Chapter 21:
High above the chaotic surface of Planet X-99, the observation deck of the NS-Sovereign was a cathedral of cold, flickering data. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and the quiet, frantic clicking of holographic interfaces being updated in real-time. High Proctor Vane stood at the central terminal, his silhouette framed against the viewport that looked down upon the bruised, violet clouds of the Forbidden Cradle.
An assistant stepped forward, his face pale under the sterile lights. He held a digital ledger that glowed with a haunting crimson hue.
"The numbers for the end of the second cycle, sir," the assistant murmured.
Vane took the tablet, his eyes scanning the data with the detached interest of a butcher examining a shipment of meat.
"Thirty percent," Vane read aloud, his voice like grinding stones. "Thirty percent of the Federation's 'brightest' have already broken their seals. Thirty percent have chosen to give up.
He scrolled further down. The ledger displayed a much smaller, darker column of data.
"And the casualties?"
"Four percent confirmed KIA, sir. Another two percent missing in the high-flux zones. The mutation rate of the local fauna was... underestimated. Several candidates were caught in the nectar-traps of the neon jungles before their shields could even deploy."
Vane signed the ledger with a sharp, biometric stroke. "The UHF doesn't want scholars who can only pass a written test; they want survivors who can weather a Rank 3 environment. If thirty percent opted out, it means the exam is working. The weak are being sifted. Proceed with the extraction protocols for the survivors at the summit."
He didn't care about the dead or the disqualified. His eyes were fixed on the top-ranking heat maps, specifically the one centered on the Eastern Sector trio. He didn't notice, however, a tiny flicker in the carrier's long-range sensor array—a shadow within a shadow that shouldn't have been there.
Inside the cloaked vessel, the "Unseen Watchers" were moving with predatory grace. Their screens didn't show the entire exam; they were focused on specific biometrics.
"The UHF thinks we are going to be here here for a massacre like last time," the rasping voice whispered. "They think we are common terrorists. They don't understand the value of raw, unrefined talent."
"Targeting parameters confirmed," the melodic voice replied. "The boy, Roman Dawson. The girl with the flame-affinity. The one with the gravity shield. Their soul-cores are vibrating at a frequency we haven't seen in the backwater sectors for decades. We don't just kill them; we harvest them."
"What about the Miller boy? Or the others from the Core Planets?"
"Low-tier. Their potential has either been capped by artificial stimulants or the risk of being caught due to their high family status as they will have protection artifacts from their families. We only take these pure ones and that are from low level backgrounds. Prepare the Null-Anchor. When the extraction ships descend at the seventy-second hour, we take our prize."
They weren't interested in a hundred students. They only wanted the three stars of Terra.
On the surface, Roman was moving through a valley of razor-sharp obsidian grass. The air here was so saturated with flux that it felt like breathing liquid static. His Truth-Seeking Bracelet was a constant hum against his wrist, filtering the chaotic energy signatures around him.
Suddenly, the bracelet flashed a deep, pulsing amber.
[ Target: rock-Lizard ]
[ Evolution Rank: 3-Star (initial Mutated) ]
[ Threat Level: Severe ]
The beast emerged from behind a pillar of black glass. It was a low-slung, armored nightmare, its tail ending in a cluster of vibrating spikes that could shatter steel. It was guarding a small, gnarled tree that grew in the center of a flux-pool—a tree that looked like it was made of translucent ruby.
"Shane, stay back," Roman commanded, his hand tightening on the Lightning Sword.
The lizard charged, its tail swinging in a lethal arc. Roman didn't retreat. He engaged Lightning Embodiment, his body becoming a blur of violet sparks. He stepped inside the lizard's guard, his sword singing as it carved through the beast's armored neck. The creature was fast, but Roman was reading its nervous system through True Sight.
One strike. One clean, high-voltage decapitation.
As the beast collapsed, Roman approached the ruby tree. Hanging from its branches were three small, glowing fruits that smelled of ozone and honey.
[ Object Identified: Flux-Marrow Fruit ]
[ Quality: 3-Star ]
[ Effect: Instantly replenishes 80% of Tamer Flux and strengthens Soul-Apertures. ]
"Heavenly Father..." Shane whispered, stepping forward. "Do you have any idea what those are worth on the black market? One of those could pay for a Core World apartment. Three? That's a fortune!"
Roman reached out to pluck the first fruit. He needed this. His flux was at forty percent, and the final ascent was coming. But as his fingers neared the ruby skin, a high-pitched whistling sound cut through the air.
A silver rapier buried itself in the ground inches from Roman's hand.
"Back away from the tree, trash."
Roman didn't flinch. He slowly stood up, turning to see a group of five students emerging from the obsidian mist. They were draped in high-end, flux-conductive gear that made the standard-issue UHF uniforms look like rags.
In the center was a tall boy with hair the color of spun gold—Julian Thorne, a "Gold-Blood" scion from the Core Planet of Neo-Avalon. Beside him, looking like a desperate hound trying to please its master, was Brent Miller.
Brent was battered, his 4-star aura erratic and strained, but he stood with a sneer that had returned the moment he joined this elite group.
"Roman Dawson," Brent spat, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and newfound bravado. "I told you that you wouldn't last. You're lucky Julian and his team decided to clear this sector. Now, move aside. That tree belongs to the boss."
Julian Thorne looked at Roman with a bored, condescending expression. "You've done well to survive this far, Terran. But those fruits are wasted on someone of your station. They are required for my final breakthrough before the summit. Leave now, and I might forget you were holding that sword with such... aggressive intent."
Roman looked at the fruit, then at Julian, and finally at Brent. His eyes, hidden behind the clouded film, held a coldness that made the surrounding flux-saturation feel like a warm breeze.
"The beast is dead by my hand," Roman said, his voice flat and dangerous. "The fruit is mine."
Shane stepped back, his shadow-lynx bristling. "Uh, Roman? These guys are from the Core Universities' direct recruitment list. Maybe we can... negotiate?"
"There is no negotiation with trash," Julian sighed, waving a hand dismissively. "Brent, you said you knew this boy. You said he was a nuisance from your home sector. Deal with him. Prove that your family's investment in that 4-star plan wasn't a total waste."
Brent's eyes lit up. This was it. The chance to reclaim his dignity in front of the elite. He pulled his high-grade rapier from the ground, the blade vibrating with a high-frequency hum.
"With pleasure, Julian," Brent said, stepping forward. He pointed the tip of his blade at Roman's throat. "You've had your fun playing king of the slums, Roman. But here? In the real world? You're just an obstacle to be cleared. Draw your sword. I'm going to show you the difference between a real 4-star evolution and whatever cheap trick you used to get here."
Roman didn't draw his sword. He didn't even move his feet. He simply looked at Brent as if he were an insect that had stayed too long on a windshield.
"You want to volunteer, Brent?" Roman asked, a tiny, predatory smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Be careful what you wish for. You only have one Identity Tag left."
The air between them crackled. Behind Roman, the ruby tree pulsed with light, and in the distance, the unseen watchers adjusted their sensors. The battle of the Eastern Sector was about to ignite, and only one of them would be leaving the valley with the prize.