MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

In the same dimly lit room,

Colonel Vazeryth sat in silence, his face devoid of expression.

Beside him was Corporal Daniel, while Corporal Samuel and seven other corporal level training officers stood respectfully behind them.

They were not alone.

Lieutenant Darren was present as well, observing keenly from the shadows.

Each of them had gathered for a single purpose, to evaluate the recruit.

This was not merely about passing training drills.

It was not about scaling mountains with raw endurance or navigating grueling obstacle courses.

Such feats meant little if the knowledge and skills could not be applied effectively in the chaos of real combat.

The military had always been a place where conflict could ignite at any moment, any second, any minute, any hour.

It was a world built entirely around warfare.

Fight.

Kill.

Prevail.

Adapt.

There was no respite. No sanctuary.

The chaos they imposed was intentional, designed to confront the recruits with a glimpse of their true reality, even if it was only a fraction of the storm that awaited them.

The recruits had made a critical error, letting their guard down the moment their formal military training concluded.

A grave mistake.

Corporal Samuel, along with the seven other corporal-level training officers, had each warned their respective groups: 'Never lower your guard'

But their words had been forgotten.

Now, they faced the consequences.

The current ordeal was known as Baptism, a brutal tradition held annually by the military following the completion of recruit training.

It was not a celebration.

It was a revelation.

A ruthless introduction to the unrelenting nature of war.

A declaration that mercy had no place here.

A Baptism in blood.

The military had no use for weakness.

Colonel Vazeryth stared intently at the flickering screens before him, his gaze unblinking.

He was here to evaluate every single soul.

His eyes tracked each recruit's immediate response to the initial ambush.

Some reacted instinctively, striking first before their attackers could even move.

Others defended swiftly, blocking the blow and countering with calculated precision.

And then there were those who faltered, struck before they could respond, left wounded in the opening seconds.

He studied everything: their body mechanics, the flow of their movements, the form of their hand-to-hand combat, their reaction speed.

Every detail mattered.

Every hesitation, every reflex, every decision,it all revealed the truth beneath the surface.

Though the recruits were unarmed, they didn't need weapons of their own, because their enemies had them.

All they had to do was seize them, from the fallen, or by force.

Colonel Vazeryth continued to observe, his focus unshaken.

He watched their resolve.

Their willingness to advance through pain, through blood, through fear.

There was no retreat.

No escape.

The dome ensured that.

It had been constructed for this very reason, to contain the chaos, to eliminate the option of flight.

The Colonel had already anticipated the anomaly, Anthony.

He knew the boy's power, and he knew that if left unchecked, Anthony could very well shatter the dome and bring the entire trial to an abrupt end, forcing military intervention.

That was why he had taken precautions.

He erected a barrier, one that was far beyond Anthony's current capabilities.

A barrier forged not just of mana but of intent.

Unbreakable.

Inevitable.

Just like the path the recruits now walked.

On the battlefield, healers were indispensable.

Their safety was a priority, almost sacred.

But the Baptism offered no such privilege.

No healers.

No potions.

No mercy.

But, the Colonel already knew of Anthony's light affinity.

He was aware that Anthony was the sole beacon of healing among the recruits.

And he intended to exploit that.

This wasn't just a test of endurance or combat.

It was a measure of responsibility, of burden.

How far could Anthony's healing reach?

Could he sustain the wounded while chaos raged around him?

Did he possess the innate talent of his grandmother, legendary in her mastery of the healing Art?

Or was his healing ability merely a shadow, dwarfed by the scale of his overwhelming talent in battle?

Colonel Vazeryth meant to find out.

Not through questions.

But through blood, fire, and necessity.

Colonel Vazeryth watched as Anthony hovered above the chaos, untouched by the bloodshed below.

His expression was unreadable, cold, detached.

Eyes that held no concern for the pain or survival of the other recruits.

Then, Anthony moved.

A single hand lifted.

One finger extended toward the heavens.

And then came his voice.

Calm. Clear. Resonant.

It echoed through the speakers and spilled into the room, threading itself into every ear like a command from something divine.

Moments later, the sky ignited.

A brilliance unlike anything before surged downward, blinding, consuming.

The radiance poured through every monitor, every display, flooding the screens with overwhelming light.

But not a single soldier in the room flinched.

No hands rose to shield their eyes.

No one blinked.

They watched in silence, unmoved, as if the light had never existed at all.

They watched as radiant feathers drifted down from the sky, graceful, ethereal, as though a god had descended and left behind traces of divinity.

A hush fell over the room.

Even the most disciplined soldiers stared in awe, their eyes wide with reverence.

Never before had they witnessed healing on such a scale.

A twenty kilometer radius, encompassing dozens of recruits at once, bathing them all in soft, golden light.

It was unfathomable.

They were Corporals, foot soldiers, the lowest rungs of a vast military hierarchy.

Where would they ever see magic like this?

Light magic, especially at this magnitude, was beyond anything their ranks could access.

Most of their missions were minor deployments, operations so small, a healer was rarely deemed necessary.

And even when one was assigned, it was typically a low tier practitioner, someone whose abilities barely rose above mediocrity.

But this, this was something else entirely.

This was brilliance made manifest.

This was talent that couldn't be ignored.

Even the most hardened among them couldn't help but feel it:

They were witnessing the birth of something exceptional.

They watched in silent amazement as wounds sealed within seconds, as torn flesh knit itself whole and fractured bones realigned.

Stamina, once depleted, surged anew.

The recruits who had once staggered now stood tall, their strength renewed in an instant.

But awe quickly gave way to duty.

Snapping out of their reverie, the officers resumed their assessments, eyes sharp once more.

They observed how each recruit seized the narrow window Anthony had created, that fleeting moment of reprieve and turned it into opportunity.

The battle reignited with renewed ferocity.

And from above, Anthony descended like a falling star.

'A new ability?'

Colonel Vazeryth narrowed his eyes as he watched the boy manipulate the vectors around him, shifting, accelerating, redirecting with surgical control.

'This wasn't in his file'

Of course, he had anticipated this.

Files, no matter how detailed, could never capture the full scope of someone like Anthony.

There were always hidden cards, abilities concealed, instincts unrecorded, potential left undefined.

And Colonel Vazeryth, a man shaped by war and sharpened by observation, never trusted what was written on paper.

He knew better.

There was always an unknown.

And Anthony... was the embodiment of it.

Colonel Vazeryth's gaze shifted, narrowing on each recruit who had made a significant impact.

The military was a meritocracy, an unforgiving one.

Those with immense talent would never be allowed to languish in obscurity alongside those who lacked the same potential.

The capable would rise.

The strong would be given every opportunity to ascend the ranks, as long as their brilliance continued to illuminate the path ahead.

This trial and the Baptism, was not merely a test of endurance.

It was a means to gauge their potential, their raw abilities.

It was also the reason for the current chaos.

A controlled chaos.

A way to see how far they had come after a year of rigorous training.

And through this storm, Colonel Vazeryth's eyes remained locked on Anthony.

The boy moved with purpose, weaving through the battlefield with grace and precision.

He healed just enough to keep the soldiers alive, ensuring they were on the brink of death, but not beyond salvation.

For this was their moment, their chance to surpass their limits.

And Anthony?

He fought not only to keep them alive but to ensure they saw the fight through to the end.

He eliminated those threats too powerful for the recruits to handle, clearing the path for them to take on what remained.

Every soldier in the room stood motionless, eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before them as the recruits, now battle hardened soldiers, gave a unified roar of triumph.

They had won.

A rare, fleeting smile flickered across the lips of a few seasoned soldiers.

They had witnessed numerous Baptisms, witnessed recruits crumble under pressure, witnessed their ultimate fall.

Yet, this time was different.

This time, they had not intervened.

It wasn't that every recruit had proven extraordinary, or that they all possessed some hidden brilliance.

No.

It was the presence of a single recruit, Anthony, that had made this victory possible.

He had healed the wounded, each soldier who couldn't keep pace, mending their bodies just enough to keep them alive, to keep them fighting.

He had slain every demon, every Forsaken Cult member too powerful for the others to face, clearing the way for the recruits to rise.

It was Anthony, just Anthony, who had singlehandedly led them to victory.

A year ago, the military had allowed recruits to perish during their first trial.

But this was different.

Now, they held ranks within the military, no matter how low.

They were part of the force, their lives valued, their potential recognized.

And though they might have been low-ranking, they were still one of their own.

The military would always intervene, would always ensure that no recruit died in the Baptism.

But not this time.

Not a single soul was saved.

This time, the recruits had faced their greatest trial alone.

And they had triumphed.