When humanity began sending cadets into real dungeons, it didn't take long to understand one truth: not all of them would return.
So they built a system around it. Every dungeon deployment was tracked in real time. Wristbands—linked to dungeon cores—did more than show stats. They streamed data. Synced vitals. Monitored trauma. Logged death.
It wasn't about oversight. It was about response. If something went wrong—if a squad went silent, if a life signature spiked or crashed—command could react. Maybe send a medic. Maybe extract a survivor. Or at the very least—witness it.
That's what the viewing chambers were for. That's why the projection room filled that morning. And that's why no one said a word when the solo run began.
Kaelen moved like smoke and thunder. No wasted motion. No theatrics. Just impact.
The first kill came fast. Too fast. Some cadets blinked and missed it. One instructor leaned forward. "Did he just—?"
The display showed a body drop. Then another. And another.
The silence inside the chamber thickened. The band on his wrist pinged: Level Up. And again.
"Four?" someone whispered. "Already?"
Instructor Veren muttered, "He's not pacing himself."
Brax shook his head. "He's not a sprinter. He's just—unchained."
Across the back wall, alerts began scrolling:
Monitoring alert: Cadet #019 – Heart rate spike
Monitoring alert: Cadet #019 – Combat aggression rating exceeds threshold
The headmaster remained still. Arms crossed. Watching without blinking.
Another goblin fell. Then three at once. Steel, bone, blood. No hesitation. Kaelen didn't slow. He let the hits land. Let blood drip. Let rage carry him further than he should've gone.
Until finally—the Warlord appeared.
Even instructors stood now. One muttered, "Pull the feed. If he dies, this'll traumatize half the floor."
"No," Caldera said flatly. "They need to see it."
The feed shook. Screamed. Static tore the audio for six full seconds. When it returned—Kaelen was smiling.
Someone gasped. Another whispered, "Is he laughing?"
A voice from the back—shaky, younger: "This—this isn't right. That's not what we're supposed to become—"
And then it ended. One final blow. One final scream.
The level counter flashed: LEVEL UP: 10
The feed cut. No one moved. The projection froze on Kaelen's image—blood-slicked, chest heaving, sword dragging behind him. It looked less like a cadet than a portrait of wrath.
Professor Caldera stood still. Then finally said, "The beast wasn't born today. It was just—released."
A soft beep sounded.
System Notice: Full combat footage archived to Cadet #019 personal file.
Flagged: Combat Style / Psychological Assessment Review Pending.
High above the crowd, in a private sector of the observation tier, one cadet remained seated after everyone else had risen.
His name was Thalen. First-year. Transfer. Different class. Different squad. But his eyes were locked on the screen. He watched every second.
And when it was over, he whispered to no one in particular:
"I found him."