Chapter 339: The Appointment
The mandate from the State Army descended on the fifth cycle.
It wasn't posted on a public board or transmitted via a common courier. A
Vampire in a high-collared, crisp uniform knocked personally on Eric's dormitory
door.
When the door swung open, Eric was crouched on the floorboards, methodically
folding his tunics. He held a sock in one hand and a half-eaten piece of rye
bread in the other. The Vampire looked down at him with a face like polished
marble—zero emotional deviation—and extracted a single envelope from a leather
dossier.
"Eric."
"Present."
"Notification of Employment: Evernight Transit Hub. Position: Information
Consolidation Unit. Probationary Period: Three cycles. Report to your station
effective immediately."
The envelope was charcoal-black, the seal a heavy mass of crimson wax bearing
the Imperial Chibi-Skeleton crest.
As Eric reached for it, his fingertips brushed the edge of the paper. The seal
felt dense and cold—heavier than a standard correspondence. He didn't audit the
contents in front of the official.
The Vampire offered no further vocalizations. He turned on his heel and marched
away, the rhythmic clack of his boots against the corridor floor clinical and
absolute. Two paces later, he vanished around the corner.
Eric sealed the door and stood in the center of his room, staring at the ink.
The bread was still wedged between his fingers; his sock lay forgotten on the
floor. He turned the envelope over, then back again, verifying his name, the
crest, and the terminal phrase: Report effective immediately.
He sat on the edge of his bed, finished the bread in three mechanical bites, and
broke the seal.
The parchment within was even more concise than the exterior. Position. Unit
Number. Coordinate of Station. Security Protocols. Official Stamp.
There were no congratulations. No "Welcome to the Team." No social fluff. To the
Empire, he was a new component being slotted into a grand machine.
Eric folded the directive, tucked it into the top compartment of his trunk, and
began the final packing sequence.
Clothes. Textbooks. A magical pen he had used for three years. Two bottles of
unspent ink. The "Internship Medallion" issued by the Academy. The inventory was
lean—he finalized the task in thirty minutes.
He latched the trunk and stood for a moment, his gaze performing a slow sweep of
the sector. Three years. He had occupied this coordinate for a thousand cycles.
The jagged scratch in the corner was a remnant of a failed Tier-1 Mana-bolt
practice during his first semester. The circular water-stain on the windowsill
was the archived footprint of a mug Modi had left after a night of heavy
drinking.
He didn't linger. He hoisted the trunk and stepped into the hall.
He encountered his Orc roommate in the corridor. The beastkin saw the luggage,
paused for a micro-second, and then bared his tusks in a wide grin.
"Recruited?"
"Affirmative."
"Tier-S news. You owe me a celebratory meal."
"Once the first wage-cycle is finalized."
The Orc offered a thumbs-up and returned to his room.
Eric descended the stairs, coming to a halt at the Academy's primary gate. Modi
was leaning against a stone pillar.
His friend had exchanged his student uniform for a suit of deep-brown leather.
The cuffs were buckled tight, and a tactical short-sword hung from his hip. A
weathered rucksack was slung across his shoulders.
The two made eye-contact.
"You are also departing?" Eric asked.
"Mmh. Registration with the Adventurer's Guild is finalized. Departure commences
today." Modi pushed off the pillar, his eyes performing a quick scan of Eric's
trunk. "It appears your gamble paid off."
"Unclear. Three-cycle probation. I won't have the final data until the
trial-period terminates."
Modi let out a dry, raspy chuckle but offered no rebuttal. They stood at the
threshold for several seconds, the wind from the courtyard carrying the scents
of wild grass and old parchment.
"Then... the paths diverge here?"
"So it seems."
Modi extended a hand. Eric gripped it. The pressure was significantly higher
than a standard social greeting—a recognition of shared history. They held the
contact for two seconds, then released.
"Do not allow your system to terminate out there," Eric said.
"My luck-parameter is high. I shall persist."
Modi patted the hilt of his blade, turned, and marched toward the main road. He
didn't look back. Eric didn't call him. He watched the brown silhouette grow
smaller until it merged with the shadows of the city buildings.
The wind continued to blow. Eric looked down, hoisted his trunk, and headed in
the opposite direction.
The transit array was localized in the city's eastern sector. It was a
restricted line managed by the State Army, requiring the unit-number on the
recruitment letter to activate. Destination: The Evernight Transit Hub.
Eric stood in the center of the glowing circle, handing his envelope to the
Skeleton Mage on duty. The skeleton audited the number, tapped a sequence into
the console, and stepped back.
The runes beneath Eric's boots ignited.
The light bled from the outer ring to the core. It wasn't a violent flare, but a
rhythmic pulse. Every rune emitted a low, musical hum—like a bell being struck
at its lowest possible frequency.
Then, his visual field collapsed.
It was as if every color in the Multiverse had been sucked away, leaving only a
blank, white canvas. The sensation lasted for three seconds.
Then, the world rebooted.
But the "Resolution" had changed.
Beneath his boots were polished black stone bricks, wider than any thoroughfare
at the Academy. The seams were so fine they were practically undetectable. Eric
stood at the arrival coordinate, his legs refusing to initiate movement.
He looked out.
Floating Islands.
Not a single landmass, but an archipelago of hundreds, suspended at varying
altitudes against the ashen sky.
Gargantuan bridges of reinforced bone and steel connected the islands like a
web. He saw pedestrians moving across the spans—tiny, distant silhouettes. In
the center of the primary island, a cluster of Wizard Towers stood sharp and
vertical. The sapphire glow at their tips was currently fading—the residual
trace of an hourly time-pulse.
A massive defensive perimeter stretched across the horizon, the six-meter-thick
walls carved with the Imperial Crest, shimmering with a matte, metallic texture
in the magical light.
To his right was the Commercial Sector. A wide thoroughfare extended into the
distance, lined with stalls still under construction. Scaffolding remained
visible, but the banners were already hoisted—Imperial flags and various
merchant signs snapping in the wind.
The sector was a hive of industry.
An Orc walked past, carrying three crates larger than his own torso with a
stability that defied logic. Two Elves were crouched before a shopfront,
meticulously laying a floor material that reflected a faint, green luminescence.
A Dwarf pushed a cart overflowing with mechanical components, the wheels
emitting a steady, rhythmic clack-clack against the stone.
And skeletons.
They were everywhere. Draped in color-coded uniforms, they moved with mechanical
precision. Some were hauling construction materials; others were calibrating
sensor-arrays; others stood at junctions, serving as traffic liaison units. No
one was idle.
Eric gripped the handle of his trunk. For the first time, he understood the text
from his history scrolls. The Empire is expanding into the Void. The Hub is the
heart of the Multiverse. On paper, they were just words. Here, they were the
road beneath his feet, the lights above his head, and the frantic heartbeat of a
new world.
"Entry-audit initiated. Move along, recruit."
A voice snapped Eric back to reality. A skeleton in the uniform of the State
Army was standing by the array, holding a clipboard. His soulfire was a pale,
dim blue—a low-tier clerical unit.
"Recruitment letter."
Eric handed it over. The skeleton scanned the ink and made a sharp mark on his
board.
"Information Consolidation Unit. Assigned Department: Hub Operations Group.
Report Coordinate: B-Sector, Building 3, Level 2. Localize your Team Leader for
registration."
The skeleton returned the letter and pointed a bony hand toward the right-hand
thoroughfare.
"Follow the main vein. Left at the second junction. Localize the structure with
the yellow lanterns at the entryway."
"Yellow lanterns?"
"Affirmative. If your navigational nodes fail, query a Punishment Legion unit.
Do not venture toward the outer island chain; construction is active. If you
initiate a fall, no retrieval unit will be dispatched."
Eric offered his gratitude, hoisted his trunk, and set off. He stepped onto the
wide road, his boots striking the stone with a solid, anchored rhythm.
The wind swept up from the abyss below the islands, catching the hem of his
coat. He didn't look back at the transit pad.
The path ahead was long. The lights were blindingly bright.
He marched forward.
☆☆☆
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