Chapter 105: Life In The Oradonian Base!
"Welcome to the Oradonian Base."
The voice of Archmage Amber Nois rang clear and commanding through the enchanted speakers embedded in every dormitory wall. It was exactly 6 a.m., and her words carried like a blade cutting through slumber.
"You arrived yesterday. I trust you've rested well. Your training begins in two hours. Bathe. Dress. Be at the eastern training grounds by eight o'clock sharp. Anyone who arrives late will face severe consequences."
Nois didn't shout. She spoke clearly and concisely, demanding respect and obedience. Her voice was calm—but it hit like thunder in every ear.
---
In a sealed black chamber, far from the main dorms, the fifty defiant recruits who had challenged her authority the previous day lay sprawled in agony—still alive, but broken.
They hadn't been physically harmed.
No.
What they endured was worse—mental torments crafted by ancient spells: illusions, relived traumas, endless loops of self-doubt and terror. The kind of punishment that hollowed a man from the inside.
They no longer sneered. They no longer swaggered.
Now, they prayed for mercy.
They would not dare cross Amber Nois again.
---
Meanwhile, in the main dormitories, the remaining 150 recruits stirred from their beds. Some groaned. Others rubbed their eyes, heads heavy from the strange new world they'd found themselves in.
Even though they moved, slowly, they still obeyed.
They'd seen the fate of the rebellious firsthand. That was more effective than any speech.
Among them, however, was one who sat up with silent purpose: Wuza Selone.
She'd suffered horrors no woman should. The screams of her children still echoed in her skull, the faces of the emperor's soldiers etched into her mind like branding irons.
But she did not cry. Not anymore.
She was here now—for strength, for retribution, for justice on her terms. She had traded grief for grit. Hatred for hunger. And this place—this base—was her new altar.
She would become a weapon.
Her eyes glanced toward the voice that had just spoken.
Archmage Amber Nois.
A woman, just like her.
That alone sparked something buried deep inside Wuza—the belief that greatness was possible.
---
The halls of the Oradonian Base began to fill with shuffling footsteps, murmurs, and the occasional yawn. Some still muttered under their breath. A few were still unsure of what lay ahead.
But they moved.
Because under Amber Nois, discipline was not optional.
And on this day, the forging of warriors began.
They shuffled groggily toward the bathrooms, some dragging their feet like condemned prisoners heading to a gallows—but a gallows with soap, hot water, and individual toilet stalls.
Each room housed five trainees, and each suite had a row of five private bathrooms and toilets, neatly arranged like royal thrones in an arcane spa. The Oradonian Base, for all its brutal training, took hygiene very seriously.
Because as Archmage Amber Nois once famously said in one of her many terrifying lectures to a smelly recruit:
"If your spirit is strong but your armpits are deadly, you will still perish."
Wuza Selone entered her shared bathroom suite just as a whispered, conspiratorial council of five semi-awake male recruits formed in a corner like a band of low-level RPG characters trying to decide whether to go fight a dragon with wooden spoons.
Jones, the curly-haired optimist of the bunch, leaned in like he was sharing ancient wisdom.
"Do you guys think the Black Dragon can stop the Trickster God?"
Addey, the resident know-it-all who once claimed his uncle fought a kraken using nothing but bad breath, gave him a side-eye sharp enough to pierce scale armor.
"Jones… are you high on swamp fumes? Do you even know the legend of the Trickster God? Okay. Lemme break it down for you."
He waved his hands dramatically.
"Imagine the Scarlet Raven, okay? A level 2 threat. Now multiply that by a thousand. No, scratch that—by a thousand ravens. With swords. On fire. Riding demonic alpacas. That's the Trickster God."
There was a solemn pause.
Cole, who had the innocent eyes of a toddler but the brain of an overcooked yam, piped up:
"Hey, speaking of the Scarlet Raven—I heard he's somewhere within these walls…"
Rex, the group's chronic skeptic who once tried to arm-wrestle a mimic disguised as a chair, snorted hard.
"You and your bedtime fables, Cole. Next thing, you'll say we've got the Kraken doing our laundry."
Innik, who never missed a moment to roast someone, leaned in with a smirk.
"You'd see the Scarlet Raven and sleep like a baby? Please. That's rich, Coke—oh sorry, Cole. You're a carbonated joke."
That's when Wuza Selone entered the chat like a divine slap from above. Towel over her shoulder, eyebrow raised.
"The Archmage could take the Scarlet Raven with one hand and flatten the Trickster God with the other," she said, folding her arms.
"And if not, then she'll team up with the Black Dragon and rip the Trickster into pretty little pieces. End of story."
A stunned silence.
Then—all five men collapsed into riotous, floor-rolling laughter, as if Wuza had just claimed she could punch the moon.
Addey clutched his sides.
"Oh spirits—SHE SAID TEAM UP. Like it's a buddy comedy. 'Amber and the Dragon: Trickster Trouble!' I can't breathe."
Wuza, unbothered, rolled her eyes. Her faith wasn't built on their nonsense. It was built on pain, scars, and stories whispered by survivors. She'd read up on both the Black Dragon and the Archmage, and unlike these boys, she knew what true strength smelled like—usually blood, steel, and old magic.
Jones, recovering from laughter-induced hiccups, shook his head.
"You're just ignorant, lady. No offense."
But before he could add another breath of condescension, Cole—who had clearly started crushing on Wuza from the second she spoke—shoved him.
"Shut up, Jones."
Jones blinked.
"Wait… what?"
Cole straightened, trying to look mysterious, intellectual, and attractive—all at once. It failed spectacularly, but the attempt was obvious.
Wuza sighed and walked away, muttering under her breath:
"Men are strange. Even stranger when they're terrified and pretending they're not."
She disappeared into her assigned bathroom, the sound of the door locking behind her like punctuation on a statement no one else was ready to hear.
-
She took her brushed her teeth, getting rid of the dirt from the previous night, and gaggles and spat out the content. She then cleaned her mouth before taking the bar soap and turned on the running warm water.
As the water touched her skin, it brought a soothing feeling. She hadn't had access to such healthy bath. This wasn't a common thing in the empire, because the whole thing was made with magic.
Normally one would need to fetch water from a well and bath in it, but this was one of the perks of advanced magic, and Wuza Selone was already imagining what she would be capable of in a months time if she stuck true to her purpose.
Cole was standing there. Awkward. Upright like a soldier caught sneaking snacks during a war briefing.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Were you spying on me?"
His soul tried to leap from his chest.
"No! I swear! It's not what it looks like!"
He waved his hands like they might explain faster than words.
Wuza cocked her head, eyes sharp.
"And what exactly does it look like?"
He choked.
"I-I mean—I wasn't trying to—it's not—okay listen…"
He sucked in a panicked breath.
"I like you. I think you're amazing. And scary. And strong. And beautiful. And I… I want to be close to you. There. I said it."
He stood like a man expecting a sword to land between his ribs.
Wuza stared at him. A long pause.
Then, silently, she walked past him. She didn't slap him. She didn't curse.
But Cole saw it—a glint of tears in her eyes
He didn't understand why. But something in what he'd said, something innocent and unfiltered, had scraped open a wound far deeper than he'd meant to touch.
She wasn't angry. Not at him.
But he reminded her—of the man she'd loved. The man she used to tease. The man she'd lost to brutality and fire. And somewhere, in that boyish confession, she'd heard an echo of her old world.
Cole stood there, stiff as a pole.
"I just… why is she crying?" he whispered to no one.
And then, unsure whether to chase her or not, he followed… because confused loyalty was the only kind he knew how to give.
He was still as confused as ever, and didn't even know what he did wrong, this was the first time he asked a woman out and somehow it made her cry, his confusion had reached the skies.