The cafeteria buzzed with energy, filled with the sound of clinking utensils, low conversation, and the occasional outburst of laughter. Lucas sat near the edge of the hall with a tray of food in front of him—some sort of gray protein mash, boiled vegetables, and the academy's signature burnt toast. Daron was across from him, already halfway through his meal.
"You'd think a place that trains humanity's last hope could at least spring for some seasoning," Daron muttered, stabbing a sad-looking carrot.
Lucas smirked, scooping up some of the mash. "Maybe it's part of the training. Builds mental fortitude."
Daron chuckled, but the sound was cut short by a sudden commotion across the cafeteria. A group of second-years had formed a half-circle near the center of the room. Their uniforms were slightly different, marked with a silver trim that denoted their seniority. At the center of their attention was a girl.
Reyna.
Her back was pressed against the wall, tray on the ground with its contents spilled. One of the second-years, tall and broad-shouldered with a sneer on his face, stood in front of her.
"What, too good to bow your head to a descendant of a Rank 6?" he said, voice loud enough to carry. His sharp features and pale blond hair gave him a regal look, but his smirk twisted it into something cruel.
Lucas frowned. Daron looked up, chewing slowing. "That guy's bad news. Marius Vell. His family made a name during the Continental Push. Think his grandfather was the one who cleared the Crimson Hollow."
"So he's got a pedigree. Doesn't mean he gets to act like a tyrant," Lucas said, standing up.
Daron blinked. "You're seriously going to get involved?"
"Yeah."
Lucas crossed the cafeteria without hesitation. Marius turned his head slightly as Lucas approached.
"Is there a problem here?" Lucas asked, keeping his tone even.
Marius turned fully to face him, looking Lucas up and down. "You're one of the first-years from the auditorium, right? The one who didn't die. Congratulations."
"She's not your punching bag."
Marius raised an eyebrow. "You planning to be her knight, then?"
Lucas didn't flinch. "I plan on eating my meal without watching someone get bullied."
For a moment, the air grew tense. Then Marius chuckled and stepped back.
"Cute. You're lucky this is the cafeteria," he said. "We wouldn't want to make a mess."
He turned to his posse. "Come on. Let the savior enjoy his mashed cardboard."
The second-years moved off, and Lucas turned to Reyna.
"You alright?"
She nodded quickly, gathering her tray. "Thank you," she said quietly before hurrying away toward the exit.
Lucas watched her go, then made his way back to the table.
Daron was staring at him. "You're definitely on his list now."
"Probably."
"Hope you like fighting uphill battles."
Lucas shrugged and sat back down. "I never liked the easy ones."
The next day, Lucas and Daron arrived at Room B-112 for class. Instructor Vale stood at the front again, hands behind her back and expression unreadable.
"Before we get into weapons training, I want to clarify something about skills," she said without preamble. "Skills are the foundation of every Delver's arsenal. Some of you may awaken weak abilities through sheer effort. Repeating a task, focusing your energy, conditioning your body—these can lead to basic skills."
She gestured to a board where the words Effort-Based Skills were written. Underneath were examples:
Precision Aim
Balanced Footing
Minor Mana Channeling
"These are not bad, but they will not carry you into the higher ranks. The strongest skills come from dungeons in the form of skill cards. These are earned, not trained."
She clicked the remote, and a hologram appeared showing a glowing blue card.
"Skill cards bond to you upon use. The rarer the card, the more potent the skill. They cannot be stolen once used, and they cannot be shared."
Lucas leaned forward, absorbing every word.
"Today," Vale continued, "you will each select a weapon to train with. You are not locked into your choice forever, but you must begin somewhere. Choose wisely."
The class was dismissed into a training yard behind the building. Racks of weapons lined the perimeter: swords, axes, bows, spears, daggers, and more.
Lucas walked along the racks, fingers brushing over the hilts and shafts. He paused in front of the spears. Something about their reach and precision appealed to him. He picked one up, testing the weight.
As soon as he did, a familiar notification pinged in his mind.
[Quest Generated: Prove Your Worth]
[Task: Strike a training dummy with your chosen weapon 1,000 times]
[Reward: 10 upgrade points, Trait - Spear Handling I: Grants a slight bonus to speed and accuracy when wielding spears]
Lucas grinned. That was manageable. It would take time and sweat, but it was his kind of challenge.
He walked over to one of the dummies and took his stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, grip firm but flexible. He drew in a breath and thrust the spear forward.
One.
The spear struck the dummy's padded chest with a dull thump. He reset.
Two.
It would be slow. Repetitive. Painful. But each strike brought him closer to growth, closer to power. And unlike those born with legacy or privilege, this was his own path to carve.
Three.
He kept going, sweat already forming on his brow.
Behind him, Instructor Vale watched for a moment, then nodded to herself and moved on.
Lucas would not be the strongest yet. But he would earn every step forward with his own hands.