A group of teachers and senior students stood before the towering metallic wall of Solaris City. They had watched the freshers undergo their trials and gain entry hours earlier, expecting their own turn to come.

But nothing happened.

No beasts emerged. No trials revealed themselves. Only silence.

"Why isn't it testing us?" one student finally blurted.

The single question spread like sparks on dry grass. Soon, the air buzzed with complaints, doubts, and curses. Many were furious—they had paid the entry fee, endured the humiliation of loans, only to be left waiting like fools.

The teachers' cold glares cut the noise short. Grumbling died on their lips, and some swallowed back their curses like bitter medicine.

The faculty formed a circle, speaking in hushed tones. A few suggested patience, but frustration was building quickly. Then, a bold voice rang out.

"Let's just break it. It's an abandoned city anyway," Zipper declared, his tone brash.

"Alright," Heisenberg replied with a thin smile. "Good idea. You try it."

Zipper sneered, forming rapid hand seals. His mana surged violently, golden light coating his arms until his hands swelled into massive radiant palms.

"Buddha's Golden Palm—Activate!"

He moved like a storm, slamming his gleaming palm against the metallic gate.

Everyone braced for a thunderous impact.

Instead—silence. Not even a hollow thud.

The wall vibrated once, then released a backlash that hurled Zipper through the air like a ragdoll. He sailed helplessly before smashing into a distant tree, crumpling unconscious on the ground.

Gasps swept through the crowd. A six-star teacher—flattened in one strike.

The lesson was carved into their minds: force would not open Solaris.

No one rushed to help Zipper. Students scowled at his arrogance, teachers ignored his plight, and more than a few sneered at his misfortune. His reputation had left him friendless, and now his downfall was met with indifference.

Still, the problem remained. If not by force, then how?

"I know a way," a calm voice spoke up. "But… it may not work."

"Enough riddles, Sherlock. Out with it," Ronaldo snapped, his patience thinning.

Unbothered, Sherlock offered a smile. "Why not fly over the wall and enter from above?"

"Good suggestion," Ronaldo said smoothly. "Then you try it."

Sherlock froze, caught in his own trap. "Me?"

"Of course. It's your idea. And if it works, you'll earn credit points, maybe even an award. A rare opportunity, don't you think?" Ronaldo shrugged, feigning innocence.

Murmurs rose from the crowd. Sherlock's face darkened, but he had no choice.

"Fine."

He gathered mana, his body glowing as he muttered chants and traced hand seals. The wind answered, lifting him steadily into the air.

The other teachers nodded knowingly—flight required mastery of the Wind Law or a six-star cultivation base. Sherlock was capable, though the strain showed in his movements.

He rose higher and higher, closing in on the gleaming edge of the wall. To test it, he pulled a mana core stone from his pouch and tossed it.

The stone froze midair, hovering just above the metallic rim.

Frowning, he tried again with another stone. Then another. All five mana cores hung suspended, trapped by an unseen force above the wall.

From below, the teachers and students watched the impossible sight.

Sherlock descended with a sigh, his face pale. "My theory doesn't hold. There's no flying over."

Disappointment rippled through the crowd, quickly souring into frustration. Voices overlapped in a rising cacophony, the tension thickening with no solution in sight.

Suddenly, Sherlock felt danger prickle across his skin. His instincts flared.

"Haste!" he muttered.

His figure blurred and vanished, reappearing several paces away. A sharp whoosh followed—a flying stone streaked past the spot he had just vacated.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. The stone halted midair, then shot toward him again with greater speed. He shifted once more, but the stone curved back as if it had locked onto him.

A homing strike… someone's behind this.

At first, he brushed it off. But then more stones—five of them—peeled off from the city walls, hurtling at him from all directions. A quick glance upward confirmed his suspicion. They were the same stones he had thrown earlier. Now, someone—or something—inside the city was using them against him.

His eyes twitched. For a moment, he considered calling out for help. But his companions were too wrapped up in their heated debate, oblivious to his plight. Clenching his jaw, he decided to handle it alone.

The five stones closed in, their angles precise, their speed deadly. Even one direct hit would cause serious damage—maybe not fatal, but enough to cripple him.

Damn it… I shouldn't have run my mouth and volunteered for this madness. Someone in there is controlling all of this. Forget being a hero. Forget rewards. I've only got one life, and those bastards don't even realize I'm being targeted.

Resolve hardened in his chest. He raised his hand, weaving swift patterns in the air. Four glowing sigils flared into existence.

"Salamander's Kiss of Flame!"

Scarlet fire erupted from the marks, surging toward an oncoming stone.

Boom!

The stone detonated midair, scattering molten fragments.

The crowd's heads snapped upward, startled by the sudden explosion.

Without pausing, Sherlock ignited two more stones. Each burst with a resounding bang, echoing across the plain.

But as he twisted to evade the next strike, another stone slammed into his back.

"Argh!"

Pain lanced through him as he crashed to the ground, blood spraying from his lips. He coughed up two mouthfuls, vision blurring.

Above, the two remaining stones hovered menacingly—then suddenly shattered on their own, exploding in a final blast that silenced everything around.

Students rushed toward Sherlock. Some bent down to lift him, but he waved a weak hand.

"I'm fine…" he muttered, before vomiting more blood. His face drained of all color.

Ronaldo, the most senior teacher present, quickly pulled out two vials and handed them over. Sherlock forced a smile, uncapped them, and downed every last drop.

Warmth spread through him as his vitality surged back. Color returned to his cheeks and he let out a relieved grin.

"You owe me ten two-star stones for those healing elixirs," Ronaldo said flatly.

Sherlock's smile froze. He frowned, but didn't dare talk back.

"…Fine. I'll pay you back," he forced out.

The teachers and students gathered around as Ronaldo finally spoke up.

"Listen carefully. If I'm not wrong, there's no need to enter the city at all. The owner of this place clearly has no intention of letting us in. After two brutal failures, I've come to understand two things. One: if we try to force our way inside, the city will strike back twice as hard. Two: Zipper used his palm and shamed himself; Sherlock tossed in core stones to test his theory, and the stones retaliated. Not deadly, but enough of a warning. So—we'll wait here for the freshers."

He turned to Sherlock.

"You kept the records, didn't you? Tell me—how many students were outside the ruin, inside the ruin, and inside the city?"

Sherlock did the math in his head before replying.

"From what I remember, about half the total students entered the ruin—that's roughly fifteen thousand. Out of them, only a quarter managed to pass into the city. So, around twenty-five hundred students made it inside."

Unbeknownst to them, the real culprit behind the teachers' ordeal was Xoxo, the A.I. of Solaris.

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