The journey to the Beginner's Dungeon was a masterclass in inequality.

While Class S soared overhead in a luxury mana-airship, sipping chilled nectar and looking down at the landscape through enchanted glass floors,

Class F was crammed into the back of a rusted, mana-powered transport truck.

The vehicle, a decommissioned military hauler that smelled violently of diesel oil, wet dog, and dried monster blood.

THUD.

The truck hit a massive pothole.

"Ow!" Lukas yelled, rubbing his head where it had slammed against the metal wall.

"Professor! Does this thing even have suspension?!"

"Suspension is a luxury," Mozart's voice drifted back from the driver's partition.

"Balance is a skill. Adapt."

Alaric sat in the corner, his legs spread wide to absorb the shocks but wasn't complaining.

He was sharpening his rusty sword with a whetstone, his eyes closed, trying to anticipate the bumps in the road before they happened.

'Rhythm,' Alaric thought, feeling the vibration of the engine through his boots. '

The engine growls before the gear shifts. The tires hum before the bump.'

On the opposite bench, Elena hovered three inches off the seat.

She sat on a cushion of swirling wind mana, her face pinched in disgust as she looked at a stain on the floor that looked suspiciously like goblin blood.

"This is indignant," Elena muttered.

"I am the daughter of the World Tree. I should not be traveling in a rolling coffin."

"Better get used to it, Princess," Lukas grunted, nursing a bruise.

"This is the 'Trash Can' express."

SCREECH.

The truck slammed to a halt, throwing everyone forward. Elena's wind cushion destabilized, and she nearly fell, catching herself on a greasy rail with a gasp of horror.

The rear doors kicked open.

"Out," Mozart commanded.

They stumbled out into the blinding sunlight.

They stood at the base of a massive stone archway carved into the side of a mountain. The air shimmered with blue magical energy, a Dungeon Gate.

Different from the one by formed from Italica, this was a naturally occurring gate due to the strong mana density here.

Dozens of other trucks and airships were parked nearby, such a site in Damien's eyes were nothing but a testament to his acts of using the dwarves to bring blue star technology to Elias

Now, in most wealthy areas, horse drawn carriages where long since abandoned.

This was the Sector 1 Entrance, the empire-sanctioned "Playground" for low-level adventurers and students.

"Line up," Mozart ordered.

Class F scrambled into formation. They looked ragged, uniforms wrinkled, hair messy from the ride, but compared to the pampered students of Class S disembarking from their airship nearby, Class F looked... hungry.

Mozart walked to the Gate Console. A bored-looking official sat behind a reinforced glass booth.

"Identification," the official droned, not looking up from his magazine.

Mozart slid his Faculty ID across the counter. At the same time, he placed his gloved hand on the console's interface.

'System,' Damien thought coldly. 'Inject Override Code: 0-Alpha-Void.'

[Hacking Gate Coordinates...]

[Target Changed: Sector 1 (Goblin Forest) -> Sector 0 (The Crimson Jungle).] [Warning: Sector 0 is a Restricted Hazard Zone. Level 40+ Monsters. Mortality Rate: 90%.]

[Confirm?]

'in order to find my paren't as soon as possible, I can not afford to slow down!'

'Confirm!'

The official glanced at his screen.

It blinked green for a split second, hiding the flashing red warning light beneath a false overlay provided by Damien's system.

"Class F," the official muttered, stamping a form. "

Sector 1. Goblins and Slimes. Try not to die."

"We'll try," Mozart said dryly, taking back his ID.

He turned to his students.

"Listen closely," Mozart said, his voice dropping an octave.

"Once we cross this threshold, the Academy rules do not apply. There are no safety nets. No proctors. No crying to your parents."

He looked at Alaric.

"If you see something moving, assume it wants to eat you. If you hesitate, you will be eaten."

"It's just goblins, Professor," Lukas grinned, sparking a flame in his hand.

"I can roast 'em like marshmallows."

Mozart stared at him until Lukas's flame sputtered and died.

"Let's go."

They stepped through the shimmering blue curtain.

WOOSH.

The sensation of teleportation was violent, like being pulled through a straw. The world twisted, colors inverted, and gravity flipped.

Then, they landed.

THUD.

Alaric hit the ground, rolling into a crouch, his hand instantly gripping his sword hilt.

The air here was hot. Oppressively hot. It smelled of sulfur, rotting vegetation, and copper.

"This..." Elena stood up, her eyes widening as she looked around.

"This is not a Goblin Forest."

They weren't in a temperate woodland.

They were in a dense, primordial jungle. The trees were massive, their bark red as dried blood.

The leaves were black and jagged. Above them, the sky wasn't blue, it was a bruised purple, devoid of a sun.

ROAR.

In the distance, something massive screamed. The sound shook the black leaves off the trees.

"That sounded big," Lukas squeaked, backing up. "Like... T-Rex big."

"Where are we?" Alaric asked, his knuckles white on his sword.

"We are off the map," Mozart said calmly, adjusting his cuffs as if he were strolling through a park.

"Welcome to the Restricted Zone."

The students panicked.

"Restricted?!" Lukas yelled. "You kidnapped us?! That official said Sector 1!"

"The official was mistaken," Mozart lied smoothly.

"This is where the real lesson begins."

He walked past them, heading deeper into the red jungle.

"Follow me. We have an appointment."

"Appointment?" Elena asked, running to catch up, her eyes darting nervously at the moving shadows.

"With whom? Demons?"

"Old friends," Mozart replied enigmatically.

They trekked for twenty minutes. The jungle was terrifying. Massive insects the size of dogs skittered on the trees, watching them with multifaceted eyes. Vines writhed like snakes, trying to grab their ankles.

Finally, they reached a clearing.

In the center stood an ancient ruin, a stone altar covered in moss and strange, spiral carvings.

But the altar wasn't empty.

Two figures were waiting for them.

The students froze.

One figure was massive a woman standing seven feet tall, wrapped in a cloak made of white fur.

Even with her hood up, her presence was overwhelming, like standing next to a dormant volcano.

On her right hand, she wore a gauntlet made of black metal that pulsed with purple energy.

The other figure was slender, wearing a grey hooded cloak that seemed to drink the sunlight.

She was perched on a tree branch, tossing a dagger into the air and catching it.

"Hostiles!" Alaric hissed, raising his rusty sword.

"Hold," Mozart commanded.

He walked into the clearing.

The two figures turned.

The tall woman lowered her hood. A lion-kin with fierce golden eyes and a scar running down her cheek grinned, revealing sharp canines.

Leona. The White Lion General.

The slender woman in the tree dropped down. She landed without a sound lowering her grey hood.

The students gasped.

She was an Elf. But she was wrong.

Her skin wasn't the fair tone of a High Elf or the earth-tone of a Wood Elf.

It was a pale, spectral grey—, he color of ash. Her eyes glowed with a haunting violet light.

Lyra. The Phantom General.

Elena took a step back, her hand instinctively raising to conjure a wind blade.

"What!? when did elves become so gifted in shadow mana, and why does she smell like the void?," Elena whispered, her voice trembling with revulsion.

Lyra however looked at Elena. She smiled, but it didn't reach her violet eyes.

"And you smell like expensive perfume and denial, Princess," Lyra's voice was like silk over steel.

"Put the wind away before I cut it."

"Enough," Mozart said, his voice cutting the tension.

He turned to his class.

"Class F," he announced, gesturing to the two terrifying women.

"Meet your Guest Instructors."

Alaric looked at the Warlords, then at his teacher.

He recognised them from the history books. These were the criminals who had conquered the North and the West.

"Who... who are you people?" Alaric whispered, fear warring with awe.

Mozart placed a hand on his silver mask.

"We are the ones who are going to fix you," he said. "Or break you trying."

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