrel now, letting Gutter House fill up with monsters."

I added their sneers to my growing collection of insults while marking the location of a secondary stairwell. It connected the upper floors to the basement, bypassing the main thoroughfare entirely. Another useful route to remember.

I needed answers about this "Gutter House" everyone kept mentioning. The library seemed the most logical place to start. After checking my mental map, I took the western corridor, climbing two flights of stairs before reaching the massive double doors.

Inside, rows of towering shelves stretched toward a vaulted ceiling. The scent of old paper and leather bindings filled the air. A few students hunched over thick tomes at scattered tables, but none looked up as I entered.

The section on Academy history yielded nothing about any "Gutter House." According to "The Five Noble Houses of Kaldos Academy," the official chapter houses were Dragon, Swords, Tome, Lance, and Lightning. Each maintained strict entry requirements: high birth, exceptional talent, or both. Dragon House, the largest, accepted only Rank A nobility. Swords House, founded by the Kingdom of Swords royal family, came second in size and prestige.

"Looking for something specific?" A quiet voice startled me. The librarian, an elderly elf with wire-rimmed spectacles, stood at my elbow.

Information about Gutter House, I replied through Mind Speech.

She pursed her lips. "Ah. That's not an official house, dear. Just a cruel joke the other students make. They say all Rank C students belong to Gutter House since no real chapter house will take them."

The pieces clicked into place, all the sneers, the "reject" comments, the constant association with my C ranking. The students weren't referring to an actual organization, but rather using the term to further isolate those they deemed unworthy.

I see. How long has this... practice existed? I asked.

"Oh, decades at least. The chapter houses have always been exclusive clubs for the elite. When they started rejecting more students than they accepted, someone coined the term 'Gutter House' for those left behind." She shook her head. "Nasty business, if you ask me."

I nodded my thanks to the librarian and turned away, irritation prickling beneath my porcelain mask. I'd wasted precious mapping time chasing down what amounted to nothing more than an elaborate schoolyard taunt.

The War Academy's reputation drew hundreds here. It was the premier institution for developing warriors, founded by the God of War himself. Yet so far I'd encountered drunk instructors, biased evaluations, and now this juvenile social hierarchy.

I pressed my porcelain hand against the stone wall, following its course down a curving hallway. The corridor split into three branches, each leading to different sections of the academy. Left path: instructor offices. Center: more classrooms. Right: back to the training grounds.

My mechanical feet clicked against the flagstones as I documented each route. The sound echoed off the high ceiling, bouncing between stone columns and wooden support beams. A few students lounging near the windows shot me dark looks, but I ignored them. Let them waste time with their petty social games.

I discovered a narrow service passage behind the kitchen that connected directly to the east wing. The cooks used it to transport food to the private dining rooms, but it would serve just as well as a discrete route during my night excursions.

Near the armory, I found another secondary stairwell hidden behind a tapestry. This one descended all the way to the basement level, though it showed signs of disuse. Perfect. The fewer people who knew about these paths, the better.

I marked each discovery in my mental map, building a comprehensive network of primary routes and alternate passages. The Academy's layout might have seemed chaotic at first glance, but patterns emerged once you looked past the surface confusion. Like any machine, it had an underlying logic; you just had to know where to look.

Tonight, I would descend into the Hellzone. I had wasted enough time on the Academy's nonsense. During the day, I would humor them, attending their worthless classes and performing the role of the poor rank-C student. But under the cover of darkness, I would be accomplishing something meaningful. I would battle vicious monsters deep in the Academy Hellzone, growing stronger and stronger while the other students rested safely in their beds.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.