Class 1-12
The students of Class 12, Year 1 — the same class as Kang Han-byeol — were holding their morning lessons at the training lodge that day.
“Not a single student showed up late.”
The instructor, Su-ho-guk, stood in a perfectly square lecture hall, which held no furniture except for the students and him.
After checking the roll, he finally spoke.
“We did the introductions on our first day, but even so, I believe I still don’t fully understand any of you. I’m sure the same goes for you — you hardly know each other. So today, we’ll use this time to figure each other out.”
He paused.
No one dared to interrupt.
“Of course, this isn’t just about playing games and building friendships. You didn’t enter this academy to act like ordinary middle schoolers. You came here to become hunters. So we’ll understand each other the hunter’s way.”
Having said that, Su-ho-guk bent down and opened a small box he’d placed at his feet. From inside, he pulled out a fluorescent ball — small enough to hold in one hand.
He raised it high so that every student could see.
“It looks like a simple softball, but this is an artifact. If I inject mana, it moves according to my will.”
He infused the ball with mana.
Supporting it with an open palm, he removed his hand — yet the ball did not fall. It floated in midair as if gravity had forgotten it.
When he flicked his wrist, the ball zipped through the air or rolled along the floor with uncanny precision.
“Until today’s lesson ends, your task is simple: steal the ball from me. I won’t tell you how. Come at me alone or work together — do whatever you like. Just make sure you act within the bounds of a hunter’s common sense.”
A student raised a hand, hesitant.
“Instructor, by steal, do you mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. Take it by force, snatch the control, do whatever it takes. Make it yours.”
Su-ho-guk withdrew his mana, catching the ball as it dropped toward his head. He tossed it into the air again, catching it each time, as if taunting them.
Their gazes sharpened like Predators waiting for the right moment.
Hands inched toward their devices. Silent glances passed among those standing close.
Su-ho-guk noticed everything, and he smiled.
He met the wave of tense stares without the slightest hint of worry. Instead, he stoked their fighting spirit even further.
“If any of you succeed in taking the ball,” he continued, “I’ll add five points to your midterm exam.”
The class fell silent for a heartbeat, then the energy shifted.
Students’ eyes gleamed with new resolve.
They braced themselves.
Someone stepped forward first, then everyone moved at once, drawing their weapons and rushing at Su-ho-guk.
“Good. Come on, then.”
Su-ho-guk welcomed the charge.
One handheld the artifact ball, the other gripped a sword.
His lips curled into a faint smile as he watched them close in.
The clash was inevitable.
And within that storm of motion, Kang Han-byeol moved, too.
The instructor is strong. I’ll go all in from the start.’
There was no need to hold back.
Blending in with his classmates, Han-byeol drew his blade and lunged forward.
<Twin Demon Sword Technique — First Form>
Moonlight Slash
It was a maneuver he’d practiced countless times on the mountain, sprinting across Taebaek Mountain, stealing objects from Seo Jeong-jin during training.
Compared to that, snatching this ball in a confined space was nothing.
The moment he swung his sword, Han-byeol was sure he’d caught Su-ho-guk off guard.
But the man known as the Executioner’s Blade would not be so easily fooled.
“I was hoping to see your true skills first.”
Their eyes locked.
And without a signal, both kicked off the ground simultaneously.
Blades clashed. Sparks scattered from the grinding steel.
* * *
The students walked barefoot through the desert.
They pressed their feet into the sand, each step unstable, mana flowing steadily through their bodies.
Under the shade of a single parasol, Hong Ye-na and Yu No-eul watched from foldable chairs.
“They’re really struggling, aren’t they? It’s been over ten minutes, and they’ve barely made it that far.”
“It’s only natural. They’ve probably never controlled their internal mana this precisely before.”
Students strong enough to attend Geum-gang Academy could surely maintain internal mana for extended periods.
But to do so in such a delicate, sustained way, controlling every thread down to their toes and fingertips, was another matter entirely.
Even the heirs of prestigious clans found this training daunting.
It was no surprise they showed so little progress, even as the minutes ticked by.
A mere three kilometers felt more like thirty.
Holding their focus was like holding their breath easily for a few moments, but nearly impossible for long.
No one could hold their breath forever.
“Thankfully, the sun here isn’t too harsh. But even so, the sand was scorching when I walked on it barefoot earlier.”
“They’ll have to endure that much. If they control their mana properly, they can offset the heat. The real challenge is splitting their focus evenly across their entire body. Not easy when your feet are burning, is it?”
Yu No-eul shot her a side glance.
“You mean you chose this Gate knowing it’d throw them off balance?”
“Not exactly. I chose it because the sand here is special.”
The scorching sand was only one part of it.
Walking through an untamed desert meant each step threatened to slip backward, feet sinking, balance constantly shifting.
Exhaustion crept in. Doubt followed.
Losing one’s composure could disrupt mana flow in an instant.
And this desert punished even the slightest fluctuation.
A sudden shriek pierced the dry air.
“Kyaaah! W-What’s happening?!”
“Oh, another one’s fallen in. And that will only make it worse…”
“Looks like it. If she stayed calm, she could get out.”
The desert read the flow of mana in their bodies.
The moment it sensed an imbalance, it dragged them down into sand traps like an antlion pit.
Struggling only worsened the problem.
The more their emotions spiked, the wilder their mana became — a vicious cycle.
‘If they’d just relax and wait, the sand would stabilize and release them. But…’
Of course, that was impossible for the students.
They understood in their heads, but the moment they felt themselves swallowed by the pit, their instincts rejected it.
Fear overtook reason.
Hong Ye-na watched a girl who was now buried so deep that only her fingers remained above the surface.
She clicked her tongue.
“Should I go pull her out?” Yu No-eul asked.
“No need.”
Ye-na snapped her fingers.
A gentle breeze stirred behind her, then swept forward, pulling the flailing girl free from the sand’s grip.
As the girl coughed up sand, Ye-na’s voice rode the wind.
“Back to the starting line. Do it again.”
If they could climb out on their own, they could continue.
But once they needed her help, it meant they weren’t ready.
Back to the beginning.
Ye-na watched the girl lower her head and trudge back.
Meanwhile, time slipped by, and at last, a few students drew close to the Gate at the far end.
Leading them was Min A-rin.
Neither Ye-na nor Yu No-eul was surprised.
“Knew it. A-rin’s in first place.”
“Of course. She enrolled through the Magic Department, probably trained for this at her clan.”
Min A-rin finally reached the halfway point.
She turned, gathering her breath, then stepped forward again, this time pushing against the flow of students behind her.
Maintaining the flow of internal mana, Min A-rin’s stance was the most stable of them all.
That didn’t mean she was free of trouble.
“She’s so cautious. And so slow,” Yu No-eul murmured.
“She’s probably trying not to fall in. Still, yeah… It’s slow.” Hong Ye-na replied, watching closely.
Min A-rin moved through the desert like a stray cat, her steps so light they left barely a trace.
Each stride was tiny compared to the other students’. She was so careful not to slip on the sand that it might have driven anyone else mad with impatience — and yet, in its own way, it was impressive.
‘I don’t think she’s fallen in once yet… She’s keeping it up well.’
Walking forward meant pushing the ground back, a force propelling the body ahead.
Each step shifted her center of gravity.
So to maintain her mana state, she had to factor in every reaction force, every slight adjustment.
What seemed like a simple walk was, in fact, an intricate calculation with every footfall.
By minimizing her stride and shuffling carefully back and forth across the desert, Min A-rin demonstrated a skill that couldn’t be ignored.
But even she reached her limit.
“Ah…!”
Yu No-eul clicked her tongue. “Ah, she was doing so well. Guess her focus finally slipped.”
“It was amazing she kept it up this long,” Ye-na added.
Min A-rin had probably burned through more mental energy than anyone else here.
She wasn’t a machine; her limit was bound to come.
And when it did, her foot slipped, and the sand swallowed her whole, dragging her down into an antlion pit.
Hong Ye-na and Yu No-eul watched the deepening pit with regret.
Her hand, reaching up toward the sky, vanished in an instant.
“Gate Eye, can you get a visual?” Hong Ye-na asked.
“Yes, I’ll handle it.”
Yu No-eul quickly adjusted the drone that had been hovering overhead, capturing the training session.
A live feed flickered onto the monitor sitting on the table beside them.
[Urgh… damn it…]
Min A-rin was clawing desperately at the crumbling walls of the pit, trying to climb out — but each attempt ended in her sliding back down, deeper still.
“Wow… She’s way deeper than the others ever fell.”
“She probably has more internal mana than they,” Ye-na said calmly.
On the surface, a high mana reserve might seem like an advantage.
But just like a higher fall means a harder crash, losing balance with that much mana meant the consequences were greater.
Min A-rin’s deeper pit was proof.
“So, what do you think? Should we help her? There’s no way she can climb out alone.”
[Do you think I’ll just give up like this? Do you know who I am? I’m Min A-rin. Min A-rin!]
“…She’s got the will to keep trying. Let’s see how far she gets on her own,” Ye-na said after a moment’s pause.
Yu No-eul’s suggestion wasn’t wrong. Realistically, Min A-rin’s physical strength alone wouldn’t get her out.
But Hong Ye-na chose to respect her determination.
‘I guess first place will go to someone else, then…’
While Min A-rin fought tooth and nail to escape the pit, another student was already making his way back, passing by her sunken struggle without so much as a glance.
Do Gyeon-woo.
‘Annoying, but… he’s got skill. Or maybe I should say, I made him this good.’
Gyeon-woo wasn’t as stable as Min A-rin, but he managed his internal mana well enough, and whenever he did slip into a pit, he escaped with impressive ease.
In that regard, he outshone the others.
“Maybe it’s because he’s from the Shin Sword Do Family, but Gyeon-woo really knows how to handle his body,” Yu No-eul said, arms crossed. “At this rate, he’ll finish first. A-rin’s done for, and the gap with the kids behind him is too wide.”
“Unless something unexpected happens, Gyeon-woo will be first,” Ye-na agreed without argument.
Min A-rin was all but out of the race now.
And none of the other students had closed the distance enough to catch up with Do Gyeon-woo.
For a while, the two instructors kept their eyes on him, then glanced at the others scattered across the desert.
That was when Yu No-eul stood up, dusting off her pants.
“Whew! Looks like plenty of kids are still floundering. I think I’ll go give them a hand — any objections?”
“I was just about to ask you for that favor,” Ye-na said with a grateful smile. “I’ll stay here and keep evaluating. Please help guide them, No-eul.”
“Got it! Oh, by the way, Ye-na, do you mind if I give Gyeon-woo some tips too?”
“Gyeon-woo? Hmm… Why?”
“I think he could push himself just a bit further if he tweaks his form. He’s close to breaking through.”
Ye-na tapped her finger on the table, then shrugged.
“Fine. I trust your judgment.”
“Thanks! I’ll handle it!”
Yu No-eul gave a crisp salute, just like a soldier.
Then she stepped off the platform, striding out into the sunlit desert where the students continued their endless struggle with the shifting sands.
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