Five hours.

Newly anointed Captain Chamomile Elragorn suffered the indignity of waiting for the door to open, and she deserved the humiliation. Hell, she believed five hours’ wait was lightweight compared to her suffering in the next minute.

“Come in.”

…

“Bitch,” Andries Sellovett didn’t mince word.

“I know.”

“Ungrateful traitor without spine of pride,” Lord Uther chewed the new Captain. “Aren’t you ashamed a one-arm man has more gut than you?”

“I know.”

“Scumbag,” Eliza the outrage spat. “Lord Samadi shouldn’t bother saving you. That badge on your chest belongs to Onee-sama!”

“I know.”

Piss-off was an understatement. Ten nobles seethed in this room. Beneath their accusation, Chamomile wished she could bury herself alive. Sadly, her penance only got started.

“What brings you here, backstabber,” Andries growled. “You failed to sell yourself to Sol and hopped on Solomek’s offer instead. You are ridiculously good at throwing excuse. Come on. I am listening.”

“No excuse. I did what I have to.”

Actually, Chamomile got her reason — her promise to the former Captain to protect the Grand Empire’s dignity in Hex’s place. However, that didn’t change that she picked the promise to a dead brother-figure and mascot’s position over her gratitude and dignity. Thus, a punching bad of penance she would gladly be.

Thankfully, saner head prevailed.

Madam Marmel overlooked the wrecked landscape outside as she spoke. Her presence commanded the room. Every soul knew Marmel were trusted by their enigmatic savior.

“I believe we enjoy piling on Chamomile, but our ears inside Solomek’s circles are scarce. She might be a puppet, but she is a puppet with intelligence. Chamomile, dear, give us something that convinces you don’t deserve a brief trip from roof to tarmac.”

Chamomile sighed.

“Solomek is dealing with Enma Clan.”

Andries snorted.

“No surprise. He put all the credit to Shyme, and you, the propaganda puppet.”

“Solomek Grandy can’t afford to look weak,” Chamomile continued. “The devastation of Venistalis and the elder’s defeat by Wayward rattled Grand Empire images. He must convince Phantasia the Empire’s strength remains unshakable. Acknowledging an unknown factor like Samadi and Ace performing better than Grand Empire’s defensive force is politically detrimental to his goal.”

“So, he props you as a trophy,” Uther chuckled sarcastically, sipping his soda to curb his anger. “Just coloring a paper-tiger doesn’t make it real.”

“It doesn’t,” Chamomile admitted. “That’s why certain noble floated a co-project with the Enma clan and Aurorin.”

“Wait?” Uther nearly choked. “I recall the last anyone tried that…”

“We got the X-cution,” a young noble named Gawain spoke. “What is Grandy offering that entices IK and Enma?”

“Orwell’s massive dragon. The Isle of Knowledge is interested in Mehest’s creation, and the Enma clan wants to supplement their private army.”

The room froze.

“You mean the three-headed behemoth our Onee-sama annihilated,” Eliza gaped. “The one that got reduced to charcoal. Isn’t that already a junk?”

Chamomile hesitated before she replied.

“Not totally. While majorities of the artificial dragons were carbonized beyond recovery, several burnt samples were carved away during the confrontation with Empress and Ace. Grand Empire’s remaining egg-heads claim the techniques gleam from it have military application.”

Gawain’s jaw dropped.

“Super-solider program? The capital just exploded and Solomek is focusing on his military?”

Chamomile’s face scrunched, and Marmel noticed it.

“Are you afraid something will upset us, Chamomile?”

The Captain of the royal-knights cursed the heaven.

“There are rumors Solomek considers cutting Venistalis as money sink and moves the capital to Lysander.”

Chaos erupted.

“What?”

“That bastard!”

“He can’t be serious? He is leaving the city to dry!”

“Crime-rate is already sky high. This will literally break Venistalis!”

“Now I get why those bastards are packing their belongings! Those traitors must suggest this to that dimwitted.”

“Fuck this shit! Call the Assassin Guild!”

Marmel clapped.

“Calm down, people. Keep calm!”

Andries was having none of it.

“Keep Calm! Don’t you remember Samadi’s speech? He believes we can rebuild! A stranger from nowhere delivered us hope, while our Emperor tosses us all to the dirt. Is Solomek deluding himself he measures up? Fuck that shit-head. I hit my limit. I won’t acknowledge that bastard as my Emperor!”

Murmurs of agreement emerged.

“Yeah, I would rather crown Lord Samadi,” Eliza voiced the room’s popular opinion. “We could—”

“Ladies! Gent!” Marmel raised her voice. “I know you all want Solemek booted from the throne and crown that kid as a new Emperor. As much as his surname makes a radical dynasty, Samadi has a different plan.”

The Madam raised a letter.

“Behold! The kid foresaw this meeting and left behind a letter, detailing our next course of action.”

The Madam read the letter.

‘Thank you all. Your gratitude touch my heart. I must warn you not to hold a similar meeting again until the plan penned in this letter is achieved. The Emperor might deploy spies soon, and every single individual presents in this room is irreplaceable. By the time my instruction reaches you, Solomek Grandy would already contemplate to shift the capital to avoid the rebuilding cost in favor of shoring his military. Chamomile, as our eyes, I will grant you the protection of ignorance. Today, you met with your colleagues and left after a disagreement with no idea what comes after. Do you understand your story?’

Silence. Chamomile rose, dusted herself, said her goodbyes and hightailed from the shit-storm.

“Wow, he must have [Clairvoyance],” Uther gaped. “That man is spot-on.”

The Madam continued.

‘Rejoice. No need to panic. Solomek’s action plays into my expectation. Our next phase requires your help. Here is my aim…’

…

A few minutes later.

“The boy is a genius,” Uther said. “Who would think he flips defeat into opportunity.”

“Very well,” the Madam concluded. “Implementation agreed.”

“Aye”

The agreement resounded

“Good, let the first meeting of HONORS Society end. Tomorrow, we implement ‘Fort Venita’”

…

Beneath Aurora Continent’s Ocean, a scream erupted.

“Ouch,” Arden Christy watched Orwell Mehest writhed on an operating table. High-intensity laser trace across his body, burning patches of his skin. “You are going way too far, buddy.”

“I… must… remove… Chronicler… Arrrgh!”

Christy winced.

Orwell's duel with Hikma left him with a seal crippling his power. Several analyses and desperate ideas proved regular curse-removal fail miserably to undo Hikma De Darwin’s [Nicholas]. Finally, Orwell resorted to a drastic and agonizing method of burning the seals from his skin via laser and regenerating from the self-imposed injury.

He might escape Horizon Dawn, but that battle left a painful first-impression.

“A curse that withstood every form of cure aside from carving away infected flesh,” Christy shivered. “How the hell did you meet that monster?”

Orwell sneaked a smile beneath his agony.

“Heh, I suspect a someone above the gods detected my machination and sent Samadi to contain me. We must assume there will be a repeat. One move too far and those freaks will materialize to stop us.”

The door slid opened, and a woman walked in. She sported a form fitting space-age leotard, green-tinge skin, and twin stag-like horns growing from her skull.

“I finish preparing your change of clothes,” said the emotionless girl. “I want to start my training.”

Orwell chuckled before wincing as the laser resumed its duty.

“All in good time, Olg-“

“That girl is dead. We have a deal, Orwell.”

“I fulfill the deal, didn’t I? I awakened your families’ dormant bloodline power and you will receive the best training our new club offers. You know I never break promises.”

“Good, and don’t you dare utter that name again, Mehest.”

“What do you want to be called then?”

The girl stared with emptiness.

“You decide.”

Orwell stared at her with only one emotion; guilt.

“You are the first among the new species, created solely by vengeance against the gods, anger toward your own creator, scorn toward those who abandoned you, and betrayal from the royalty your ancestor served. Your existence is an unending pain push by humiliation and regret.”

“Whose fault is that?”

Orwell looked into those eyes. Part of him remembered the moment the girl's fate solidified and the warning of a hero who failed to stop the tragedy.

‘And when will it end? Who do you help? You? Become your enemy. Your enemy? Too dead to make anything right. The bystander? Running from you in fear’

Samadi was wrong. The bystander didn’t run. The bystander underwent traumatic miseries beyond human imagination and evolved to haunt him. His enemy were her parents. But now that the fog of vengeance faded for reflection, the feeble lines separating bystander from the enemy seemed alarmingly thin. Yes, the hero of hope dispelled the chain of hatred, but in all conflict, hatred would continue. The very system the Samadi fought to overcome would not lay down and accept defeat.

More agent of vengeance would emerge no matter how hard the knight of hope fought.

“Ruine,” Orwell wished he possessed the ability to turn back time and killed Sol Grandy. “A permanent reminder of my failure.”

“Fine,” Ruine closed the door behind her. “Ruine it is.”

Arden Christy watched the girl departed.

“Isn’t that Olga Chloric?” Arden Christy said. “I remember her during Grand Empire’s joint celebration party with Balperia. How the hell did you convince a high-ranking noble from Grand Empire to be your test-subject? That girl is almost as popular as Andries Sellovett.”

“Former noble,” Orwell corrected. “Sol Grandy murdered lord Chloric and mutilated his wife before killing her. All while raping Olga before the assemble noble as a show of power.”

“My fucking god,” Christy slumped in her chair. “Why the fuck did Solomek spare those two nut-jobs? Apple don’t fall far from their mishappened tress.” A dark thought occurred in Christy’s mind. “Orwell, I don’t have a right to ask for moral high-ground, but did you—”

Christy gestured at her head.

“No, Olg-“ Orwell paused and corrected himself. “I and Wayward arrived too late to stop Sol, but we executed him as punishment. A girl just watch her parent died the most horrific death and raped by their murderer. I might want to nuke the capital, but this kind of depravity is too much for my stomach, so I offered Ruina a wish.”

“A wish?”

“Yes, I think of it as compensation. Anything I can provide is hers. I can kill anyone she wanted. I can arrange her a new identity and lifelong funding. Aside from my life, everything is on the table.”

Orwell remembered the answer that briefly impress him.

“She asked for power,” Orwell Mehest narrated. “Power to make those who laugh at her swallow. Power to make Solomek get a glimpse of her miseries. Power never to be humiliated again. To make the gods who permitted Sol’s existence understand the consequence. She was laughing mad, demanding that I owe her that much. She even bargains her tragedy and my role in it to get a fast-track as my lieutenant.”

“Shouldn’t she resent you?”

“She does, but she knows I am the one who saved from Grandy, while the rest of her ‘friends’ laughed. That day robbed everything and everyone from her. She desires a power to cope and a purpose to distract from her fall from grace. Ruina is smart enough I can provide both and demand I do it.”

“Well, hooray!” Christy mocked a cheer. “First step for our mighty organization—a rape victim, a mass-murderer and a mad scientist. It sounds smooth. What should we call ourselves?”

Orwell glanced from the submarine window.

“We are Diogenesis. Like life emerges from the Ocean, the new humanity ascend gods shall birth from our work.”

And thus, Diogenesis, the organization that shook the Age of Upheaval would emerge to aid the shattering of Phantasia’s flimsy balance.

…

“Alcra Shaxter. Formerly sat on the Isle of Knowledge’s boards as one of the brightest and wealthiest man in his time, but due to conflict with El Acerbia, he retired from the board 10 years ago,” Melody briefed the gang. “No one knows where he went until an earthquake causes a holographic message to emerge above a certain mountainous forest near the Isle of Knowledge. The massages claimed Shaxter is opening his secret laboratory to choose his inheritor.”

Objects floated around them, suspended midair by the power of [Tenshou]. Everything from an iron cube to sheets of document hang like a ceiling decoration tied to a non-existent string, serving Rem’s multitasking exercise with his Primal Arcane. An ability he spent every waking moment to specialize.

Rem registered the information and began toying with a lump of iron. Horizon Dawn’s limited budget forbid them from investing in expensive training equipment available to organization of Aurorin or 33 Stars with massive investors. While other would bemoan such disadvantage, Rem adapted it as his strength, pushing Horizon Dawn to innovate.

Rem may not have accessed to multi-ton weight, but his implementation of material understanding removed that limitation. Cheap and effective was the game of the day. Take a cube of 15x15x15 centimeters of lead worth about 27 dollar and weight 38kg. By using simple bulk modulus formula, to compress that cheap as hell cube to 5x5x5 size meant changing its density to a whopping 304000 Kg/m3. Putting the figures into the equation gave a terrifying 1161 GPa of pressure equivalent to 16 Megaton of mass.

Folks. That a solid 16 million tons. Remus Breaker invented a training method which allowed which granted a power to lift 43 thousand Empire State building with the cost of a pricy E-books.

Sadly, Rem was barely standing at the beginning stage. Right now, his maximum is snapping a 15x15x15 centimeters cube of mild steel. A power directly comparable to kiloton out put by far from god-like.

“Okay,” Luxinna was training her fine control of [Electro Lorde] Arcane by running enough power to heat the metal thread white-hot but not overshooting the output and vaporizing it. She was on her fifth try. “So why isn’t the Isle of Knowledge sacking the place?”

Melody’s answer voiced her deepest concern.

“Because the message disappeared in a mere moment after it demanded a competition of the most celebrated children Phantasia can offer to find Alcra Shaxter’s worthiest inheritors. The message stayed for two hours before disappearing. It was a massive headlines news. The Isle of Knowledge searched the entire premise and found nothing. In the end, they relented, releasing this newest treasure hunt to the public. The reaction is predictable.”

Rem flexed the bar of iron with his eyes close in thought.

“Does this happen a lot?” Hikma asked.

“Too many times,” Melody shrugged. “Phantasia is infamous on robbing tombs of long dead hot shot for treasures. It is considered a quickest way to gain strength.”

“But Satholia sent us to interfere with this case,” at the driver’s seat Cytortia pressed the Little Hope’s break for tonight's camp. “This mean something is wrong with Alcra’s generosity.”

Rem telekinetically snapped the iron-piece like chocolate.

“In conclusion, Alcra Shaxter is gathering hothead kids with the power of magical warhead in the forest of bum-fuck country-side. Satholia hinted this is a trap, so I believe he has a way to deal with the chaperones. Comrades, if I am right, the participant will get relocated the moment this competition starts — possibly into a slaughterhouse.”

Rem declared the mission aim.

“I will bet some of these kids are little monsters, but we can’t let them die. Morally, because while they maybe young, egotistical and believe they are immortal, no man has a right to punish them without trail. Pragmatically, their parent and clan will throw a hissy fit, declare war with each other, and we might be facing World War III. In conclusion, our mission is deducing the truth behind this competition, safe-guarding those young bloods and apprehending any potential bad-actor.”

Melody cleared her throat.

“You realize those hotshots are members of 33 Stars, right?”

“Yes.”

“Seriously? First Chuang! Then Shyme! Now this! Why do we keep running into these guys?”

As the former-member of said club, Cytortia provided an answer.

“Because karma,” She sighed. “You will get used to it, Mel. Trust me. I did.”

Luxinna burnt the metal string with miscalculated voltage before face-palming. Hikma stay silent, deciding his book was more interesting than the titanic babysitting that awaited.