The fourth General-ranked Ashen of the nation—Orson Driscoll.
Won couldn't help but wonder how many powerful Ashen were currently surrounding him. Surely, there weren't any other General-ranked individuals nearby? That rank was rare—exceptional, even.
Even though he was now ranked Gravemarch—the highest rank ever recorded in the universe—his actual combat experience and skills didn't even match those of a Drathborn, the second-lowest tier. Everyone around him radiated strength. He could feel it in their presence, see it in their sculpted physiques and commanding auras—even from the air.
There were nine ranks in total among Ashen. These weren't determined by strength alone, but by a combination of bearing, mentality, desperation, heart core, and sheer will to survive. Physical strength, while vital, came last. And yet, it was the most defining. The hierarchy stood as:
Gravemarch
General
Skarnveil
Braylock
Inronwake
Cintarox
Hollowrend
Drathborn
Flintshade
They were now seated in a grand hall, facing a stage. The space shimmered with elegance. Everyone looked polished and composed. It wasn't that they were all born with beauty—but their refinement, their opulence, made them appear like Greek gods and goddesses.
Won tried not to look at the female students. He felt that if he did, he'd only end up blushing. He had never seen so many beautiful girls in one place before. Back home, the girls were like him—poor, neglected, overlooked. Their beauty was buried beneath dirt, struggle, and despair.
A tall woman with long, thick black hair walked up to the podium, tapping the mic gently to test it.
The room adjusted itself immediately, attention sharpening.
"Good morning, new Ashen! Welcome to Meteor Ashen Technical—your new home for the next seven years!"
Her voice echoed across the hall, met with applause and whistles.
Won stayed still, unmoved. This world was alien to him. He just wanted to listen, to observe—because this was all new. He feared that even the slightest movement might cause him to miss something crucial.
"I am Tyla Natt, the headmistress of this academy—and today's host. I won't waste time going over details you likely already know. Meteor Ashen Technical stands among the finest Ashen academies worldwide, due to our discipline and rigorous structure."
"If there's anything you're uncertain about, you'll learn in time. Your dormitories are already stocked with the textbooks you'll need, along with a guidebook on the academy's history and systems. A few materials may need to be purchased off-campus—if you haven't already."
Then with a pause she added:
"But remember this: never cross the main campus boundary without a guide—your assigned teacher. The campus is vast, segmented into three zones. Your limit is the main boundary. And I know forbidding you will only spark more curiosity. I was your age once. I understand the thrill of the forbidden."
"That's why I'll tell you plainly what happens if you disobey."
Whispers began to ripple through among the students. Headmistress Natt coughed lightly for silence.
"If you cross the boundary alone—you could die. That's not a rumor, or some exaggerated tale to stop you. It's a fact. Twenty-six years ago, when I was a student here, two of my closest friends crossed that line. They never came back. I was there too. I survived—but I've carried that guilt every day since."
A student in the front row raised his hand. "Madam Natt, isn't the academy supposed to be safe? If danger lives within the campus, shouldn't we consider relocating?"
"We tried. We've attempted to relocate the school several times. But the danger always followed. Permanent, hostile Veynes have formed here—drawn by the immense energy concentrated in this place. This isn't unique to Meteor. All Ashen academies face the same risk."
"Some of your classes will take you near those zones—but you'll always be accompanied by instructors, higher ranked Ashen who can protect you. So don't get any ideas, kids."
Silence fell again, heavier this time.
Won's expression remained neutral.
Monsters are terrifying, yes—but humans… humans are worse, he thought.
Trying to ease the tension, Madam Natt clapped her hands cheerfully. "Now, I'm sure you're all exhausted from the journey. Why not get settled into your dorms first? Then come back and enjoy the welcome performance your seniors have prepared!"
Right—the dormitory. Most important thing, Won thought.
A guide led the boys to the ninth floor, while another escorted the girls to the tenth.
Each floor was divided into seven sections—one for each academic year.
Can a place like this really exist? You could house an entire squalor here. Won was stunned by the size.
All he wanted was a room to himself. As the only Flintshade, surely the disdain people had for him would at least grant him that.
But no—the premium rooms had already been given to higher-ranked Ashen.
Fair or not, Won couldn't tell.
He stood alone, the last one. A two-bed room.
One more occupant required.
But no one approached.
No one wanted to share space with a Flintshade.
Worse, some had already found out he was from the squalor.
Well, I didn't even expect them to stay with me.
No rich kid wanted to room with a poor orphan.
And honestly, that suited him just fine. He was happy and fine with their response. He was used to being alone.
If they all avoided him—he'd have the room to himself.
He was smiling inwardly as he tuned out the whispers and negotiations around him. Some were even planning to rotate roommates every three months.
Then suddenly, a voice rang out:
"I'll room with him. I'll give up my single-bed room. Anyone can take it."
It was the fourth General.
Won sighed in irritation.
Why the hell did he have to do that?
The others stared at Orson in disbelief, questioning his choice. But he ignored them, taking the key from the guild assistant and heading toward Won, luggage in hand.
"Let's go in, roomie!"
Do I thank him? Or not? That didn't feel like a favor.
Shaking his head, Won decided to be thankful—not to Orson, but to fate.
At least I'll sleep in a bed. Under a roof. Better than rooftops under open sky.
The room was spacious—absurdly so. A large window faced north, overlooking a tranquil lake and the edge of a vast forest. Fresh air streamed in, the window doubling as a small balcony.
It was a dream to Won. No. A heaven specifically.
Just a month ago, Won had been sleeping on shops, sidewalks and rooftops, eating scraps, dressed in whatever rags he could find.
Orson offered to let him shower first and quietly began unpacking his things, organizing their shared closet.
Won emerged after nearly thirty minutes, dressed in the academy-issued pajamas. So comfortable against his skin. Honestly, he hadn't wanted to come out—the water had been warm, calming. A luxury.
Orson stared at him for a moment. Won wasn't wearing his eyepatch anymore. He noticed the gaze and felt a flicker of discomfort.
"You got something to say?"
"Ah… sorry. Didn't mean to stare. Your eyes—they're different colors. You're not wearing lenses, are you?"
Won shrugged. He figured there was no point hiding it now. They'd be stuck together a while. For next seven years if Orson could stay with him. Orson seemed to be a decent guy to him already but he couldn't just trust him instantly. He needed time to ease around him. He never had a room let alone a roommate. He hoped Orson would understand him.
Besides, he had always thought his hazel eyes were beautiful. Back in the slums, people often said so. Even after the change of his eye colour, he had still thought it was beautiful, only in a weird and unnatural way.
Not many people know that kind of beauty and decide to ignore it, saying it is a freaky thing.
That's why Won decided to wear the eye patch which was eye-catching too.
To cover an eye-catching eye I decided to wear an eye-catching accessory. He thought grimly.
"No. No lenses," he said, toweling off his hair.
"So… they're natural." Orson muttered.
"I wouldn't call a red eye natural. It changed after I entered a Veyne test."
"I heard… you went into a master-ranked Veyne. With other professional Ashen."
Won shifted, nodding slightly. Lying. Of course he wouldn't just go around and tell people he cleaned a master ranked veyne as his first mission.
Orson's eyes sharpened at him. "Do you know what it means—when your eye color changes in a Veyne?"
Won hesitated.
Please don't say what you shouldn't say, he thought.
"No one told you?" Orson added, raising a brow.
Wo gulped.
Then Orson finally spoke, quietly.
"It means… you received a Fate Seal. The rare identity."
Won's eyes widened.
But Woco said the eye colour was changed because I became a vessel not otherwise. That wasn't supposed to be related to the fate seal. He thought and said nothing. What can I even say to him?
"You're not a Flintshade, Won," Orson said, stepping closer, his voice almost a whisper.
"What are you?"