The survival exam was only three days away. The academy grounds were a hive of activity, teeming with second-year students pushing themselves to the limit. The training arenas, in particular, were packed to capacity.
Currently, I was overseeing a specialized training session for the Disciplinary Committee. My goal was simple: ensure they secured maximum points during the upcoming trials.
Among them was Viera Regnan, a student from the regular class. She was currently focused on her archery forms. It was rare for an academy student to choose the bow as a primary weapon, but Viera's talent was undeniable. In the future, her precision would be vital for the specialized missions I had planned for my unit.
"How is the progress today, Viera?" I asked.
She turned to me, eyes bright with focus. "The improvement is incredible, Captain! Ever since you taught me the Eagle Eye spell and the Stabilize technique, my accuracy at a hundred meters has jumped to 70 percent!"
"Keep at it," I nodded. "Once you hit 90 percent, I'll teach you the offensive spells needed to give your arrows true destructive power."
"Really? Thank you, Captain!"
Slowly but surely, the members of the Disciplinary Committee were carving out their own niches. They might not excel in the general subjects like the elite students, but by developing a "specialty," they would force the academy to prioritize them.
Next, I turned my attention to a man surrounded by three other members: Tazz Barget. The trio lunged at him with wooden swords, but Tazz didn't flinch. I was molding him into a "Tank"—the cornerstone of any effective team.
"Repel!" Tazz barked just as a wooden blade was about to strike his ribs.
The moment the wood made contact with Tazz's thigh, the attacker's arms buckled. The sword clattered to the floor as the student gripped his vibrating, numbed hands. Repel was a spell that turned the body as hard as stone while reflecting the kinetic energy of an impact.
"I did it! I finally mastered it!" Tazz roared.
A faint smirk tugged at the corners of my mouth. Watching this group of "losers" evolve was satisfying.
However, my gaze eventually landed on a slight, thin figure struggling with basic sword swings. This was Tianna Lovecraft, a second-year from the regular class. Her physique was fundamentally ill-suited for her dream of joining the Calvatra Knights. Had she focused on becoming an Assassin, she might have flourished, but she was stubborn—insisting on mastering the way of the sword.
After four grueling hours, I called the session to an end.
"This is our final practice before the survival exam," I announced as they lined up. "On 30th day this month, assemble at the office for a briefing on safety procedures. Any questions?"
Silence met my gaze.
"Good. Dismissed. Get some rest."
After training, I slipped away from the academy grounds to meet the new recruits for my private venture.
Over the past few days, I had been circulating flyers to fill specific roles in the capital. My objectives were three-fold: First, I needed an intelligence network; I couldn't rely solely on my knowledge as the game's developer forever—the world was changing in real-time. Second, I needed an armory to develop custom magic artifacts. Finally, I needed a merchant guild. I couldn't keep relying on the Garcia family fortune, controlled by Duke Alvaro, to fund my more... sensitive operations.
Fifteen minutes later, I arrived at a four-story building I'd recently purchased.
"Keep the change," I told the coachman, tossing him a gold coin as I stepped down.
Inside, about twenty people were waiting in the lobby. Their eyes followed me as I walked toward the interview room. "The five of you, follow me. The rest will be called one by one."
I unlocked the office and took my seat behind a heavy desk. Four men and one woman in glasses filed in.
"Let's begin," I said.
I looked at a bald man and the largest man in the room. "You two. Names."
From their appearance, they looked educated. I figured they'd be perfect for the roles of Guild Master and Master of the Armory.
"Sir! My name is Olen Mask!"
"The name's Joff Bozes, Boss!"
I froze. Wait, what? "Run those names by me one more time?"
"Sir! Olen Mask! I'm an expert at crafting things—mostly weapons!"
"Joff Bozes! I'm the best trader you'll find!"
I massaged my temples. Damn it, Marek. My childhood friend and co-developer had a habit of stuffing the game with "Easter Egg" characters based on real-world moguls.
I turned to the third man—tan skin, buzz cut. His character design looked dangerously familiar. "And you? Your background?"
"Name's Karl Johnson. Used to lead a street gang called Gruv Street."
I felt a vein throb in my forehead. Marek, you idiot. Do you want us to get sued for copyright infringement?!
"I'm looking for a fresh start," Karl added, his voice heavy. "All my homies are gone... died in the turf wars."
Beside him stood a man with a thick black beard. Given his features, he clearly hailed from the Desert Kingdom of Kuwalid.
"Introduce yourself," I sighed.
"Certainly, sir. My name is Omasa bin L—"
"STOP! Don't finish that name!"
Forget copyright—the game would be banned in half the world if it ever went live. I didn't even need to ask his specialty; I was certain he was an expert in explosives.
I swear, if I ever get back to my world, I'm going to find Marek's favorite character and write a side-quest where she suffers the most horrific fate imaginable.
"You're all hired," I snapped. "Get out."
The four men looked confused, but they weren't about to argue with a job offer.
"But sir, I haven't introduced myself yet," the lone woman said. She was strikingly attractive, wearing iconic glasses that looked like they belonged to specific actress AV from my old world.
"You're hired too," I said, not needing to hear a single word. "Out. All of you."
Once they left, I began scribbling their assignments. "Next!"
A short, thin man walked in. Finally, a character design that didn't look like a lawsuit waiting to happen. "Name and specialty?"
"My name is Joe," he said with a polite bow.
"Full name?"
"Joe Kowai. I'm a carpenter and architect."
At last. A normal recruit.
"You're hired for the construction division. Welcome aboard."
Joe was so ecstatic he nearly shook my hand off before rushing out. It was going to be a long day.
***
[3rd PoV]
The following morning, within the Imperial Palace, Duke Alvaro sat in a private study granted to him by the Emperor. He was reviewing reports on the border skirmishes between the Aragon Empire and the Venetian Republic.
A sharp knock echoed.
"It is Alfred, My Lord."
The Duke signaled him to enter. Alfred carried a leather-bound folder. "I have the report on the Young Master's recent activities."
Alfred detailed Raul's training of the "problematic" students in the Disciplinary Committee, as well as the bizarre interview session he held yesterday in the capital.
"Thank you, Alfred. You may go. Keep a close watch on him—every move he makes."
Once alone, the Duke scrutinized the report, trying to decipher his son's endgame.
"Hoo... interesting," the Duke mused. "It seems he doesn't want to rely on the Garcia name. He's building his own power base from scratch. Does he not trust my support for Princess Elena?"
Duke Alvaro assumed Raul was preparing for the coming political succession. He had no way of knowing that Raul wasn't preparing for a throne—he was preparing for an apocalypse.