The two years following graduation trickled by, settling into a dull, monotonous routine that felt entirely too small for a man who had glimpsed the absolute laws of the cosmos. To the rest of the Valerian Royal Academy, Markus was a rising academic star; to Markus, he was simply biding his time. He spent his mornings assisting Dean Terros as an assistant professor in advanced Formations, guiding underclassmen through the rigid geometry of standard arrays. His afternoons were spent as a guest professor in the high-tier combat classes, where he lectured on spatial awareness and tactical adaptability.
It was a quiet, domestic existence—a calculated lull before the storm.
Yet, while Markus operated within the structured halls of academia, the true focus of his imperial contract was playing out on the dangerous fringes of the capital. Over those same two years, Rosalind had thrived under his demanding, distant influence, eventually forming an elite squad of her own. Her team became the apex unit of the underclassmen, systematically clearing the academy's internal dungeon portals before finally being cleared to deploy for high-stakes external academy missions across the empire.
But she was never truly alone on the frontier.
True to his word, Markus kept a watchful, calculating eye over every single one of her deployments. He didn't march alongside her vanguard, nor did he offer vocal encouragement. Instead, he operated from the shadows, hiding beneath a folded layer of space—an invisible, omniscient guardian seamlessly woven into the fabric of the environment.
The monotony of the academic routine was briefly shattered by the arrival of the highly anticipated inter-school friendlies, a prestigious tournament where the empire's finest clashed for glory.
Rosalind's elite squad performed remarkably well throughout the grueling brackets, dominating local rival academies with flawless synergy and advanced tactics. They climbed all the way to the grand finals, ultimately placing second in the entire competition—losing only to the formidable foreign exchange students led by the reliable Zi Hao.
Rosalind was not Markus; she did not possess the world-bending spatial laws or the absolute, crushing authority required to dismantle entire armies by herself. When isolated and forced into a corner, she simply could not hold her own against five elite students who operated with exceptional, seamless synergy.
By the time her graduation ceremony finally arrived, Rosalind had matured into an exceptional young lady, her presence radiating the sharp, refined aura of a practitioner standing at the absolute threshold of Tier 4.
No longer just a sheltered royal student, she carried herself with the poise of a true elite, ready to formally return to her official duties as the empire's princess and the face of the imperial family.
While the rest of the academy grew complacent within the predictable routine, Markus himself had progressed with terrifying speed in his mastery over his new world-bending weapon, [Formless]. Through months of rigorous practice and deep meditation over the fluid complexities of Space-Time laws, he had achieved a level of martial fluidity that defied conventional combat logic.
He was now capable of switching between a long-range bow and a close-quarters sword seamlessly mid-stride, instantly altering his tactical footprint during the heat of battle. This seamless evolution allowed him to transition from a devastating ranged damage dealer into an oppressive melee combatant in the blink of an eye, leaving his opponents with no time to adapt.
To maintain their absolute edge while trapped within the academy's monotonous routine, Markus and his team did not waste their time on the standard training grounds. Instead, they secured access to the restricted Tier 5 portals nested deep within the academy's secure zones. These highly volatile dungeons were strictly reserved for the senior professors and the Dean himself, specifically designed to ensure the institution's top powerhouses remained sharp and battle-ready at all times.
For Markus's team, these high-tier portals were not a lethal challenge, but a vital training ground to prevent their instincts from dulling.
Markus's core unit continued their steady, relentless ascent. Over those two grueling years, Rosanne, Jessica, Mika, and Donna had all successfully broken through into the mid-Tier 4 levels.
Their progression wasn't just a matter of inflated mana metrics; it was forged in the fires of the academy's most restricted zones, leaving them entirely comfortable tackling mutated beasts a full tier stronger than themselves.
Standing at the edge of a smoking crater inside a restricted portal zone, Markus watched the four women cleanly execute a Tier 5 apex predator, his eyes reflecting the cold, absolute certainty of a proud leader.
The metallic chime of Markus's communication watch echoed sharply against the crystalline walls of the Tier 5 portal, cutting through the heavy silence that followed their latest hunt. A glowing holographic interface projected a single, official imperial notification: the registration of their guild was complete, the bureaucratic tax exemptions were locked in, and their charter was legally recognized by the empire.
Rather than celebrating amidst the blood and dust of the dungeon floor, the five transitioned back through the academy gates and departed for a quiet dinner at the staff lounge to discuss their next steps.
What was supposed to be a celebratory meal, however, quickly devolved into a heated debate as the team clashed over what the guild should officially be named.
Spreading their notes across the mahogany table of the private faculty lounge, the five took radically different approaches to naming the sovereign force they were about to unleash upon the frontier.
Jessica and Mika pushed for names that carried immediate, intimidating weight on the battlefield—proposing titles like The Iron Vanguard or The Shadow Eclipse to reflect their lethal combat synergy and frontline dominance.
Rosanne argued for something that emphasized longevity, structure, and their shared history, leaning toward titles that sounded like an established, unshakeable institution capable of anchoring the frontier.
Donna, looking at the long-term recruitment metrics, quietly suggested a name that hinted at their hidden potential and high-tier capabilities without fully revealing the true nature of Markus's world-bending laws.
Markus sliced into his medium-rare steak with clinical precision, the silver blade of his knife gliding effortlessly through the meat. He paused, resting the cutlery against the edge of his porcelain plate, and leaned back. The heated arguments around the table instantly quieted as his cold, calculating eyes swept over his team.
"What about Eternity?" Markus contemplated, his voice cutting through the lingering tension of the lounge with a calm, resonant weight. "It possesses every single trait you all are suggesting."
He let the word hang in the air, allowing its structural significance to settle into their minds as he systematically dismantled their previous arguments.
Markus picked up his wine glass, his expression an unreadable mask of absolute confidence as he watched his team process the suggestion. "A name shouldn't just describe what we are today," Markus thought back, taking a slow sip. "It dictates what we will become. They wanted something that carries weight on the frontier—let's give the world a title it can never hope to outlive."