Cedric Harrow materialized in the Shroud with a sensation like being dropped into cold water—some sort of disorienting displacement that made his stomach lurch.

He was reminded that he was absolutely not prepared for actual combat despite the Academy's attempts at training.

Why am I even here? he thought with familiar frustration. Why am I in this dangerous situation in the first place?

I'm a noble. There are lots of nobles. Putting us in life-threatening scenarios sounds counterproductive. Wasting the resources that we are, as our families have invested generations to accumulate.

He looked around the archaic architecture—buildings from before the fall, structures showing civilization that no longer existed, environment that was simultaneously beautiful and terrifying.

Maybe my parents didn't like me as much as they preached, Cedric thought bitterly. If they did, they wouldn't have sent me to Sparkshire and forced this military education on me.

Still, all men born in this era chased the same thing, the scent of power without grasping the cost of reaching it. Everyone wanted something—a higher command seat, greater influence over the Republic's direction, a hand deeper in the machinery of its economy.

It's tiring. Exhausting. Being a tool in my family's ambition rather than a person with my own desires.

The fundamental problem—the shame Cedric rarely acknowledged even internally—was simple: he was a noble without soul talent.

Soul talents were rare among humans, he reflected. But the odds were higher among nobles—one of the advantages of concentrated bloodlines and generations of careful selection

Soul talents are like being born to wealthy parents. It doesn't guarantee success—but it means you're not starting from the same place as everyone else. It's an advantage effort alone can't truly duplicate.

And I don't have one.

A noble without the gift that made nobility more than titles and connections.

He was only a Low Initiate. The same rank many noble candidates at Sparkshire boasted. But he got his through bought cores and a generous family investment rather than any blood-earned experience.

His two cores defined his capabilities. Body Enhancement—standard issue for frontline fighters, a broad power boost nearly every combat specialist acquired eventually. Speed Enhancement—less common, but valuable, granting mobility to complement raw strength.

A good baseline, he assessed. A solid foundation—if paired with discipline. If he studied integration. If he trained with intent instead of drifting on family-funded gains.

But he didn't.

He was too comfortable. Too used to progress coming easily. Too aware that real advancement demanded a level of commitment he'd never cultivated.

At this rate, reaching Adept was unlikely.

Not unless he corrected that flaw and built real ability instead of relying on purchased power.

On the other hand, the Shroud deployment was the universe forcing the issue. The Academy's way of saying: develop—or die.

Six hours, Cedric reminded himself, glancing at the timer on his Academy bracer. Just survive six hours. Improvise. Don't need to shine. Just don't get killed.

A pause.

That's doable.

…Probably.

…Maybe.

The Shroud's architecture stretched around him—a city lost in time, harrowing monstrosities roaming between buildings as the environment embodied how a civilization's graveyard would be described.

I need a defensible position, Cedric decided. Somewhere I can avoid fights I can't win. Somewhere I can let the clock run instead of testing my limits.

It wasn't heroic. Not what the Academy wanted to see. But it was an honest reading of his own shortcomings—and survival mattered more than pride.

He spotted a tall structure with several upper floors still intact. Once an apartment block, maybe a residential tower. Now it looked like a shelter.

There, he resolved. Go high. Secure a room. Ride out the deployment.

A simple plan, suited to simple capabilities.

He started his ascent, Speed Enhancement turning the climb into a controlled rhythm rather than a struggle. Body Enhancement lent him the strength to haul himself past broken floors and fractured supports.

Inside, the air felt oddly warm.

Not hot—just… welcoming.

As if the building itself wanted him there. As if the structure meant to shelter, not threaten.

That should have been a warning sign.

But Cedric had barely paid attention in A Guide to Crawler Habits. Any veteran knew that things feeling "welcoming" inside a Shroud usually meant a trap. Comfort was bait.

Cedric didn't know that.

And now he was committed. Climbing back down would waste time, energy, and nerve.

So he kept going.

Forward.

Into what might very well be a trap.

He reached the upper floor and found a room that seemed intact. Solid walls. Stable ceiling. Windows overlooking the city below, no immediate threats in sight.

Perfect, Cedric thought, sinking back against the wall in relief. Defensible position secured. Now wait. Don't engage. Don't take risks. Survive by doing nothing rather than doing something wrong.

That's my strategy.

For a noble without talent—or the discipline to earn it—this was the ceiling of his ambition.

Strategic cowardice, dressed up as tactical caution.

He never questioned why the area he spawned in had so few Crawlers. Never wondered about the nagging unease at the back of his mind. He was ready for his six-hour "holiday" in the Shroud, almost comfortable.

Until he felt it.

Warm liquid splashed onto his shoulder. Thick. Viscous. Stinking of rot and corruption.

Slobber.

Cedric's eyes snapped upward, heart sinking as the truth dawned.

Oh fuck.

This wasn't an empty building.

This was a nest.

-----

Elsewhere,

Bright moved through the Shroud's archaic streets with efficiency that made the six-hour survival requirement feel almost trivial.

His spatial awareness mapped the environment in real-time—every building, every alley, every potential threat vector catalogued automatically. His danger sense pinged constantly but precisely—distinguishing between distant threats (ignore for now) and immediate dangers (address immediately).

He was a godly scout, Bright noted without a hint of arrogance. Perception like that made navigation and threat detection almost effortless. An environment that should overwhelm others felt entirely manageable in his hands.

Coupled with an ability like Absolute Void Physique, that advantage became formidable. Teleportation within his spatial awareness let him reposition instantly the moment danger sense flared. His Dimensional Barrier provided an automatic defense, deflecting most attacks that lacked sufficient potency.

He wasn't invincible. But he was close enough to make the trial feel like a practice exercise rather than a life-threatening deployment.

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