Chapter 5: Assigned Classes
The atmosphere in the Central Sanctum had shifted from electric anticipation to a heavy, suffocating tension. One by one, students stepped forward to the Assessment Pillar, their Contract Books glowing in their hands as they summoned the physical manifestations of their future.
Miss Vael stood beside the Pillar, her holographic terminal recording every data point. "Next! Sarah Jenkins."
A girl stepped up, her book trembling. A small, translucent jelly-like creature appeared.
"Slime-Mold. Grade D. Support Class. Next!"
The line moved with clinical efficiency. Most students fell into the C and D categories—the future "labor force" of the Federation. Then, the heavy hitters began to emerge.
"Brent Miller! Step forward."
Brent swaggered to the Pillar, his leather-bound Contract Book pulsing with a green, turbulent light. He slammed the book open, and the air in the hall suddenly turned cold and sharp. A howl echoed through the rafters as a wolf made of shimmering, emerald wind materialized. It stood nearly five feet tall, its paws barely touching the marble floor.
"Wind-Ridge Wolf," Miss Vael announced, her voice showing a hint of approval. "Grade A. Combat Class: Warrior/Speed-Type. Excellent."
Brent smirked, intentionally brushing past Roman as he headed back to the high-rank seating. "Don't worry, Dawson," he whispered loud enough for the nearby students to hear. "Maybe they'll let you keep a service dog."
Next was Ellen. The room fell into a hush as she approached. When she opened her book, the temperature skyrocketed. A magnificent bird with feathers of molten glass and eyes like miniature suns erupted from the pages, circling the ceiling once before landing on her shoulder.
"Sun-Flare Eagle," Miss Vael's eyes widened. "Grade S. Combat Class: Mage/Aerial-Type. A national-level talent."
Ellen glanced back at Roman, her expression a mix of pride and deep anxiety. She knew the pressure was mounting on him.
"John Wickes!"
John walked up, his face pale but his eyes burning with a new, sharp intensity. He didn't have a traditional beast; he had a Weapon-Type. As he channeled his Flux into his book, a silver light blinded the front row. A heavy, double-edged longsword manifested, floating vertically in the air. Its blade was etched with constellations that seemed to shift and rotate.
"This is..." Miss Vael paused, checking the reading. "Star-Crushing Sword. Grade A. Combat Class: Warrior/Heavy-Hitter. A rare spirit-weapon bond!"
Finally, the hall went silent. There was only one student left.
"Roman Dawson."
The whispers started immediately. The "Dual-Ability Genius" who had nearly overloaded the testing pillar was finally going to show his hand. Even the school principal had emerged from the shadows of the balcony to watch.
Roman walked forward, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of his cane the only sound in the massive hall. He held his weathered, dragon-hide Contract Book in his left hand.
"Place your book on the pedestal and summon your contracted beast," Miss Vael instructed, her voice uncharacteristically soft. She, like everyone else, expected a monster that would shake the foundations of the building.
Roman placed the book down. He felt the tiny, shivering presence in his Soul Space. Sorry, little guy, he thought. Everyone is about to be very disappointed.
He pulsed a tiny amount of Flux into the book. The pages flipped slowly, stopping on the first page. A faint, muddy green light flickered.
There was no roar. No explosion of lightning. No gale-force winds.
Instead, a tiny, pencil-thin green snake slithered out from the spine of the book. It looked exhausted, its scales dull and its eyes cloudy. It curled into a small, pathetic ball on the white marble pedestal, looking more like a common garden pest than a "Cosmic Beast."
The silence that followed was deafening. Then, the first snicker broke out.
"A... a snake?" someone shouted. "That's not even a python! It's a worm!"
"Is that the 'S-Rank' potential?" Brent roared with laughter, doubling over. "He tamed a snack for my wolf!"
Miss Vael stared at the sensor readings, her face twisting in confusion. She checked the Pillar three times, thinking the machine had finally malfunctioned.
"Mutated Wood-Vine Snake," she read out, her voice flat with disbelief. "Grade E."
She looked at Roman, then at the snake, and finally at her terminal. "However... due to your unique Dual-Ability awakening and the specific nature of Wood-affinity binding... the system has flagged your specialization. Roman Dawson, you are assigned to the Control Class."
The laughter died down into murmurs of confusion. The Control Class was the rarest and most difficult path—reserved for those who manipulated the battlefield, restricted enemies, and governed the flow of combat. Usually, it required high-grade beasts with vines, webs, or psychic powers. Seeing an E-grade snake in the Control Class was like seeing a toddler assigned to a frontline general's post.
"Listen up!" Miss Vael's voice boomed, cutting through the chatter. She stood tall, her holographic screen projecting a massive countdown clock.
"The National College Admissions are exactly one month away. This is the most important window of your lives. To ensure you don't embarrass this Academy, the school is organizing a Mandatory Intensive Training Programme starting tomorrow morning at 06:00."
She looked around the room, her gaze lingering on Roman for a second longer than the others.
"You will be divided by your classes—Warrior, Mage, Support, and Control. You will live, eat, and train with your beasts in the simulated environments of the North Grounds. If your beast hasn't reached Level 5 by the end of the month, you won't even be allowed to sit for the entrance exams. Dismissed!"
Roman didn't flinch as the crowd began to disperse. He reached out, and the tiny snake slithered up his finger, hiding in his sleeve. He could feel the hidden, white-hot spark deep inside the creature's soul, a spark that was currently being fed by his own Lightning Embodiment.
Control Class, Roman thought, a cold smile touching his lips. They think they've put me in a utility role because my beast is 'weak.' They have no idea that in one month, I won't just be controlling the battlefield—I'll be owning it.