The sun over Sector 12 blazed brighter than usual, casting long shadows across the sand-colored compound of the training camp. Rows of recruits stood at attention under the scrutiny of sharp-eyed instructors. Dray Ballack, now wearing the gray and red uniform of a standard recruit, tightened his grip on the wooden training spear in his hand. His muscles ached, his mind buzzed with exhaustion, and the morning drills were just beginning.
But he didn't complain.
He had chosen this path—to grow stronger, to rise through the ranks, and someday uncover the secrets hidden within his bloodline. If that meant enduring hardship, so be it.
Dray marched in formation alongside his fellow trainees, his boots crunching against the gravel. The rhythm of their movement echoed through the camp. Around him were dozens of recruits, mostly orphans like himself, each driven by desperation, ambition, or both. Though they came from different backgrounds, they shared one thing: the harsh reality of life in a system where only the strong mattered.
The instructor, a towering woman named Sergeant Kelna, barked out orders with a voice that could shatter glass.
"Form rank! Spear positions! One! Two! Thrust!"
Dray's arms moved mechanically, guided by muscle memory forged from relentless repetition. Sweat dripped from his brow, stinging his eyes, but he didn't falter.
By midday, the recruits were allowed a short break. Dray collapsed under a metal canopy with a handful of others. He had made a few tentative acquaintances since his arrival. One of them, a lanky boy named Tyro, always wore a grin no matter the circumstance. Another, a quiet girl with cropped silver hair named Kessa, rarely spoke but moved like a shadow during combat drills.
"You're tougher than you look, Dray," Tyro said between gulps of water. "Most people puke or pass out on the first day."
Dray smirked faintly. "Guess I'm used to not giving up."
Kessa tilted her head. "You fight like someone who's angry at something."
"I am," he replied simply.
That night, while the camp quieted down, Dray sat alone on his bunk, eyes closed, steadying his breathing. His body was sore, but the pain was manageable. The real struggle was mental—keeping his focus, his purpose, his will.
A soft hum resonated in his mind.
Ding!
System Notification:
—Minor EXP gained: +4 (Combat Training Drills)
—Minor EXP gained: +3 (Endurance Challenge)
He smiled slightly. Even without killing or assigned quests, his efforts were not in vain.
System Interface:
Name: Dray Ballack
Bloodline: Locked (Awakening Trigger Detected)
Race: Human (???)
Level: 6
Class: None
Strength: 7
Agility: 7
Endurance: 3
Vitality: 5
Skills:
• Night Adaptation (Passive)
• Blood Sense (Passive – Incomplete)
• Blood Echo (Tier I)
Inventory:
• Rusted Circuit Knife
• Obsidian Data Chip
• Unknown Crystal (Bound)
System Shop: [Access Granted – Insufficient Permissions for Purchase]
Next Level: 233 EXP
Status: Stable
Over the next few days, Dray began to adapt. His movements became more efficient, his posture sharper, and his instincts honed. He participated in simulated battles, ran obstacle courses, and endured harsh endurance trials in both the sun and artificial gravity chambers.
Even Sergeant Kelna took note.
"This one's got potential," she murmured to one of the assistant instructors. "Not just physical—there's focus in his eyes."
Dray wasn't the strongest in the camp. Far from it. But what he lacked in brute force, he made up for in tenacity. He trained longer. Repeated every form. Stayed late in the weapon sheds. When others complained, he remained silent.
One evening, during a tactical simulation, Kessa was paired with Dray. Their mission: navigate through the training maze while under simulated attack.
Blades of light and sonic mines triggered around them as they moved. Dray led the front, Kessa covering the rear. They moved in silence, seamless, trusting each other's rhythm.
But at the final checkpoint, a simulated beast—a holographic construct with shifting limbs and energy fangs—launched itself at them. Dray tackled it, dodging its claws, and drove his spear through its flickering chest. The beast dissolved into particles.
They completed the course with the fastest time of the day.
"Not bad," Kessa said after a long silence.
"You're fast," Dray replied. "I'd be dead without your cover."
"Same."
They began to train together more often after that. Tyro, ever the optimist, joined when he could.
Though life in the camp was brutal, it became bearable. Routine formed. Bonds deepened.
But late at night, when the others slept, Dray stared at the ceiling, haunted by the echoes of something distant… a throne of crimson, a voice that had once whispered bloodline. The destiny that had been thrust upon him, unknown, waited in the shadows of the universe.
The camp was just the beginning.
And he knew it.