My jumpsuit was covered in grey smudges and dust. My left shoulder ached — it had taken the lion's share of the bolts. My right butt cheek didn't escape either — it caught much fewer, but they'd been premium-grade high-voltage zaps. My hair was standing on end — I hadn't seen myself, but I'd bet good money I looked like I'd escaped straight from a prison camp, right through the electric fence.

After that unusually active training session, sand was everywhere — in my hair, my boots, and somehow even inside my underwear. The sensation wasn't just uncomfortable — it was straight-up painful. Worse than the shoulder or my butt, honestly. Though figuring out what exactly hurt in the butt area was... complicated. I couldn't wait to get back to the dorms and into the shower to scrub all this mess off.

The metro platform under the dome welcomed me with soft lighting and the familiar moist air, tinged with antiseptic and a hint of machine oil.

Training with Kate had been... useful. I had to admit it. She spent the first few minutes openly torturing me, but she never actually crossed the line — the one where I'd be genuinely injured. And in the second half, she adjusted. Held back just enough. She only landed maybe half her shots, and often let me win. On purpose. I'm not stupid — I could tell. She had me on a leash, the way a coach keeps their finger on a runner's pulse. Just enough pressure to keep me focused. Just enough victories to keep me from breaking.

Was that a personal talent… or the Novak school of mentorship?

The train pulled in. The doors clicked open and I stepped into a surprisingly packed carriage. All the seats were taken, and the standing spots were nearly full. Still, the passengers kept to themselves. A few people were scrolling through their interface feeds in mid-air, like I usually do. A few armoured cadets leaned against the poles at the back. One of them — a woman in black-and-yellow armour not unlike mine — was holding a spear. Another had a two-handed hammer.

That black-and-red armour…

The man slid his eyes across the cabin, caught sight of me. Our eyes met. He raised an eyebrow, smirked, and beckoned with a finger.

"How's life, rookie?" asked Johansen. His tone was friendly, and he wasn't suppressing me with his impressive aura, considering he was a fourth-stage cultivator. So I replied just as casually.

"What, doesn't it show?" I smiled and spread my arms.

"Alive. And in one piece?" he asked, glancing at the finger wearing the lure-ring. His eyes lingered a second too long. I got the hint — but there were too many ears in the carriage. Some conversations were better left unspoken in public.

"So far, yeah," I said. "But no idea how much longer I'll last. My mentor tried to electrocute me today."

Karl smiled, leaning back against the carriage wall. His hammer stood by his feet — heavy, as if rooted to the floor. Though the head wasn't massive. At a glance, it looked like it was cast from bronze or something similar. Not real bronze, obviously — cultivators don't mess with plain old metals — and the dark cherry tint gave it away. That, and the golden filaments that pulsed faintly if you stared too long. The sides were engraved with patterns — not runes, not glyphs, more decorative. No clear structure I could make out. They looked... alive, shifting when you weren't looking straight at them.

The handle was just as unusual — long, dark, smooth, with the irregular grain of real wood. It felt like something grown, not carved.

The hammer radiated a deep sort of power — not wild, but dormant, ancient, and heavy. That thing had its own aura! It looked like something out of legend — a relic — and it was definitely cooler than his old mace.

"Ahhh! I remember those sweet days of youth when my biggest problem was a mentor trying to crush me with their blessed mace…" Karl said wistfully.

"Speaking of maces…" I nodded toward the hammer. "Switched weapons?"

"Yup! Been meaning to for a while. This one fits my new technique better — plus that damn mace just refused to stay put." He gestured toward the hammer. "Now I don't have to bend over to pick up my weapon."

I smiled at the joke.

It's the little things like that that really make you envy blade and point cultivators with their flying weapon tricks.

"Damn telekinetics!" Karl agreed at once.

"Hey!" snapped the woman with the spear beside us. She even gave the floor a sharp smack with the butt of her weapon — judging by the sound, it was fully metal and weighed a solid ton.

"Sorry, sorry!" Karl apologised quickly, palms pressed together in mock prayer, metal clinking softly. Then he leaned toward me and whispered, joking, "Never insult a Dubois. They've got feelings."

It looked like they knew each other well. She was probably from the same clan as my own Dubois — the one from the dorm. I really needed names now to tell them apart. And I still didn't remember what mine was called.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

"And Johanssons are such children," the woman replied with a sigh.

"Johansson's one of the great families too?" I asked, careful not to overstep. You don't casually insult someone with a Golden Core.

Luckily, I hadn't crossed a line. Both Karl and the spearwoman laughed.

"Nope," said Karl. "But I'm working on it."

"Not working very well…" the woman teased, and then introduced herself. "Charlotte Dubois."

"Jake Sullivan," I replied with a polite nod.

"The Jake Sullivan?" she asked, surprised.

Karl and I exchanged uncertain glances.

"You live in the same dorm block as my Erik!" she explained. "You just got promoted to assistant supervisor — replaced Bao boy."

"Oh, right. Yeah." I nodded.

So his name's Erik Dubois.

"What'd Bao do to get kicked out?" Karl asked, then turned to Charlotte. "That's your family's level, isn't it?"

"He blew his cultivation during his very first Flow Chamber session."

"Yikes…" Karl winced. Then he clapped me on the shoulder, full of mock sympathy. "Hang in there, buddy. That little shit's gonna want revenge."

My eyebrows jumped. Sounded like someone knew that family pretty well.

"Actually, he had some claims, but we sorted things out eventually."

Karl and Charlotte exchanged a glance.

"Don't let your guard down…" Karl advised.

Great reputation these Bao guys had.

I nodded.

"Shame… He's my roommate." I leaned in slightly and lowered my voice. "Started out like a total arsehole, but lately he's mellowed out a bit. Almost acting human."

"Bao? Acting human?" Johansson snorted — loud enough for everyone in the car to hear. "I'd like to see that."

I looked around. I really didn't want that line echoing through the entire train.

"You sure you're not from one of the great houses?" I asked, pointedly.

"I'm Golden Core," he said with a shrug. "Too much hassle to care."

"Well I'm not," I added, a little sharper.

"Ahhh…" Karl finally caught on. "Got it."

Not long after that, Karl and Charlotte stepped off at the next station, and the rest of the ride passed in silence.

But just when I thought I'd finally hit my daily social limit, fate decided otherwise.

As I was stepping off the train, I nearly bumped into a familiar face — that girl from the infirmary: S. R. Mehra.

She was coming from the neighbouring carriage and spotted me almost instantly.

"Oh, swollen fists!" Her voice was confident and just a touch mocking. She pointed at me like calling out a public exhibit.

In response, I lifted my hands in display.

We naturally walked in the same direction, and she decided to keep the conversation going.

"Find anything else in the metro?" she teased. "No new girlfriend this time?"

"Nope. My current girlfriend's banned me from picking up random objects."

"Ah!" she laughed. "So you're not coming back from a date, then?" She gave me a sceptical look, clearly noting my scruffy state — the hair still sticking out in all directions, and my sand-dusted jumpsuit.

"Believe it or not, even I have a slightly better concept of romance. Wrestling in the sand while getting zapped in the ass is not on my dream date list."

We reached the lifts together and stepped into one, along with three other first-periods.

"The whole getting zapped in the ass part is throwing me a little…" Mehra said, just loud enough for our elevator-mates to give me side-eyes. "But whatever. So what is your idea of romance?" she asked, eyes narrowing flirtatiously as she leaned against the lift wall like it was a bar counter and not a cold metal panel.

"Uhh… Coffee place. Tea. Maybe a greenhouse. Some greenery. Fresh air…"

Even I heard how lazy and dull that sounded. No surprise she gave a short, unimpressed laugh.

"Seriously?" Her voice rang with theatrical disbelief. "Sunset on a blooming mountain. A crimson sky painting white flowers pink. The air — pure and fragrant, filled with blossoms and the smoke rising from the burning village of your enemies below. Their screams of agony reach your ears like sweet, sweet music — the perfect soundtrack for your wild lovemaking. Now that's romance."

Now everyone in the lift was staring at her.

I raised an eyebrow.

"And the thing that threw you was my line about getting zapped in the ass? But screams of agony — that's sweet music?"

"Screams of enemies in agony," she clarified, lifting a finger in mock seriousness — just as the lift doors slid open and she stepped out.

"Later!"

I swear, at least half of cultivators have some sort of issue in the head…

Romance, my ass. The shower — that's true love.

After washing off enough sand to start a small beach, I made it to lunch — finally able to sit down and relax my shoulders. They still ached from training, but at least I was no longer soaked in sweat or coated in dust. And — miracle of miracles — I was eating.

We were gathered at our usual spot: me, my guys, and Nur, who had become part of our meal-swapping ritual. She handed me her metallic rice, and Marlon traded his blue veggie salad for my sweet meat.

A few jokes in, a few bites later — I remembered my newest acquaintance. Nur played along, even pretended to get jealous, so I told the whole story — including her unhinged idea of "romance."

"She said something so wild, I still haven't recovered."

"Because you're emotionally wooden," Denis said. "Can't handle a little fire. Still don't get how you got yourself a girlfriend. Especially…" — he pointed at Nur.

"Don't flirt with her!" I warned theatrically. "Don't make me rearrange your face."

"So what did she say?" Nur asked.

"Picture this: a mountain, sunset, crimson sky, flowers, and a burning enemy village down below. Screams of agony echoing through the air as the backdrop to wild lovemaking."

Silence fell over the table.

"She's nuts," Bao muttered.

"I kinda like the dark humour," Denis said.

Nur just bowed her head over her tray, one hand pressed against her temple.

"Wild lovemaking to the sound of death screams?" I asked. "That's not dark humour — that's a clinic case."

Rahman raised her other hand and pressed it to the opposite temple.

"Nur? You okay?" I asked.

"Migraine… flaring up a bit…" she replied with a strained smile.

Right! Demon's dying they say... He's making too much fuss for a dead bastard.

Although migraines never flare up without a trigger. What set it off this time? Could it have been… my words?

Well — M‍ehra's words.

I had the sudden urge to leap to my feet, call Novak, and sprint to the infirmary to find Bulsara all at once.

"Maybe the infirmary—"

"No," she cut me off, "no… It's already easing. I just— I pictured it way too vividly. And I'm not… fond of screams of agony. And seriously — who makes love to that kind of soundtrack?"

Demons might.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.