The afternoon sun streamed through the tall, arched windows of the classroom, casting long shadows over the rows of students seated at their desks. The Redmoon Guild Academy prided itself on discipline and excellence, and this class was no exception. The students sat upright, their uniforms crisp, notebooks open, and pens poised, waiting for the lesson to begin.
At the front of the room, a middle-aged woman with sharp features and neatly tied-back silver hair stood before a massive digital display. She tapped a button on her control pad, and the projected screen behind her lit up, revealing a rotating image of the world map. Twelve insignias marked the existing nations.
"Who here," she began, her voice crisp and clear, "can name the twelve nations?"
A flurry of hands shot up. Dozens of students were eager to answer, their eyes gleaming with the desire to prove themselves. The teacher's gaze swept across the room before settling on a boy sitting near the middle.
"You," she said, pointing at a teenager with pockmarked skin and slightly disheveled dark hair. "Go ahead."
The boy stood, clearing his throat. His voice wavered slightly, but he pushed forward with confidence.
"Spade Kingdom… Thesla… Avalor… Marbrook… Yongheng… Klass Volk… North Acentia… South Acentia…"
He paused, his brow furrowing as he struggled to recall the remaining four. His lips parted, then pressed together again. A few quiet murmurs ran through the classroom as students exchanged knowing glances.
The teacher tilted her head. "You did well. Take your seat." She turned her gaze back to the class. "Who can name the rest?"
A moment of silence stretched before a girl near the front rose smoothly from her chair. She had sharp, intelligent eyes and an air of quiet confidence.
"Eurentia, Krakora, The United Colonies, and Texars," she said, her voice even and unwavering.
The teacher nodded approvingly. "Good job. Both of you."
She tapped another button, and the world map zoomed out, displaying a fainter overlay of what the world had looked like over a hundred years ago. The borders were jagged and erratic, crisscrossed with lines that marked the fractured nations of the past.
"According to the history books," the teacher continued, pacing to the side of the projection, "over two centuries ago, the world was vastly different. The lands you see here were once divided into numerous countries, each with their own governments, cultures, and ambitions. But with that division came endless conflict—territorial disputes, economic wars, ideological clashes. Nations fought for dominance, alliances were made and broken, and the balance of power was in a constant state of dissaray."
She paused, letting the weight of her words settle over the students. Many of them had heard this before in broad strokes during their earlier schooling, but here, in the academy, the history was laid out with all its harsh truths.
"Then," she said, her voice dropping slightly, "came the Uprising."
The map shifted again. The borders of the old world faded, replaced by vast red zones that covered almost half of the globe. These were the territories lost during the war—areas where civilization had collapsed entirely under the onslaught of the mutated beasts.
"Their origins remain largely unknown even to this day," she continued, gesturing to the screen. "They came suddenly, without warning, from the deepest forests, the darkest depths of the oceans, and the most remote corners of the world. They attacked indiscriminately. Unlike human wars, there were no strategies, no coordinated efforts, no political maneuvers. Just unrelenting, mindless carnage."
"The first wave alone wiped out millions. Governments were caught unprepared, cities fell within days, entire nations collapsed under the sheer ferocity of the assault. The armies of the old world fought back with everything they had—conventional weapons, experimental technology, biological warfare—but it wasn't enough. The beasts adapted too quickly, with stronger beasts coming out during each encounter."
The screen now displayed battle footage from the war. Soldiers firing all kinds of weapons at grotesque, hulking creatures. Cities in flames. The desperate, last-ditch efforts of humanity to hold the line. The students' faces mirrored the gravity of the scene, their earlier eagerness replaced by a solemn understanding.
The screen flickered, displaying a grotesque creature standing amid a field of corpses. Its body was a twisted mass of sinew and jagged chitin, its four glowing eyes filled with primal hunger. "This is the Archfiend, an Abberation-class beast," the teacher explained. "Highly resistant to ballistic weaponry from that time and capable of liquefying organic matter with its saliva. Believe it or not, encounters with creatures of this class had a survival rate of less than 8% back then."
A student near the back hunched over his desk, rapidly taking notes, his pen tapping against the paper in nervous rhythm. Another student, a girl with tightly braided hair, watched the footage with unblinking eyes, her jaw tight. A soft murmur ran through a group near the windows—whether in fear or skepticism, it was hard to tell.
"But in the face of extinction," the teacher continued, "humanity evolved."
The projection shifted once more, displaying training clips of early day strykers and adepts. The beginnings of modern origin cultivation.
"The war, despite its horrors, became the catalyst for innovation. It forced us to confront the limits of our understanding and pushed us to redefine what it meant to be human. Before the invasion, origin cultivation was a fringe science, dismissed by many as pseudoscience or relegated to the realm of theoretical speculation. The energy that permeates all things—origin energy—was poorly understood, and those who attempted to harness it were often met with skepticism or outright ridicule. But when the beasts came, and our conventional weapons failed, we had no choice but to turn to the unknown."
The clips slowly transitioned to show grainy footage of those same early cultivators—men and women with glowing auras, their bodies radiating energy as they faced off against towering monstrosities. "The first cultivators were raw, untrained, and often unstable. Many died in experimental processes to unlock their potential, their bodies unable to withstand the strain. But those who survived... they became something more. They became our first line of defense."
She swiped to a new image of a ruined cityscape and continued her lecture. "One of the bloodiest battles took place in what was once New Tokio. The swarm of Minion-class beasts had overrun the city within seventy-two hours, but it was here that the first successful counteroffensive was launched. Cultivators, still untrained in those days, fought alongside mechanized divisions, using their rudimentary abilities to hold the line long enough for civilians to evacuate."
The screen then displayed a montage of battles, where strykers coated their bodies in qi and adepts wielded all sorts of flashy abilities. "As the war raged on, we began to understand the usefulness of cultivators in the grand scheme of things. Even though it was coined that, origin energy wasn't just energy, it was a bridge between the physical and the metaphysical. It allowed us to tap into the very fabric of existence, to manipulate matter, energy, and even life itself. But it came at a cost. origin cultivation was brutal, demanding both physical and mental fortitude. The process of growing stronger was excruciating, requiring practitioners to push their bodies and minds to the absolute limit. Yet, in the face of extinction, there was no other choice."
The footage changed to show laboratories filled with scientists from different fields working side by side, dissecting the remains of high-class mutated beasts. "The beasts themselves became our greatest teachers. Their abilities defied all known laws of biology and physics. Some could manipulate gravity, others could phase through solid matter, and a few could manipulate the elements as easily as breathing. By studying them, we began to unravel the secrets of their power. This research led to the development of origin techniques—structured methods of harnessing and directing origin energy. Techniques that significantly reduced the difficulty of cultivators growing in power."
The teacher's voice grew more animated as she continued, her eyes scanning the room to ensure every student was following the gravity of the lesson. The screen behind her transitioned to show a timeline, marked with key breakthroughs and pivotal battles.
"As the war dragged on, humanity's understanding of origin energy deepened," she said. "The early days of trial and error gave way to a more systematic approach. Scientists and cultivators worked hand in hand, dissecting the remains of high-class beasts, analyzing their energy signatures, and understanding their abilities. This collaboration led to the development of new and better techniques, which in turn led to technology transitioning from the industrial age to the modern age, and gradually, the tide of war began to shift."
Her gaze swept across the room, satisfied at the facial reactions of the teenagers in front of her. "But the cost was immense. By the time the war reached this point, over half of the world's population had been lost. Entire nations were reduced to ruins, and the global landscape was forever changed. The survivors—what remained of humanity's fractured states—banded together. The weak were absorbed, the strong led the charge, and together, they carved out the twelve nations that exist today. With newfound strength, they pushed back the beasts, reclaiming lost lands, rebuilding civilization."
She folded her arms, allowing a brief pause before continuing.
"Now, over twenty percent of the planet has been recovered. Cities thrive, industries flourish, and the human race is no longer on the brink of annihilation. But…" She let her eyes scan the room, her voice carrying a deeper weight. "The war is far from over."
The screen shifted one final time, displaying the red zones still dominating the map.
"Large portions of the planet remain occupied by the beasts. Entire regions are uninhabitable, their ecosystems warped beyond recognition. Even now, we continue to fight. And that fight, students, is why you are here today."
The screen returned to the world map, the twelve insignias glowing brightly. "The Redmoon Guild Academy exists to ensure that we never forget the lessons of the past. Just last month, a Behemoth-class beast emerged near the Texars border, wiping out a settlement before elite strykers managed to bring it down. Three cities have been placed under high alert since then. The war may have slowed, but it has never truly ended!"
"Each of you has activated your F-gene and has the potential to become a stryker, an adept, or perhaps even a pioneer in the field of origin cultivation research. But remember, with great power comes great responsibility. The world you inherit is one built on sacrifice and resilience. It is your duty to honor that legacy and drive humanity's progress, to ensure that one day, we reclaim every last inch of this planet."
A long silence followed, the air thick with the weight of expectation. Some of the students nodded with determination, others merely absorbing the gravity of her words.
Internally, the teacher was satisfied. She had seen it before—the spark in their eyes, the slow but steady molding of young minds. The indoctrination was progressing well with this batch.
"Now then," she said, breaking the silence, "let's begin today's lesson in detail. Open your textbooks to chapter six."
The rustling of pages filled the room as the lecture continued for the remaining allotted time.
«Beep-beep» «Beep-beep»
Some time later, the digital bell rang, signaling the end of the class. The students remained seated for a moment, the weight of the lesson settling over them. The teacher closed the projection and turned to face them one last time.
"Next class, we'll delve deeper into the techniques and technologies that emerged during the war. Be prepared to discuss the ethical implications of origin cultivation and its impact on modern society. Dismissed."
As the students began to gather their belongings, the girl who had confidently named the remaining nations earlier approached the teacher. "Teacher," she said, her voice steady, "do you think we'll ever face another war like that?"
The teacher considered her words carefully before giving a standard reply. "We've had some kind of stability for the past 127 years, but the world is always changing, and new challenges will inevitably arise. However, if we learn from the past and continue to push the boundaries of what's possible, I believe we can face whatever comes our way."
The girl nodded, a determined glint in her eyes, before turning to join her classmates at the dojo for the next class. The classroom emptied, leaving the teacher alone with her thoughts.