Chapter 4: Class Code · E3 (Expanded "You've got an Armament now, so you're being assigned to a class."
The man in charge wore gold-rimmed glasses and looked like he hadn't seen daylight in years. His fingers flipped through Nie Shi's file, each page slower than the last.
"But considering your situation…" He adjusted his glasses, pausing. "You're not going to a regular class."
Nie Shi tilted his head. "Where then?"
The man said a code that meant nothing to him: "Class E3. Remember it." Class E3 was located on the top floor of an older wing, tucked behind overgrown walls and flickering hallway lights. The sign above the door read: "Internal Testing Classroom — Authorized Entry Only." The tape was peeling. Something had burned the lower corner of the frame.
Nie Shi pushed the door open.
The classroom smelled faintly of machine oil and burnt circuits. Seven or eight students sat inside, scattered like static. One adjusted her Armament in her lap. Another repeated combat protocols to a wall display. A boy leaned against the window, unmoving.
The overhead lights buzzed.
The atmosphere felt… wrong. Like the air didn't quite match the gravity.
At the front of the room stood the instructor: sharp-eyed, short-haired, hands behind her back. She turned, gaze cool.
"New kid?" she asked.
Nie Shi nodded.
"Sit by the window. No introductions necessary—we already know you. System alerts don't keep secrets."
He headed for the seat. As he passed, a few heads turned. Some stared. Most looked away.
"Yo, black-spear guy."
The voice came from a slouching figure near the back— Lu Jingxing , leg hooked over the next chair like he owned the place.
He wore the standard uniform, sleeves rolled up, hair tousled and cocky. The name "Lu" was stitched across his jacket with the kind of pride that didn't need words.
"Glad you made it," he said, flashing a grin. "We'll definitely have a proper fight one of these days."
Nie Shi didn't respond. He slid into his seat.
This… was Class E3. Rumors said Class E3 was made for students the system couldn't categorize—errors, outliers, anomalies. Everyone here was a little… wrong.
• In the far corner, a girl with headphones and long hair sat curled into herself. She didn't speak all class. When the instructor asked her a question, her reply was a whisper so faint the teacher had to bend close to hear.
• A flashy girl leaned back in her seat, twirling her fingers. Her lipstick shimmered—changing color under the light—and her eyeliner was bold enough to slice. Her Armament, according to rumor, was a mirror that could reflect someone's "other self" from memory.
• A sunny-looking boy sat closest to the aisle. He greeted everyone, even picked up a fallen pen for the instructor. Cheerful, helpful—until someone mentioned he once "accidentally" absorbed a teammate's Armament in training.
• And Lu Jingxing. Trace-Class prodigy. Full of drama and danger. No one liked him. Everyone watched him.
And now—Nie Shi had joined them. The first lecture was about the system.
The screen displayed five levels of Memory Armament:
• Trace-Class – Basic fragments, low resonance.
• Deep-Class – Emotionally charged, stable structure.
• Form-Class – Shape-shifting, memory-adaptive weapons.
• Myth-Class – Rare, semi-sentient constructs.
• Break-Class – System-incompatible. Red-flagged. Dangerous.
Binding protocols. Sync parameters. Cognitive limits.
Then, without warning—
The screen flickered.
The lights buzzed.
The instructor stopped speaking.
"System packet delay. Current version experiencing sync deviation," said the screen.
The voice was flat. Unconcerned.
But Nie Shi sat up straighter.
For just a second—he heard it.
A whisper. "…Not here…" Faint. Deep. From inside the spear.
The window beside him cracked open slightly. Wind slipped through.
It was warm sunlight outside.
But the air… felt cold.
The instructor narrowed her eyes. "System's been unstable for weeks. We're supposed to pretend it's fine."
Someone laughed quietly. No one else reacted.
But Nie Shi looked down at the spear case under his desk.
It hadn't moved. Hadn't pulsed.
But something inside it… stirred.
After class, the cheerful boy waved and approached.
"Hey! You're the black spear guy, right?" he said, extending a hand. "Xie Ping. I got system-matched into your squad. We're group B."
He smiled with crinkled eyes. The type of smile that made you forget the rumors.
"We're a four-person team. Still missing one." He turned and waved again. "Here comes number three."
A clean-cut student approached. Uniform perfect. Hair neat. Eyes calm.
"Hi," he said smoothly. "I'm Meng Yao. Looking forward to working with you."
He offered his hand.
Nie Shi shook it, but didn't like the way it felt.
The grip was too precise.
The smile too calibrated.
And the eyes—
The eyes weren't greeting him. They were recording him.
Analyzing. Calculating.
He'd seen that look before. On instructors. On officials.
On people who pretended to care just long enough to run diagnostics.
There was no warmth in that gaze. Just cold, surgical interest.
Like someone staring into a mirror that wouldn't reflect back.
And then, like static rising in his ears, something surfaced in his mind.
A memory—not real, but embedded.
A mentor, years ago. Sitting across a metal table, voice low and clinical: "Being Memoryless isn't amnesia, Nie Shi. It's worse." "You didn't forget. You were born without." "You have language, knowledge, skills. But no self-tag. No anchor fragment. No true origin." "You're like a device that can record, but can't play its own voice." Back then, he'd just nodded. He hadn't even felt angry. Just… numb.
Outside, the sun had been shining.
But his chest had felt like winter. He knew how to live—but not where he came from.
He knew the world was warm—but not who had once held him.
He could understand others' weapons—but had never summoned his own.
Until the spear came.
The one weapon that didn't ask for memory.
It simply arrived.
Cold. Heavy. Final.
Not his.
But finally—something had chosen him.
And somehow…
That was enough to make him stay in this strange, broken classroom called E3 .
Where maybe, just maybe—
Broken things still had a place to fight.