Beware of Oblivion

The setting was familiar—the spacious living room of their old house, filled with sunlight streaming through a massive window that overlooked the yard. It was the home they had lived in with their mother, a place Elijah remembered fondly.

In the dream, Augustus was eleven, his face serious as he addressed their mother. "Uh, Mom," he began nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Eli said some boys in his class are picking on him."

Their mother sat by the window, her long black hair gleaming in the sunlight. She held a book in one hand, her cross earrings swaying gently as she turned her head. Her face was a blur in Elijah's memory, as though his mind couldn't quite bring it into focus.

"Eli, sweetheart," she said, her tone warm and gentle. "Why on earth would you let them? You're my son. You're above that."

She smiled, the kind of smile that was both comforting and terrifying. "If you want something, seize it. Repay good deeds twofold, and vengeance tenfold. There's only room for one ego in a fight—yours."

Elijah remembered those words vividly. His mother's philosophy had been one of unshakable confidence and fierce determination, but somehow, Elijah had inherited none of it. He hated seeing people get hurt. He truly did.

Yet, in the dream, he recalled the officer's death in startling clarity. He had felt no hatred, no sorrow—only a strange indifference. It had been like watching someone step on an ant.

Elijah stirred, his dream dissolving as his senses returned. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Kieran and Visconti arguing again.

"You're awake," Visconti said, his voice calm as he noticed Elijah trying to sit up.

"El!" Kieran exclaimed, jumping to his feet and rushing over to hug him. "You're awake!" he cried, drawing fake tears down his cheeks.

"Aren't you being overdramatic?" Visconti muttered, rolling his eyes.

"It's called tears of joy," Kieran huffed, clinging to Elijah until Visconti grabbed him by the collar and dragged him back.

"Get off him, you idiot!" Visconti snapped, grabbing Kieran by the collar and dragging him back. "You're too heavy, and Elijah just woke up."

Visconti rolled his eyes, smacking the back of Kieran's head.

Elijah sat up slowly, using his elbow for support. "How long was I out?" he croaked.

"An entire month," Kieran said with a completely straight face.

"Two days," Visconti corrected, smacking Kieran again

Elijah blinked, his memories of the past few days flooding back. "What happened while I was out?"

Visconti's expression darkened. "The officers in charge of the test… they're all gone. Wiped out."

"Half the cadets were killed, and the rest were injured," Visconti continued grimly.

Elijah's eyes widened in shock, his hand covering his mouth. "What?"

Kieran was at the side listening quietly while peeling another apple.

"Are you okay?" Visconti interrupted, handing him a plate of apple slices as if he were the one who had peeled them. "Are you hurting anywhere?"

Elijah accepted it wordlessly, his hands trembling. He stared at the apple slice in his hand, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on him.

After a while, the nurse arrived to check on Elijah.

"Hm. It looks like you're already stable," she said, jotting something down on a clipboard. "The reason why you fainted was that you pushed yourself too far even though your mana had already been depleted. This is called Magic Power Exhaustion."

She glanced at him, "You can go back to your dorm today, but take it easy. No strenuous activity, and definitely no overusing your magic for at least a week. Understood?"

Elijah nodded, his mind already spinning.

Magic power exhaustion. Elijah had heard about it. The dictionary definition was 'a state in which a person was completely drained of magic power.'

Once a person completely used up his magic power, his magic power recovery rate would be lowered drastically, and he would be bedridden for at least two days.

"You're cleared to leave?" Visconti asked.

Elijah nodded. "Yeah. The nurse said I can go back to the dorms, but I need to rest."

"You better rest," Kieran said, wagging a finger at him. "Do you know how much trouble we went through dragging your unconscious body back to the clinic? You owe us."

Visconti smirked. "Mostly me. Kieran tripped three times on the way."

"I was tired, okay?!" Kieran shot back, glaring at him.

Elijah couldn't help but laugh softly, though it made his chest ache slightly. For a moment, their banter made him forget about the heaviness weighing on his mind—the officer's death, the massacre, the strange masked man.

"Sure, I owe you two lunch." Elijah said laughing.

To Elijah's surprise, Visconti had stocked up the refrigerator with a seemingly endless supply of food—from premium cuts of meat to ice cream, fries, and various snacks.

Elijah decided to cook dinner. He donned an apron hanging on the wall and pulled out some beef from the fridge. Kieran had waved him off earlier, saying, "I'm not in the mood for fancy food."

The kitchen filled with the mouthwatering aroma of sizzling steak as Elijah worked. He threw fries into hot oil and whisked together ingredients for a Béarnaise sauce. Hours later, the food was finally ready.

Kieran helped him set the table, despite his earlier complaints. Plates of steak, fries, and sauce adorned the table in their living room.

"Thank you for the food," Kieran and Visconti said, though Kieran's tone was exaggerated for comedic effect.

Visconti took the first bite, pausing for a moment. "This is amazing," he said, his voice tinged with genuine praise.

Kieran, meanwhile, sang exaggerated praises between bites, earning an eye-roll from Elijah.

The meal stretched longer than usual as they talked about various topics, the atmosphere lighthearted and warm.

Just as they finished eating, a notification buzzed from their pocket devices.

[This message is for all cadets. Please go to the main building for weapon selection. Anyone who fails to comply will not be able to select a weapon until the next weapon selection.]

The trio quickly made their way to the main building.

Inside the building, rows upon rows of weapons gleamed under bright lights. Each weapon was displayed on individual pedestals, categorized by type: swords, spears, sabers, daggers, rapiers, halberds, greatswords, bows, guns, whips, and even gauntlets

"Any weapon you can think of should be here," an officer announced, his voice commanding the attention of the hundred students present.

The officer in front of them was Oreon, their swordsmanship instructor.

Oreon continued, "These are training versions of the weapons. Don't look down on them just because they're for practice. Each one is worth 5 million."

"Choose carefully," Oreon added. "Once you pick your main weapon, you won't be able to change it for six months. This is your chance to find what suits you best."

The cadets murmured among themselves, eyeing the weapons with awe.

Elijah scanned the room. The sheer variety of weapons was overwhelming.

Swords and spears were the most popular, as expected. Kieran confidently stood in front of a sowrd, his hand resting on its hilt as if claiming it already. Laurent chose a sword. Out of the thirty students in their group, almost half chose the so-called Holy Trinity of weapons: swords, spears, and sabers. Visconti, ever the strategist, opted for a rapier, its sleek design complementing his precise fighting style.

But Elijah hesitated.

He already had a sword given by Augustus, and choosing another one felt redundant. It would be a waste to select something he wasn't genuinely excited about. His eyes wandered until they landed on a weapon no one else had even glanced at: a gun.

The firearm sat alone on its pedestal, almost out of place among the elegant blades and polished bows.

Guns in this world were vastly different. They didn't fire traditional bullets but magic bullets, compressed mana projectiles strong enough to kill low-intermediate grade monsters. While more powerful than some melee weapons, guns had a major drawback: magic power couldn't be applied to them, which capped their potential.

For ordinary humans, guns were formidable weapons, especially in this world where traditional bullets had been replaced by "magic bullets," compressed mana rounds capable of killing mid-level monsters. But for Espers, who could wield magic power, guns were seen as inferior.

Still, Elijah found himself drawn to the weapon. It was efficient, long-range, and suited his current situation. Though Espers typically avoided guns, Elijah saw potential in them.

"What's wrong?" Visconti asked, walking up to him.

Elijah shook his head. "Nothing."

"You're looking at the gun?" Kieran asked, joining them. His tone was incredulous.

"Why? That's the weakest weapon here."

Elijah didn't answer immediately. He weighed his options. A bow was tempting, but it required too much setup time. Guns, on the other hand, were straightforward and versatile. They didn't demand the same finesse as a sword or the strength of a spear.

"I think I'll take it," Elijah finally said, stepping forward.

The other supervising officer raised an eyebrow as Elijah reached for the gun. "Are you sure?"

"Yes" Elijah picked up the weapon, feeling its cold metal in his hands. It wasn't flashy or prestigious, but it felt… right.

The officer smirked. "An unconventional choice. Let's see if you can prove everyone else wrong."