Chapter 10: The Dawn of Trials

---

Chapter 10: The Dawn of Trials

Upon arriving at the inn which I had seen earlier, I came to a quick conclusion. From exterior validation it could be called modest, nestled in the quieter heart of Maestral City. Its weathered exterior bore the marks of time—cracks from relentless storms and faded paint that spoke of neglect. Yet, it exuded an air of quiet resilience, like a steadfast stone that had withstood countless tides. The warm glow from its windows spilled onto the rain-slicked cobblestones outside, a small beacon of comfort amidst the lingering chill of the storm.

As we stepped inside, the scent of aged wood mixed with faint traces of spice greeted us. Behind the counter stood the innkeeper, a stout woman with sharp eyes and a demeanor that brooked no nonsense. She barely acknowledged us, her focus already on the ledger in front of her.

"One room or two?" she asked curtly, her voice brisk and businesslike.

"Two," Sophie answered before I could respond, her tone leaving no room for discussion.

The woman arched an eyebrow, gave us a brief once-over, and nodded. With a few deft strokes in her ledger and the clinking exchange of coins, she handed over two keys—simple brass, their surfaces polished smooth from years of handling.

"Third floor, end of the hall. Breakfast's at dawn," she instructed before turning her attention to a boisterous group gathered near the fireplace.

After confirming our rooms Sophie didn't wait for me. She deftly ascended the narrow staircase without a word. However, her abruptness didn't bother me; in fact, I welcomed the solitude. I had a lot on my mind—the storm, the journey, and the weight of tomorrow's uncertainty. Some alone time to collect my thoughts was exactly what I needed.

As I ascended the stairs at my own pace, I became aware of eyes on me. It wasn't hostile, just curious—a series of fleeting glances. Some women cast sidelong looks, while a few men regarded me with thinly veiled disdain. It didn't take long to realize the cause: my appearance. A faint smirk crossed my lips at the thought. They weren't wrong.

Upon reaching my room, I unlocked the door and stepped inside. The space was small and unadorned. A narrow bed draped with a coarse blanket, a creaky chair by the window, and a solitary lantern on a rickety nightstand comprised its furnishings. Spartan, but adequate. I removed my cloak, hanging it on a peg near the door, and approached the window. As I did, my silver eyes reverted back to their original red. I barely noticed, my focus instead on the city outside.

The rain had reduced to a faint drizzle, leaving the streets glistening under the soft glow of streetlamps. Standing by the window, I gazed out at the unfamiliar cityscape. Maestral was vastly different from the slums I had woken up in—vast, bustling, and alive with restless energy, even in the storm's aftermath. It was invigorating but carried an undeniable weight, a constant reminder of my position as an outsider in this heroic world.

On the oak table near the bed, I noticed a small, empty notebook. Picking it up, I began to write, attempting to organize my thoughts. The towering gates, the enigmatic runic guards, the sprawling Hero Academy—everything about Maestral was overwhelming. Sophie had shared bits about the Academy during our journey. At the time, her words had seemed like idle conversation, but now they loomed with significance, shaping the contours of my immediate future.

---

If I recalled correctly, Sophie had described the Maestral Hero Academy as the pinnacle of hero education. More than just a school, it was a crucible—a testing ground for those destined to become protectors, warriors, and legends. Its ranking system was central to its operation, determining the trajectory of every student's journey.

Students were classified into ranks based on their perceived potential, from the lowly F rank, often dismissed as hopeless, to the mythical SS rank, a tier so rare it bordered on legend. These ranks dictated everything: access to resources, training quality, and even the social hierarchy within the Academy. Higher ranks enjoyed unparalleled privileges—state-of-the-art facilities, personal mentors, and opportunities to train with active heroes. Students in A rank and above even received guidance from elite professional heroes, further cementing their path to greatness.

By contrast, lower-ranked students were largely ignored, left to fend for themselves. F rank, in particular, was a harsh existence, with many failing to make it past the first semester. The Academy's system was unrelenting, designed to weed out the weak without mercy.

Yet, there was hope for those willing to fight for it. The Rank Ascension Trials offered students a chance to climb the hierarchy, though these evaluations were notoriously grueling. Few succeeded, but those who did earned respect and access to greater opportunities.

---

I closed my notebook, my mind abuzz with speculation. Sophie's confidence in her abilities was unshakable, and I didn't doubt her. She carried herself with a determination that seemed unyielding, a stark contrast to my own self-doubt. As for me, I felt like an anomaly—an outsider trying to navigate a world that operated on a system foreign to my nature. Still, I needed a plan.

"Let's analyze this," I muttered, organizing my thoughts aloud. I wanted to aim high, but not too high. Sophie's abilities seemed to place her between C and B rank, with potential leaning closer to B. As for me, I estimated that aiming for A rank would strike the right balance—enough to position myself as strong but not excessively overpowered.

Satisfied with this conclusion, I shifted my thoughts to another aspect Sophie had briefly mentioned: Hero Classes. These career paths aligned with a student's unique abilities and dictated their future contributions to society. The Academy divided its students into Combat Heroes, Support Heroes, Scouts, Strategists, and other specialized roles, each with a tailored curriculum.

Combat Heroes, the backbone of hero society, were trained for direct confrontations with villains. Support Heroes focused on healing and utility, while Strategists operated behind the scenes, crafting plans and countermeasures. Each class carried its own prestige and responsibilities, shaping how the world perceived its members.

For me, the choice was clear. "Combat Class," I murmured, leaning back in the creaky chair. The Academy's ruthless system revolved around strength and potential. If I didn't measure up, I would be discarded. But I had no intention of being cast aside.

Knock Knock Knock , Knock Knock

---

The rain had fully subsided when I heard Sophie knocking on my door.

"The exam's tomorrow morning. Your Trial number is 2341. Don't forget it," she said from behind the door, her voice calm but laced with anticipation.

I nodded, glancing out at the Academy's distant spires. "Let's get some rest, then."

As her footsteps faded down the hall, I turned back to my desk and wrote down my Trial number. A plan was forming in my mind—faint but promising. I didn't know what challenges the Academy would throw at me, but one thing was certain: I would face them prepared.

"But for now, what I should be preparing to do is to sleep" I voiced out as I layed on the surprisingly comfortable bed

---