The Bloodbath Odyssey; I reincarnated to become the cursed

"The first basic training,"

Sarah replied, looking at him.

"Seriously, didn't you receive a chip? The Echelon Seal?" she pressed, her brows furrowing. She found it hard to believe that Simma, of all people, didn't realize today marked the initiation of their very first training following the Wood Hint Tournament.

At that, Simma remembered the chip Zolomon had told him about. He recalled Zolomon's words, that since he was in the infirmary, maybe they gave him the chip there.

But what he didn't know was that the chip was only given at the Echelon Chamber.

"Yes," Simma replied. "I received the Elechon Seal."

Sarah chuckled, she tried to hold back the laughter, but it came out anyway.

"It's not Elechon, it's called Echelon," she corrected, her lips twitching.

"Yes, ma'am," Simma replied, sheepishly.

"Well," Sarah sighed, still smirking. "You should probably put on some real clothes now that you actually have some, and let's go for the training."

...

Simma, who had now changed into a velvety red kimono which suited his physic like they were exactly made for him, under the kimono jacket was a neat black obi robe which the knot was gently tied to his back, didn't look like someone who was going for training not at all, but he just wanted to enjoy the fact that for the first time he really had sharp cloths to throw over his body. 

Together, he and Sarah stepped through the male passageway and into a grand hallway lined with towering pillars. Each pillar cradled brilliant orbs of light that bathed the path in a golden glow.

The place was alive, filled with recruits; (that was what they called them, everyone that had passed the arena tournament), all headed in the same direction for their first basic training. Every face belonged to someone who had survived the arena battles, and the air thrummed with equal parts pride and tension.

As they walked, a loud murmur followed them, emanating from the noise of different discussions.

The hall funnelled them toward an open circular chamber where four different doors awaited. They veered left and a final turn brought them before a glass door, across which words gleamed in sharp white letters:

Training Center, Citadel, of the Great City.

The door sensed their motion and, with a whispering hum, slid open, and all of them began to walk in, their eyes darting around every inch of the place.

The place, very large and spacious, was lit with a very sharp and brilliant light which made the room smart. The floor was a mosaic of interlocking hexagons, each pattern threading across the ground like an intricate web.

Across the far wall stood arsenals of weaponry, racks and columns stacked high with blades, staves, and guns of every conceivable design. One section was crammed with revolvers of varying calibres, another displayed guns so alien in shape that Simma couldn't even tell if they were guns.

One thing was certain though, if anyone pointed one of those odd, humming things at him, he'd do whatever they asked without hesitation.

Along the opposite side of the hall stood robotic constructs, training dummies forged of steel, their faceless visors glinting under the light. Beside it not so far were punching bags swaying quietly, and holographic projectors blinked quietly in another corner.

Many more equipment that Simma couldn't comprehend were there, and it was as if every look he took, he saw new things.

The room itself was divided by a pane of glass, revealing another adjoining space beyond. In that room, dartboards lined one wall and shooting ranges bristled with targets drawn on them.

Sleek holographic pods that simulated projections sat waiting to project illusions of enemies for combat drills.

The place was complicated, sophisticated, and also large, that Simma wondered how all this fit into the Citadel building.

"Men, check it out," said a voice, it belonged to a big, muscular guy with pale-looking white skin and a round face, speaking to his friend, gesturing at the wall of weapons, his friend gawking alongside him.

And at that instant, another voice came from the entrance door with a reply:

"We won't be using that today."

The slithering steps, tracksuit, silver long hair, those eyes.

Simma didn't just know her, but had met her not so long ago.

"Delilah," he muttered in a way that no one actually heard him.

Truly, he had thought that Delilah was one of them, as in, a recruit, because the first time he saw her was in the locker room, and he thought she had fought in the arena tournament like the rest of them.

Well, he was wrong, it turned out she wasn't. Meanwhile, Sarah had said that she had never seen her around the recruits' sleeping wing.

"I want all of you to form six lines,"

Delilah said, her voice low but commanding.

"There will be no sitting today. This exercise will be short."

she walked upfront and faced them as they all scampered into lines, forming six long lines within seconds.

"Good,"

She nodded approvingly.

"Alright, I would like to introduce myself,"

she added, her eyes running through the different faces that were all staring back at her, piercing and deliberate, like she could measure their worth with a glance.

"I am Revered Delilah, an Accrehx-ranked Azren. I'll be leading your basic training. Any questions?" Without waiting for a reply, she said, "No. Let's proceed then."

No way, Simma pondered.

Here he was thinking that if she wasn't a Fluxborn, then she might just be a Xenon, but rather she was an Accrehx with the core trait of Revereity.

The title 'revered' she had said before saying her name was what they called a core trait aspect, it's like what defines an Azren's will, the essence of who they were, their strength, heart, soul, deeds, power, and how Azren-made they are and also how they have been able to tame their Within Beast.

The core trait is the same through out the whole rank, it was something that was unique in every rank. But the fun part was that even someone in the lower rank can have a higher core trait that someone in a higher rank.

It was very rare to see someone who was higher than revered, Even in the high ranks, there were seven tiers, ranging from Fluxborn/Creche, Xenon, Accrehx, Alpha, Omega, White Elder, and then the leaders, which are the Sentinels.

While the core trait were; sealed, initiate, Revered, ascendant, radiant, divined, and transcendent.

"If her core trait was Revered, it's not so bad. She's a strong one," Simma thought.

The way the eyes followed Delilah now that she had introduced herself made Sarah kinda envious, not just about the beauty and the figure, but the rank.

"Well, let's see how she handles her composure and this training, and how well she'll do in earning our respect," she mumbled to herself.

But Delilah, not knowing what was in their minds, or uncaring, of the jealous undercurrents, continued:

"Alright, I'm going to fill you in on what we are here for today, and I will leave you guys to it."

At those words, all of them listened to what she had to say, since their becoming an Azren depended on it. Sarah too had listened, pushing her envy aside.

The pale-skinned giant Draco, was whispering side comments to his friend, his broad shoulders shaking in a private joke.

Delilah ignored him for now.

"Now, your basic training is based on your Wood Hint Tournament, but out of these three words I said, we will be focusing on one: 'Hints.'"

"Is that right?" Draco intercepted, loud and brazen.

Delilah's blue eyes flicked to him. A glance. Nothing more. Then she simply continued, ignoring him again.

"…We don't yet know the full structure of the tournament,"

she said,

"but we've been instructed to provide the fundamental hints, the core survival knowledge you'll need. This facility will remain open to you at all hours. Feel free to use it. Train here whenever you must. It is open twenty-four seven and thirty-one."

She smirked slightly.

"I don't think there's any need to add the twelve."

A ripple of chuckles swept the room.

"Who is 'we'?" Draco threw in again, lamenting on the part she said 'we have been instructed to…'

Yet again, Delilah ignored him and continued.

Simma liked the way she was now making a fool out of Draco, who seemed to be less interested in what they were doing.

"Now, as you may have noticed or not, I don't really care," she began again, her tone sharpening,

"The Wood Hint Tournament has more to its meaning.... now...."

She scanned the lines of recruits.

"... Who knows what those meanings might be?"

Hands shot up, a flurry of eager volunteers, but one hand seemed more inquisitive to answer, a small lady dressed in pink: pink hair, pink shoes, pink lip gloss, she was entirely doused in pink.

She looked around, ignoring all the raised hands as if trying to sieve out someone else in the lined-up recruits, which she did.

"There.. you, can you help?" she said, pointing to Simma. Whose hand wasn't even up.

Simma looked behind him to know if she was really referring to him or the person behind.

Then he threw back.

"Mee??"