Status

In the class for scouts, the recruits were training in individual combat. Being a scout meant facing threats alone, surviving where no one else could. To prepare them, the training was brutal: duels, two-against-one fights, and relentless exercises. It didn't matter how much they stumbled at the start. They had to improve—and fast.

"Students," began the instructor, his firm, cutting voice echoing off the training room walls. "Today you've learned the basics of combat with baton and dagger. Tomorrow, we'll move on to longswords and clubs. I expect real progress from each of you. Devos," he said, his gaze shifting to a visibly uneasy recruit, "I see you're restless. Do you have something to share?"

Devos, a tall young man with a nervous stance, hesitated. An awkward silence filled the room before he finally answered:

"Sir, when will we learn how to use firearms? Wouldn't that be... more practical?"

Instructor George tilted his head slightly, crossing his arms as a cold smile played across his lips. His eyes pierced through Devos like blades.

"Mr. Devos Frabici, it seems you've missed the essence of my lesson. Let's conduct a little test. Take a firearm from that table. Any one of them."

The air grew heavy. Tyrin, who had been watching the scene unfold, felt the tension rising like a rope about to snap. Devos hesitated, but he knew disobeying a direct order was a fatal mistake. Swallowing hard, he approached the table and selected a pistol.

Instructor George watched him with sharp eyes, his voice dripping with irony.

"Now, Devos, unlock the weapon. And shoot me."

Shock rippled through the room. Devos froze, his face a portrait of discomfort.

"Sir, I... I can't do that."

"That's an order, Devos."

Breathing deeply, his hands trembling, Devos reached for the safety switch. But before he could finish the motion, a sharp gleam sliced through the air. A dagger embedded itself in his palm.

"AAAAARRRGH!" Devos' scream tore through the silence. He staggered backward, clutching his wounded hand as blood dripped onto the stone floor. Some recruits instinctively recoiled, stunned, but Instructor George remained unmoving.

"Recruit Devos, lift your head. Stop whining. Someone take him to the infirmary. Now."

Two recruits rushed to help Devos, who was still trembling in pain, while George addressed the rest of the class. His tone returned to calm, but it carried an inescapable weight.

"Did you all understand what just happened here? Firearms are practical, yes—when you know what's coming. But they're loud, they draw attention. And sometimes, in the field, you won't have time to unlock a weapon or line up a shot. Daggers, batons, blades—these are your extensions. Tools for the unexpected. And you will master them. Or you will die trying."

The recruits swallowed hard. The message was clear.

"This class is feared by nobles because of the mortality rate. But the few who survive it become the best scouts this kingdom has ever seen. So decide now: are you ready for the challenge?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" they answered in unison.

"You're dismissed. Cassandra, stay. I want a word with you."

Tyrin and Damian exchanged curious glances but quickly understood. Cassandra was the most talented student in the class, and George had an unerring instinct for identifying the best.

"Go on ahead," she said with a confident smile. "I'll catch up with you later. Ty, try not to doze off in the next class."

"No problem," Tyrin replied, laughing. "Good luck."

As the others left the hall, Cassandra remained at attention, waiting for the instructor's orders. But before he could say anything, Tyrin had already stepped into the corridor.

In the corridor, Tyrin was stopped by Damian, who looked concerned.

"Tyrin, since we're alone, I want to ask you something while my sister isn't around. Got a moment?"

"Sure, Damian. What's up?"

"It's about the dissection class... I'm struggling with it."

Tyrin raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You chose that class, didn't you? Why are you having trouble?"

Damian sighed, avoiding his gaze. "I thought I'd be good at it, but... there are people way better than me. I saw you dissect that Mimic. It looked like you'd been doing it for years."

Tyrin chuckled lightly. "That was more luck than skill, but thanks. Honestly, I'm thinking about specializing in it. I heard that those who master dissection can make a lot of money on the black market. What do you think about training together?"

Damian looked relieved and excited at the idea. "Really? That would be amazing! How about starting next week? I'll bring two specimens for practice. Maybe a Bakus. I heard some were taken down recently."

Tyrin frowned. "Bakus? Taken down where?"

"They say it was during an invasion... or something like that. I'm not sure. All I know is there was a massacre. At least the bodies are available for purchase now."

Tyrin became thoughtful. Something felt off. The Bakus were territorial, but not invaders. There was something strange about the story.

"Damian, let me know when you find out more about this, okay? I want to understand what really happened."

"Will do. See you next week?"

Tyrin nodded, but his mind was already racing. Something wasn't adding up. And he needed to figure out what it was.

For over a hundred years, the Bakus' attempts to expand had been ineffective due to their lack of advanced technology. Why would they attack now?

"You know where to find me," Tyrin said, concluding their conversation.

Later that night, Tyrin was deep into his search for information. He knew that if anyone could help him, it would be the librarian and researcher Gertrudes. Despite her constant complaints about how Tyrin disturbed her at the worst times, she was an invaluable source of knowledge.

"Ms. Gertrudes, I know I'm a nuisance, but I need your help."

"Again, Tyrin? You may be my student, but this is getting tiresome. You do know I also have my own research, don't you?"

"Sorry to bother you, but I got curious about... the Bakus invasion. I tried to get information in several places, but it seems like no one knows anything."

The moment he mentioned the Bakus, Gertrudes froze in place. She turned quickly, her face now serious and laden with concern.

"Where did you hear this? Who's your source?" she asked, her voice low but firm.

Tyrin was surprised by the intensity of her reaction. He hesitated before responding:

"A colleague mentioned it. Why? Is it important?"

Gertrudes took a step toward him, locking her gaze with his.

"If that information is circulating, it means either someone talked too much... or something very wrong is happening. Tyrin, you don't understand. The Bakus don't attack like that. It's not their way. There's more behind this invasion than we can imagine."

"What exactly is going on, then?" Tyrin asked, his curiosity now turning into unease.

Gertrudes paused, deliberating for a moment. Finally, she spoke:

"I don't know yet. But if I were you, I'd start paying attention. If the Bakus are acting out of character, it means something—or someone—is provoking them."

Tyrin nodded, feeling the weight of her words. He knew he needed more answers. And to get them, he would have to delve deeper into the mystery.

The next day, Tyrin was scratching the back of his neck, feeling a bit uncomfortable with Gertrudes' intensity. He wasn't used to seeing her lose her composure, especially over what he thought was an innocent question.

"I... I think I have about 60 points saved up," he replied hesitantly.

The silence that followed was deafening. Gertrudes' eyes widened, her mouth slightly open in a mix of shock and disbelief.

"Sixty points?" she repeated, almost in a whisper, before exploding: "BY THE EMPEROR! Tyrin, are you telling me you have enough points saved up to jump nearly 15 whole levels, and you HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING WITH THEM?"

Tyrin tried to explain, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

"I didn't think it was that important! My philosophy is different, you see? If I know my enemy well, I–"

"–win all the battles, yes, yes, I've heard that before," Gertrudes interrupted, exasperated. She let out a frustrated huff. "But you're ignoring a basic fact: an Astra's body is designed to be optimized with every point. A single level isn't just brute strength, Tyrin. It affects your endurance, reflexes, cognitive capacity, everything! You're essentially fighting with one hand tied behind your back!"

Tyrin frowned, processing her words.

"So, you're saying I should've used those points?"

"Obviously!" Gertrudes stepped closer, placing her hands firmly on his shoulders as if she wanted to shake him to emphasize every word.

"An Astra doesn't have the luxury of ignoring this. You might be brilliant, you might be strategic, but against an enemy that uses every ounce of advantage they have, you won't last! Tyrin, you underestimated something that's the essence of your own survival."

"Okay, okay, I get it," Tyrin said, trying to calm her down. "But now what? What do I do?"

Gertrudes took a deep breath, regaining her composure. She stepped back, rubbing her temples.

"First, we're going to analyze your points. I'll help you allocate them as efficiently as possible. Second, we'll talk to someone who can teach you how to use your new capabilities. It's going to be painful, but necessary. And lastly... never again, NEVER AGAIN, ignore something like this."

Tyrin nodded, feeling a little embarrassed.

"Alright, I trust you."

Gertrudes sighed and pointed at Tyrin's face.

"Access your status. Let's fix this right now."

As Gertrudes guided him through the process of distributing his points, Tyrin's thoughts drifted back to the conversation from the night before. Something about the Bakus still bothered him deeply. The idea of a species so powerful yet disorganized, fleeing their territories and suffering crushing defeats on human ground... there was something behind this. Something the Empire seemed determined to hide.

"Tyrin, are you paying attention?" Gertrudes asked, noticing his distant look.

"Yeah, sorry," he replied, refocusing on the terminal. "It's just... there's something else going on, isn't there? Not just with me, but with all of this. The Bakus, whatever happened to them... have you found out if there's something bigger behind it?"

Gertrudes studied him for a moment, gauging the seriousness of his question. She shook her head, resigned.

"I don't know, Tyrin. But I can tell you one thing: if there is something bigger, you're nowhere near ready to deal with it. So, get strong. And fast."

Tyrin stared at the screen in front of him. The numbers glowed in cold, clinical tones, as if judging him. Maybe Gertrudes was right. He couldn't afford to overlook anything anymore. Not now.

"Let's begin," he murmured, his voice echoing faintly in the quiet room.

He was ready to allocate the points.

The sound of the interface reverberated through the cramped space, a soft click followed by a continuous hum. Each adjustment in the configuration seemed to send an electric current through his body, filling him with a strange, almost intoxicating energy. It was a clear omen: something was about to change. Not just for him, but for everything around him.

When he finished, Tyrin left the room, carrying with him a paradoxical feeling of relief and unease. As much as he tried to shake it off, Gertrudes' unusually concerned look lingered in his mind. Why had she reacted that way? His status couldn't be that different... could it?

"Probably just because I never paid attention to these details," he thought, shrugging, trying to dispel the tension.

On his way to the cafeteria, Tyrin tried to keep his mind occupied. Meanwhile, Gertrudes remained in the room, frozen, staring into the void. His words echoed in her head like an inescapable sentence: 63 points available.

That was, at the very least, impossible. At least according to all known laws about Astra status. The only time something similar had ever been documented... she recalled, swallowing hard. "But that person died a long time ago."

The room plunged into absolute silence, interrupted only by the faint whisper of her own thoughts.

"How can this be real?" she murmured to herself, her tone grave and hesitant. "He doesn't seem like the type who would lie. But... 63 points? He's at level 7! Even Kaladum, the legendary SS-ranked Astra, never reached that. Could it be a mutation? A system error? Or..."

She hesitated before whispering the name, as if afraid of the weight it carried:

"Freydis?"

Gertrudes closed her eyes, pressing her temples as if trying to organize the whirlwind of thoughts dominating her mind. Part of her wanted to report this immediately. After all, if Tyrin truly was an anomaly, he could be an unprecedented discovery. Something capable of altering the Astra's history forever.

But she had seen something similar before. And what followed wasn't a glorious ending—it was a disaster.

Revealing this information to the Empire could be a death sentence for Tyrin. They wouldn't hesitate to study him, dissect him, use him as a tool.

"If he's studied... or worse, used... he won't survive," she murmured, her voice heavy with anguish. "But if I say nothing, and he doesn't learn to control this... he'll attract everyone's attention."

The dilemma ate away at her, each possibility more terrifying than the last. She spent the night wide awake, surrounded by piles of old books and reports on Astra status, desperately searching for an answer. No text, no research offered any explanation for what Tyrin might be.

Meanwhile, Tyrin was finishing a simple dinner in the cafeteria. Somehow, his mind was free of worries. He even allowed himself a moment of optimism as he headed to his dormitory.

"Maybe these points really will make a difference," he thought, letting a slight smile cross his face.

As he lay down, he opened the interface one last time, staring at his updated status as the darkness of the room enveloped him.

🌀 STATUS 🌀

Classification: SSS / 00

Strength: 4 + 15

Endurance: 7 + 15

Speed: 6 + 13

Skill: 12 + 20

Psyche: 0

The numbers glowed on the screen, cold and impassive, as he tried to decipher them. The "SSS Classification" was something he knew to be extremely rare, but the "Psyche" field marked as zero intrigued him even more. He had never seen that statistic before, and no explanation seemed plausible.

"Psyche... What does that mean?" he whispered, his eyes locked on the screen. Not even Gertrudes seemed to know about this part of his status.

His mind wandered, searching for answers. The strange sensation of latent energy still pulsed within him, as if something was on the verge of emerging.

Without answers and overcome by exhaustion, Tyrin closed his eyes. Whatever it was, he would find out soon enough.

While he slept, however, the unease he had planted in Gertrudes grew, like a seed of doubt and fear. She knew something greater was at play—and Tyrin was at the very center of it.