Chapter 47: First Practical Evaluation

The morning after the results were posted Homeroom 1-A vibrated with a different kind of tension. The desperate suffocating silence of the exam week was gone. It was replaced by the restless kinetic energy of elite teenagers who were simply bored of sitting still.

Vane sat in his usual spot near the window. He sat with his back straight one boot resting comfortably on the rung of the chair ahead of him. The Star-Metal Spear wasn’t with him. Weapons were banned in the lecture halls but the phantom weight of it was still there grounding him.

Across the room Valerica Sol gave him a nod. It was a small movement of her head barely noticeable. To the rest of the class watching it was a declaration.

’The Titan acknowledges the Rat,’ Vane thought suppressing a smirk.

Next to her Isole Sylvaris was cleaning her glasses with a cloth made of shadow. She caught Vane’s eye and offered a faint conspiratorial smile.

The heavy oak door slammed open. Instructor Rowan Draeven walked in.

He didn’t carry books. He didn’t carry a tablet. He walked to the obsidian podium with the casual stride of a man who had killed things for a living and found teaching to be the more exhausting profession.

He stood there for ten seconds letting his silence crush the chatter in the room.

“Mid-terms are over,” Rowan announced his voice sounding like gravel in a mixer. “You have proven you can read and write. Congratulations. You are now functionally literate.”

He leaned forward placing his scarred hands on the podium.

“But Zenith isn’t a library. It is a forge. And reading about fire doesn’t teach you how not to get burned.”

He tapped the podium. The holographic projector flared to life above him. It displayed a massive rotating topographical map of a region Vane recognized instantly from his perimeter walks.

Sector 4: The Clockwork Ruins.

“Your First Practical Evaluation begins at 0600 hours tomorrow,” Rowan said. “Attendance is mandatory. Absence will result in immediate expulsion.”

He zoomed in on the map. It was a sprawling artificial dungeon complex. A cityscape of rusted gears and crumbling stone towers and dense mechanical jungles. It looked like a playground designed by a mad architect.

“This isn’t a duel,” Rowan said. His eyes scanned the room lingering on the flashy duelists in the front row. “Dueling is a sport with rules and referees. War is an ecosystem. Tomorrow we are dumping the entire First Year class… all one thousand of you… into Sector 4.”

A ripple of excitement went through the room. One thousand students. A massive free-for-all.

“The objective is simple,” Rowan continued. “Points.”

The map lit up with thousands of tiny glowing gold dots scattered randomly throughout the ruins. They were buried in rubble hidden atop towers and submerged in oil pits.

“Scattered throughout the sector are three thousand Data Tokens. Copper tokens are worth 10 points. Silver are 50. Gold are 100. You find them. You scan them. You get the points.”

He paused. A dry smile touched the corner of his scarred mouth.

“However digging in the dirt is slow. And frankly it is boring.”

The map shifted. The gold dots remained but now red dots appeared to simulate students.

“Every student will be issued a tracking band. This band contains a base value of 50 points. If you neutralize another student… force them to surrender… knock them unconscious or trigger their emergency shield… their points transfer to you.”

The room buzzed with whispers.

“It is a Treasure Hunt,” Rowan said softly. “Combined with a Battle Royale. There are no squads. There are no teammates. You are deploying individually.”

Vane leaned forward his mind racing.

No squads. That changed everything. He didn’t have to babysit a weak link. He didn’t have to coordinate with people who might stab him in the back.

’Every rat for himself,’ he mused.

“There are no referees inside the sector,” Rowan added. “There are no timeouts. You keep the points you take.”

Vane looked around the room. A generic Wind-mage sitting three rows down was staring at the screen with wide eyes. He didn’t look terrified exactly just overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the chaos.

“The grading criteria are twofold,” Rowan explained. “First is Accumulation. The students with the highest point totals win the lion’s share of the semester’s Merit distribution.”

“Second is Survival. The simulation runs for forty-eight hours. If your personal shield triggers you are out. If you are extracted you are out.”

Rowan straightened up. “There are no rules of engagement regarding methods. Use traps. Use ambush tactics. Use psychological warfare. I don’t care. Just win.”

He looked directly at Anastasia in the front row.

“And do not think your rank protects you. In the ruins a Duke bleeds just as fast as a Commoner. Faster usually because they shine brighter.”

He looked at Vane.

“And don’t think hiding will save you. The sector shrinks every six hours. The outer zones will be purged by a rolling wall of suppression mana. If you camp you are eliminated.”

Rowan turned off the projector.

“You have twenty-four hours to prepare your gear plan your strategy and get a good night’s sleep. Class dismissed.”

The room erupted into chaos. Students scrambled shouting names and checking gear the tension breaking into eager preparation.

Vane stood up slowly. He felt calm.

In Oakhaven this was just Tuesday. Scavenging for scraps while dodging people who wanted to beat you up wasn’t an exam. That was childhood.

He looked at Valerica. She cracked her knuckles looking mildly interested for the first time all week.

He looked at Isole. She was already calculating probability vectors on her tablet.

They would be fine.

Vane walked toward the exit. He felt the eyes of the class on his back.

Every noble who felt slighted by his existence was going to come for him.

Vane smiled. It was a dark hungry expression.

’Let them come,’ he thought.

He had a Star-Metal Spear. He had an SS-Rank Authority that he understood better than his own heartbeat. The muscle memory was perfect and the concept was absolute.

He walked out of the classroom and headed for Villa 1.

He needed to sharpen his spear. Tomorrow the King of Rats was going hunting.

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