Chapter 7
As soon as the director left the room, I stared at Zion, making my outrage clear.
I glanced around, thinking this had to be some kind of joke—that any second a TV crew would burst in with cameras to reveal a tasteless prank.
While I was stuck in my denial phase, the general ignored me, busy getting acquainted with his new class who, as I suspected, had shit for brains, since they all gazed at him with the same reckless eagerness young people have when eyeing something dangerous.
Zion strolled around calmly, asking everyone the same questions, then assessing their physique before moving on to the next recruit—no small talk, no comments—which only made him more extraordinary in the class's eyes.
I clenched my jaw when I noticed the sighs from the girls around me, the eyelashes batting nonstop in his direction, the cheeks flushed with blatant interest. I balled my hands into fists, took a deep breath, and told myself this was just a biological reaction and none of my business.
Just the damned biological compatibility of the infernal bond. I exhaled.
I finally got a good look at him: he was dressed like a trainer, wearing the vest with the academy's circular emblem on his chest and even holding Cauê's whistle. I sighed. What did I expect? He really was the trainer.
“Something wrong?” he asked with a hint of amusement. I heard some of the girls stifling laughter, and I realized I should have been introducing myself, not gawking at him like an idiot.
I blinked, fumbling for words:
“Kyller, twenty-one, level 550 elemental. I'm a healer and my last name is Kyller Voluz… I mean Voluz, just Voluz. From Interian.” I spoke way too fast, jumbling everything up. My face burned with each new stupid thing that came out of my mouth.
The laughter, previously contained, turned into real guffaws.
I held my breath and tried not to do anything stupid.
Right then, I wanted to dig a hole in the ground and bury my head in it.
Zion turned and stared at the students, silencing the commotion.
Then he returned to the center of the room as if nothing had happened, and for a moment, I felt a little less pathetic.
By the gods, I couldn't even organize my thoughts, but at least the lie had rolled off my tongue easily.
From Interian, my ass—I was a Drutes descendant, and my features screamed it.
Yet no one questioned my last name. After the Great War, there were a few redheaded half-breeds left from unions between Interians and Drutes, but they were rare and lived on the margins of society, branded with the genetics of traitors.
The only one I'd ever met was in this room.
His name was Hiro, but he didn't have many Drutes features, and out of fear of being shunned, I'd never spoken to him.
“You have one hour to warm up, and then I want you to form two lines in front of the ring,” Zion told the class.
If he was disappointed to learn about my performance at the academy, I didn't even want to know what he'd say when he saw me in action.
“I want you running laps around the gymnasium—don't stop until you hear the whistle!” he exclaimed, gesturing for us to get ready.
A chorus of “Yes, General” rang out.
“One more thing: here I'm not a general, I'm just a trainer. So address me as such.”
“Yes, Trainer!” we responded.
I grabbed Breno's hand and dragged him off to warm up, which earned me a sideways look from Zion. Each lap around the academy took about ten minutes to complete, and as I ran, I shot my friend a desperate look. He returned it with pure panic. We really were a perfect pair.
“We're fucked,” I mouthed silently, making sure no one could hear.
“I know,” he mouthed back, panting.
I didn't want to have to fight. I hated the wrestling classes because I'd always been terrible, and the other students used it as an excuse to hurt me—something they couldn't get away with outside.
Fights outside the ring meant trouble with the university, plus a hefty fine.
Breno always offered to be my partner. But even with him being the one to take me down, it was humiliating to be watched by eighteen students who didn't even like me.
I always felt like a circus attraction whenever I was thrown into the ring.
Still, better Breno, who only pushed me to my limit, than some other recruit who saw me as a punching bag.
They believed the lie about my birth, but hatred for the Drutes was so deeply ingrained that even the Voluz surname couldn't shield me from their fury.
That's how I became the class punching bag.
“I know we're about to get massacred by some masochistic training session, but I wanted to ask you something first,” my friend said.
“Go ahead!” We were panting, and it wasn't even the third lap. Gods have mercy—let that whistle blow soon!
“The third War on the Frontiers movie came out.” He took a deep breath.
“And I'm taking Dominic to see it.” He stopped, making me stop too.
I could tell Breno was hesitant about how to continue.
But before he could even finish, my lips twisted with an aversion I couldn't control.
“Oh, I can't believe it. I haven't even finished inviting you to see a movie and you're already saying no.”
“That's not it, Breno. The invitation isn't the problem. You know the movie theater is in the faeric district, and I can't risk going there. A descendant boy was killed this week—it would be stupid to let my guard down outside the walls.”
He looked annoyed but pressed his lips into a thin line and held back whatever he was thinking.
“Okay,” he replied, sullen.
“Seriously? You're going to be mad at me?”
Breno seemed to consider it, and a few seconds later, his face softened, amusement returning.
“I'm not upset, but I wish you'd say yes at least once. We could have fun, Kay. Besides, my brother's always asking when we're all going out together.”
“Dominic is the most amazing kid in the world, but I can't risk it in the faeric district.”
“All right, I understand,” he said, gazing at the path ahead.
We kept running in silence. For some reason, though, Breno's silence felt louder than mine, and he seemed to be avoiding my eyes. When we heard the whistle, we headed to the front of the ring, panting, and formed two lines. Zion gave us time to get water, watching us curiously the whole time.
“I heard the rules for hand-to-hand combat have changed since I graduated,” he said, his expression unreadable. “So I'm curious what they are now. Lorena, can you tell me the rules?”
“Yes, trainer!” The blonde stepped forward. “Fights last a maximum of five minutes. Whoever gets pinned by their opponent for ten uninterrupted seconds loses. Targeting eyes, hair, or groin is forbidden.”
“No knockout?” Zion looked disappointed.
Lorena looked at the class, confused, her blue eyes wide.
“Knockout? You mean knocking the opponent unconscious?”
“Yes, a fight only ends when that happens,” the general said, so matter-of-factly it might as well have been universal law. Meanwhile, we grew more apprehensive by the second.
“No, sir. There are no knockouts in our training.”
Zion's lips pressed into a firm line. From what little I could read of his expressions, this was his version of a scowl.
“You've been playing at fighting instead of actually preparing. Now I understand why the quality of new soldiers has declined in recent years.”
The rules had changed a year before I arrived at the academy, and I thanked the gods for that. They said the training used to be brutal, and the hospital would be packed with injured students.
“At least this last semester, you'll get to train for real.”
Around me, students exchanged stunned looks.
“Are you saying we're going back to traditional training?” asked Adrian, the director's son. “With knockouts and everything?”
“You need to understand that there are no rules in battle.
No enemy will show mercy after ten seconds.
The truth is, in less than two, you'll be dead.” This time, his tone was gentler, as if explaining something simple to children.
“I'm not here to play at fighting. I came to train soldiers who will survive and return safe and sound to Interion.
Many of you will be in my squad after graduation, and I won't train kids just to bury them afterward. From now on, the rules have changed. Are we clear?”
Around me, the students didn't even blink.
“Yes, trainer,” we responded, a bit hesitantly. He'd asked us to call him trainer, but everything about his posture screamed general.
“So, let's move on to the first exercise.
I want to see how you perform in hand-to-hand combat.
I'll call two students at a time, and I want you to fight—but forget the old rules.
You won't be choosing your opponents.” Zion's eyes were on me, making it clear that the days of friendly sparring with Breno were over.
“You need to face different people to adapt to varying strengths and sizes.” He positioned himself beside the ring.
“The fight only ends when your opponent can no longer get up. The only rules are: no serious damage to vital organs, and no using your gifts without permission.” He ticked them off on his fingers.
“Let me be very clear—right now, I'm not giving anyone permission. If anyone uses a gift during training, there will be punishment.”
Maybe I'd misunderstood. There was no way Zion was suggesting we fight until we dropped. I turned to Breno, and he stared back at me, shocked. Zion had to be losing it.
“First pair: Adrian Sigmund and Lorena Castanov.”