Seth propped his chin on his now-fully-healed arm, the morning sun's rays warming his face just enough to prevent his golden eyes from closing. Beside him, Elena was beaming with joy, her enchanted quill scratching furiously across the piece of parchment in front of her every time Captain Michaelson opened his bearded mouth in front of the class. The past week had passed in a flash.

Since the three final rounds of the Spring Tournament had been canceled, everyone had been talking about the exact same thing: war.

Theories on the motives behind the Bridan Empire's declaration were plentiful, but Seth, thanks to the Champions of Chaos, knew parts of the truth: House heads and high officers of Trogan's army had delved into a Rift alongside a traitor of the empire and had found resources that would cause any Gold Wielders—and even a Platinum one—to drool from envy. How could their northern neighbors sit on their hands in such a situation? They were stronger, and that treasure should have been theirs in the first place since it had been in their territory.

Oh, not this again, Seth sighed internally as Captain Michaelson pointed at the list of sentences displayed on the enchanted board behind him.

The twelve war amendments from the NEVAK.

Every single day of the past week, the man had been hammering those amendments into their heads. The five of the most-powerful countries and entities—the Northern Confederation, the Republic of Eryndor, the Velmark Kingdom, the Aelmyra Empire, and the Kravess Union—together had decided to establish rules for every war that took place in the eastern or western continents.

Twelve amendments that every nation had to follow if they didn't want to lose the union's protection, or get crushed by them. Everything depended on the offense. Still, most countries didn't complain; without the union's backing, nothing would stop several nations from joining forces to wipe them out and claim their resources.

On paper, those amendments were meant to ensure some kind of justice, prevent unnecessary civilian casualties and make wars a little more fair, yet Seth couldn't help but feel that there were hidden goals. With a sigh, he glanced at the list behind the captain.

1. All battles must be fought in the Warfare Rifts for a duration of 18 months.

2. Battles begin 3 months after the declaration of war.

3. Victory in battles is declared when one side is entirely killed, captured, or forced to leave the Warfare Rift, or by the largest number of survivors inside once the time limit is reached.

4. Battles have a time limit of 10, 20, 30, or 40 days depending on the number of squads.

5. Each squad is composed of up to 50 Wielders.

6. During the first six months, only Copper and Iron Wielders are allowed to participate. Thereafter, the Tier increases by one every four months.

7. Battles can involve 2, 4, 8, or 16 squads, based on the format decided by the NEVAK.

8. The war ends when either of the main nations in conflict surrender.

9. Battle schedules are preset, with 1 to 5 battles occurring each week.

10. If a nation wants to use Wielders of an ally, they must inform the NEVAK before the first battle.

11. No external nations may intervene during the conflict or for a 1-year peace period following the end of war.

12. The nation declaring war must state the reward they seek. The opposing nation has until the start of battles to declare a reward of equal value. If either nation uses or loses their reward before the end of the war, they must provide something of equal value.

Fighting in Rifts with equal numbers of Wielders seemed great, but the sixth amendment made Seth grit his teeth every time. The Copper and Iron Tiers were almost exclusively filled by commoners stuck at the different Ranks, mostly those ending with zero. The casualties of the first four months of war would be them: the worthless pawns.

According to Toren, there was no way war would go on for more than six months. The crown couldn't afford to lose any Silver Wielders, let alone Gold ones. They'd forfeit before it came to that. And by then, the crown and the Houses would have probably used all those valuable resources they'd acquired from the Rift. Which raised the question: what of equal value would Kastal offer the Bridan Empire?

A sharp elbow jabbed Seth's ribs.

"Hey, focus," Elena whispered.

"Yeah, yeah, I am," he answered with a sigh, glancing at her.

The noblewoman's emerald eyes were almost glowing, filled to the brisk with eagerness. She had always dreamed of a military career, so she could follow her father's footsteps and bring justice to this world—and this was the perfect occasion to prove herself. But Seth knew all that delusional vision of the upcoming war would crumble once bodies started piling up.

Stolen novel; please report.

'We should hunt to prepare,' Nightmare said through Link from within Seth's teardrop necklace. 'And find a way to hatch Small Bite.'

Seth exhaled slowly, flexing the finger of his previously broken arm. 'Yeah… I'll grab a beast-hunting contract after class… and I'll keep scouring through the library.'

He had already searched through half of it for any mention of harvesting a beast egg, but everything he had found had been too vague to be useful.

At the front of the room, Captain Michaelson stopped his lecture and eyed a communication orb on his desk. Then, his voice broke through the room's murmurs: "All right, that's it for today. The director wants everyone at the coliseum, so let's move."

After a small delay, Seth stood and began gathering his books, but paused when Elena's hand suddenly grabbed his messenger bag to hold up for him.

"You know, I can do it myself now," Seth said, gently taking the bag from the noblewoman.

"Oh. Right. Sorry," she mumbled as she turned back toward her own things.

From the nobleman's other side, Jenna leaned over with a wicked grin. "So, does this mean Dev doesn't have to cut your food and… well clean your ass for you anymore?"

Seth rolled his eyes and slung the bag over his shoulder. "For the tenth time, it was a joke. Only one of my arms was broken. He didn't have to help me with that."

"If you say so," Jenna retorted with a wink that made Seth groan.

The trio filed out with the rest of the class, weaving through the academy's halls before stepping outside into the cool air and heading toward the towering coliseum. The building's arches cast long shadows as students chatted around them. Seth couldn't help but feel a knot in his stomach; whatever that announcement was, it would likely be about the war.

The moment they entered the arena, Captain Michaelson began to bark out orders, forcing their group to sit together. Seth spotted Devus waving from another section. The Guardian gestured wildly toward the instructors lining the coliseum walls. Seth's eyes almost immediately landed on a man standing a few steps away from Professor Reat. Tall and imposing, with a thick beard and a scar slicing down from his eyebrow to his cheek—it was the new Guardians' instructor who had replaced Lucius' brother, Sergeant Faertis.

After the announcement of the war, the bastard had suddenly left. Probably to be far away when Toren would unconceal his name inside the communication orb Seth had picked up from Ronard's body. So far, no one outside of the Black Hounds and its leader had paid the price for the deaths of the commoners in both the Desert of Misery and the Fishlords Empire Rifts—nor for Theodora, whose corpse had been found in a forest near Trogan a few days ago.

The only survivors of the Desert of Misery were himself and Selena, who was now escorted by four guards whenever she left the academy grounds.

The students' collective chatter faded as all seven board members, clad in dark-crimson uniforms, took their place with Director Ryehill on the platform in the middle of the coliseum's arena. The man, wearing his signature black jacket, surveyed the sea of students with an unreadable gaze.

I still haven't thanked him for the trial, Seth thought, looking at the director.

Jenna leaned closer to Elena, her voice barely reaching Seth's ears. "Do you think he'll announce the squads?"

"Probably," the noblewoman answered.

Jenna nodded, her gaze flickering toward the stage. "I hope we're all in the same one. You, me, Devus, and Seth. Wouldn't that be great?"

Elena hummed in agreement, then glanced at Seth, who remained quiet, staring at the board members. "You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," he replied with a nod.

The truth, though, had been sitting heavy in his chest for the past week. This wasn't his war. Not really. It wasn't just a lack of patriotism toward a nation that abused commoners—it was deeper than that. This conflict wasn't about protecting people or their homes.

It was solely driven by cupidity.

The crown and a handful of high nobles were about to send thousands to their deaths just for some resources. Whatever those were, it certainly wasn't worth the lives of all those commoners who'd be the first to fall.

Jenna scoffed, leaning past Elena forward to catch Seth's eye. "Think you need to tell your face, you've got the same look Dev had when Brandon beat his ass at the beginning of the year."

Seth forced a tight smile. "I'm just… thinking about how things will turn out."

Jenna opened her mouth to call out his lie a second time, but a sharp clap of Director Ryehill's hands silenced her and the twenty-five-hundred students in the stands. Seth's attention snapped back to the stage as the salt-and-pepper haired man stepped forward.

"Attention," the director began, his voice carrying effortlessly through the vast space. "For the past week, you've all learned the basics of war: strategy, formations, survival tactics. But theory alone won't be enough for what lies ahead of us. It's time for the next phase."

The man paused and scanned the crowd. "Every one of you will play a major role in the defense of Kastal against the Bridan Empire. This is not a training exercise. This is not one of the academy tournaments. This is war. Your skills, your coordination, and your dedication will be what stands between our people and their army."

Seth's jaw tightened. Bullshit.

"To ensure optimal synergy," Director Ryehill continued, gesturing to the board members behind him, "the crown has decreed a specific way we will fight. Squads will not mix students from the three main academies, nor will mix Wielders from the Adventurers Guild or the noble Houses. As a military institution, our academy has been tasked with forming self-contained units capable of performing seamlessly in the heat of the battle."

Ryehill clapped once again, and glowing lists appeared out of thin air above the stage. Fifty names were displayed under each squad number, which went from 1 to 48. Students craned their necks, murmurs rippling through the crowd as they scanned those lists.

Seth clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms the moment he noticed a pattern. Squads 1 through 34 consisted exclusively of nobles, while Squads 36 to 48 were made up of commoners. Only Squad 35 had both mixed together—probably because the amounts didn't fit for a perfect separation.

They'll send commoners out as cannon fodder, Seth fumed inwardly. He couldn't find any other reasons why they would divide them like that. They aren't even hiding it.

'Squad 48,' Nightmare growled in Seth's mind as he looked at the list through their bond. 'Did they put you in the weakest one?'

Seth's gaze moved to his name, at the bottom of the fifty ones. 'I don't think the number represents the squads' strength. But who knows, we'll find out soon enough.'

'It won't matter, though,' the direwolf answered. 'We're going to win these battles ourselves anyway.'

Seth didn't answer. His eyes drifted back to the seven members of the administration board before turning cold as ice. If those people tried to send him to a certain death, he could still become a deserter. The damn enchantment engraved in his forearm might prevent him from leaving the nation, but it didn't stop him from entering Rifts—as long as he emerged within Kastal's land. That still left him with countless options.

He'd die sooner or later, but it wouldn't be for that greedy king.

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