The journey into the Empire of Elise was far from simple. Unlike the Phoenix Kingdom, where noble lineage determined one's standing, Elise was a place where power dictated everything. It was a land ruled by strength and political cunning, a kingdom of mercenaries, corrupt lords, and an Emperor who held absolute power through fear and oppression. The cities were bustling with wealth, yet in the alleys and underground networks, a different world thrived—one where rebellion brewed, and power was constantly shifting hands.
Reyon walked alone through the streets of Varenthia, the capital of Elise. The city was grand and sprawling, lined with marble towers and fortified walls, yet the weight of oppression could be felt in the air. Soldiers patrolled every street, their armor gleaming under the sun, while commoners moved with lowered heads, afraid to attract unwanted attention. The contrast between the rich and the poor was painfully stark.
"This place is rotting from the inside," Reyon muttered as he observed the number of beggars huddled in corners, eyes filled with hopelessness.
As he made his way through the city, he found himself in a dimly lit bar, a place where mercenaries and criminals gathered to exchange information. He took a seat in a quiet corner, listening to the hushed conversations around him. It was here that he noticed a woman sitting at the counter. She had short auburn hair and sharp green eyes, and around her neck hung a silver pendant in the shape of a falcon.
Reyon recognized the insignia instantly. It was the mark of the Classers.
He approached her cautiously. "You're with the Classers, aren't you?"
The woman glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "And who's asking?"
"Just someone looking for an opportunity," Reyon replied smoothly.
She studied him for a moment before smirking. "Name's Emily. Squad Captain of Team 3. If you're looking for an opportunity, you're in luck. The Classers are recruiting for a new squad leader of Team 5. The last one died recently on a mission."
Reyon raised an eyebrow. "A squad leader, huh? And what do I have to do to qualify?"
Emily chuckled. "Simple. You take the test. Survive it, and the position is yours."
Reyon leaned back, a confident smirk forming on his lips. "Sounds like a challenge. When do we start?"
Emily tossed back her drink and stood. "Follow me. Let's see if you've got what it takes."
She led him through the winding alleys of Varenthia until they reached an old, abandoned fortress on the outskirts of the city. Its exterior was worn, bricks crumbling from years of neglect, but the moment they stepped inside, the atmosphere changed. Torches lined the stone walls, and beneath the fortress lay an extensive network of tunnels that formed the true headquarters of the Classers.
As they descended, the sounds of murmuring voices grew louder. The hideout was filled with Classers of various ranks, some clad in leather armor, others in ragged robes. There were mages, assassins, warriors, and spies, each bearing scars that told of their past battles. They all turned to look at Reyon, their expressions ranging from curiosity to suspicion.
A man stepped forward, his piercing green eyes locking onto Reyon with unhidden scrutiny. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair tied back neatly. He wore a high-collared black coat with the insignia of a falcon embroidered on the sleeve.
Cyrus.
Berth's right-hand man and the true enforcer of the Classers' rule.
"Emily," Cyrus said, his voice smooth yet laced with an undercurrent of hostility. "You bring us a new recruit without consulting me first?"
Emily crossed her arms. "He's here for the squad leader test."
Cyrus's sharp gaze shifted to Reyon, studying him as if he could read his very soul. "A magician, huh? And what makes you think you're fit to lead one of our teams?"
Reyon met his gaze without hesitation. "I don't need to prove myself with words. If you have doubts, I'll show you what I can do."
A murmur spread through the gathered Classers. It wasn't often that a newcomer spoke so boldly to Cyrus. Some smirked, intrigued by the newcomer's confidence, while others scoffed, thinking him arrogant.
Cyrus's lips curled into a smirk, but his eyes held no amusement. "Brave words. But joining the Classers isn't just about strength. It's about loyalty. Can you swear your allegiance to us? To Berth?"
Reyon didn't flinch. "I came here because I share your goal—to eliminate corruption. If your leader is truly fighting for justice, then I have no reason to oppose him. But if he's not..." He let the words hang in the air, making his stance clear.
The tension in the room thickened. Some Classers exchanged glances, clearly uneasy with Reyon's indirect challenge.
Cyrus's eyes darkened, but before he could speak, another voice cut through the air.
"Enough, Cyrus. Let the boy prove himself."
A deep, commanding voice echoed through the hideout, and the crowd parted as a man strode forward.
Berth.
The leader of the Classers was an imposing figure, his presence radiating dominance. He wore a long crimson coat, his graying hair slicked back, and his golden eyes gleamed with intelligence and cruelty. He stopped before Reyon, towering over him, and looked him over like a predator sizing up its prey.
"So, you think you're worthy of leading my squad?" Berth asked.
Reyon held his ground. "Yes."
Berth chuckled. "Then you'll have no problem taking the trial."
A ripple of excitement spread through the crowd. The trial was infamous—a brutal test that determined whether one was fit to be a Classer. Many had tried, and many had failed.
Cyrus smirked. "Shall we begin?"
Emily placed a hand on Reyon's shoulder, whispering, "Be careful. They'll try to break you."
Reyon glanced at her and gave a small nod before stepping forward. "I'm ready."
Berth grinned. "Good. Then let's see if you can survive."