A single, sharp ping resonated from Markus's comm, sending a ripple through the Academy's network. [Briefing Room 4. Immediately. Team combat strategy meeting]
"Come," Markus said. He didn't look at the other students scrambling in the halls; his focus was entirely on the path ahead. "Let's meet the team that will be sweeping the floor of the first-year's defend the castle team combat event."
Markus didn't waste time with pleasantries. He hit the master toggle, and the room's lighting dimmed to a tactical amber.
The digital projection flared to life, a crystalline map of the arena hanging in the air like a captured fragment of the future.
"Watch the flow." With a series of deft swipes, he initiated a multivariate combat simulation. Ghostly red-and-blue signatures flickered across the map, showing dozens of overlapping "Worst-Case" scenarios—from multi-flank sieges to high-tier assassination dives—all being predicted by Markus's foresight and intellect."
"BIG BROTHER!—" Rosanne's shout echoed off the vaulted ceiling, a sharp, joyous contrast to the low-frequency hum of the projectors.
She choked on the rest of her sentence, her boots screeching to a halt as she finally noticed the room wasn't empty.
Her gaze traveled from Markus's suddenly rigid posture to the Imperial Princess, and finally to the towering, armored "Shadow" behind her.
Rosanne froze, her mouth still half-open from her previous shout, as the reality sank in: the Imperial Princess, who sat next to Emperor Valerian, was in attendance.
"Princess Rosalind, I would like to introduce you to my team members, Rosanne. This loud and unruly child is our main support and healer. And standing behind her Jessica, Donna, and Mika."
"The elemental pillars of our defense," Markus noted, his Fate's Eyes momentarily reflecting the latent energy of his team.
"Jessica commands the heavens, her lightning-mastery acting as our long-range executioner. Donna is the invisible hand, weaving the wind into shields and slipstreams that defy traditional physics. And Mika provides the silence—an ice awakener whose frost doesn't just freeze; it halts the very heartbeat of a siege."
"And the one who keeps us all alive," Markus added, a teasing but proud glint in his eye. "Rosanne is our cornerstone.
She commands from the backlines, acting as the unit's central nervous system. She's the steady hand that turns a chaotic brawl into a calculated victory."
Jessica stepped out of the lineup, her presence instantly bridging the gap between 'student' and 'noble.' She reached out for a handshake, a daring move in the presence of a Swiss Guard. "Last time was your birthday bash at the Capital. You've grown, Your Highness—though I see your 'shadow' is still just as tall."
The connection was more than social; it was a debt of survival. Rosalind accepted the hand, recognizing the calloused strength inherent in the Johnson bloodline.
This was the merchant house that had forged its fortune in the fires of the apocalypse, rising from the chaos as the primary logistics backbone of the new world. While other nobles hid behind their walls, the Johnsons had crossed the "Great Dead-Zones" to deliver medical supplies and rations to the frontline.
Jessica's presence in Markus's unit was a masterstroke—it brought the weight of the Empire's most vital supply-chain to the Blackwell table.
"Senior Jessica," Rosalind returned, her smile small but meticulously perfect.
"It has been far too long. I've spent my months in the palace hearing tales of your family's newest 'Thunderbolt' at the Academy. It seems the stories didn't do you justice."
"I have synthesized several 'worst-case' scenarios based on the known Tier-capabilities of the opposing first-year squads," he noted, his Fate's Eyes scanning the room with cold expectation. "Sit. Let's get to work. I want a full tactical breakdown of our elemental overlaps."
"This isn't a lecture, and I'm not interested in blind consensus," Markus said, his gaze leveling with each of them in turn. "Consider this an open war council. If my calculus is flawed or if you see a tactical opening I've overlooked, tear it apart now. If you have a dissenting view, voice it—our victory depends on the friction of our ideas."
Rosalind watched him, her brows lifting in subtle surprise. In the Imperial Court, dissent was often seen as a challenge to authority—a spark to be extinguished.
But here, Markus was actively fanning the flames, inviting his team to hunt for his weaknesses.
She looked at the Swiss Guard, whose posture had shifted from 'protective' to 'observant.' They weren't just watching a school project; they were witnessing the birth of a high-tier command structure.
The tactical flicker of the holographic maps finally dimmed as the briefing crossed the two-hour mark.
"A masterclass in anticipation, Markus," she noted, her gaze lingering on the finalized defensive vectors. "I would stay to see the final iteration, but the Imperial schedule is a relentless master, and my prior arrangements will not permit a delay."
Rosalind departed promptly, while Markus and his team continued with their scenario simulations.
Markus didn't waste a second on a goodbye; he was already recalibrating the terrain sensors.
"Rosanne, tighten the healing radius. Donna, I want those wind-walls layered above Mika's Ice barrier." The team settled back into their seats with the synchronized grace of a well-oiled machine.
8:30 PM. The tactical maps dissolved into a soft amber glow as Markus cut the power.
They had spent over five hours dissecting every possible failure, and the mental fatigue was starting to show.
The group departed for the dining hall, where students from various academies could be seen mingling with one another.
The clatter of cutlery was punctuated by the low-frequency drone of a dozen different dialects. Here, in the heart of the Academy's social engine, the 'Defend the Castle' event was the only topic on anyone's lips.
Every gaze in the hall, from wealthy scions to the common awakeners, pivoted toward the "Star of the Opening Ceremony."
Markus moved through the room with a terrifyingly effortless gravity, his Fate's Eyes scanning the crowd not with arrogance, but with the cold, analytical precision of a grandmaster assessing a board.
Markus claimed a secluded table in the hall's far corner, a vantage point that offered a clear line of sight to every student within the room.
"The usual, Rose," he murmured, his voice low enough to stay within their private radius. "And extra butter for the baguette."
Markus peered through the fabric of space and spent his time analysing various potential threats within the room. He tracked the 'flow' of power, noting the way certain students subconsciously gave way to others, marking the hidden leaders of the rival academies.
The meal passed in an uneventful, heavy silence. The proudest warriors in the hall kept their distance, their instinct for self-preservation outweighing their ego; the Blackwell name was a deterrent they weren't yet ready to challenge.
However, the air remained thick with silent reconnaissance. Unable to find a handle on Markus, the rival factions began a systematic audit of his team.
They cataloged Donna's nervous habits and Rosanne's protective proximity, mentally filing away every trait and tic. To the room, Markus was a fortress, but they hoped his teammates might be the unlocked gates that would lead to his downfall.
Markus stepped into his dorm and let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The day's "performance" was over.
He headed straight for Nagini, who was coiled in the center of the bed like a living spring of spatial energy. She was growing—not just in size, but in the sheer weight of her mana-signature.
Markus surrounded Nagini with a fortune in mana stones, the gems glowing like dying stars as she drained their essence to fuel her growth. She let out a low, vibrating hiss of recognition, feeling comfort in Markus's warmth as he returned.