SWNOVELXO Chapter 5: Beast gear
The door swung open, and every head turned to see who it was. A tall, strikingly handsome boy stepped in, his thick blond hair tied back in ponytail with some ribbons and full, striking eyebrows. He wore the same military-style academy uniform as the rest of the students, but somehow, it seemed to fit him better, as though tailored to perfection.
But he wasn't alone.
Behind him walked a man dressed in a pristine navy-blue suit adorned with the academy's crest. His presence was commanding, his steps purposeful, and it didn't take long for murmurs to ripple through the class. Everyone knew who he was.
Miss Brooks straightened up the moment she saw him, her expression shifting to one of respect. She stomped her foot on the ground in a sharp salute, sending a subtle tremor through her cleavage that did not go unnoticed by the room.
A few of the boys coughed awkwardly, while others stole glances, trying to mask their amusement.
The man in the suit stepped further into the room, his polished shoes clicking against the tiled floor, the sound echoing in the stunned silence.
This was Commander Darius Albright, Deputy Head master of the Academy and one of the most decorated officers in the military base history. Known for leading the decisive battle against a horde of Tier-4 beasts five years ago, his mere presence demanded respect.
Miss Brooks straightened even further, her stance rigid. "Commander Albright," she said crisply, saluting him once more.
Darius acknowledged her with a nod. "At ease, Brooks." He glanced around the room, his sharp blue eyes scanning the recruits before settling on his son. "This is my son, Adrian Albright," he announced, his voice even but firm. "He'll be joining your class. I trust he'll be in good hands."
"Of course, sir," Miss Brooks replied, keeping her tone professional, though her posture softened slightly.
Darius turned back to Adrian. "Behave yourself," he said simply before giving a small nod to Miss Brooks and walking out. His authoritative presence left an almost tangible weight in the air as the door closed behind him.
Miss Brooks exhaled softly, regaining her composure. "Adrian, there's a seat in the middle row. Take it and get settled." She gestured towards the empty desk. Adrian walked down the aisle, his strides confident but unhurried, as if he was already used to being the center of attention.
The murmurs among the girls began almost immediately.
"He's so handsome!"
"I can't believe he's Commander Albright's son!"
"I heard Commander Albright took down an entire beast wave single-handedly. Do you think Adrian's ability is just as strong?"
Noah, however, was seething. He didn't like the way Adrian's very presence seemed to command admiration. Sure, he was good-looking and had the right connections, but that didn't mean he could just walk in and steal the spotlight.
Kelvin, noticing Noah's clenched jaw, smirked. "Looks like you've got some serious competition now, huh?"
"Shut up," Noah snapped.
Deep down, though, the words stung. He glanced down at his own hands, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Sure, he wasn't bad-looking—he took pride in his appearance. His hair was always perfectly styled, his uniform meticulously ironed, and he'd spent a fortune on cologne just to get the girls' attention. But none of that mattered when his ability was... what it was.
His mind wandered back to the aptitude test phase, a monumental event that determined the trajectory of every candidate's future. It was during this test that abilities awakened, were ranked, and categorized into three generations, each a measure of complexity and evolution.
The First Generation, the most common and basic tier, was limited to single, straightforward abilities. These powers—like controlling fire, moving objects with telekinesis, or minor healing—were useful but rigid. There was no room for expansion or creative adaptation. A First Generation user mastered one skill and stuck with it.
The Second Generation, however, was a step above, unlocking a secondary affinity tied to the primary power. A Second Generation water manipulator, for instance, could control ice or vapor as well, wielding two interconnected abilities instead of one. These users weren't just stronger; they were also more versatile, making them far more valuable.
At the pinnacle stood the Third Generation, a rarity seen in only a few. These abilities defied convention, blending disparate powers into unique combinations. A single user might manipulate gravity while distorting time, or combine shadow manipulation with energy constructs. These powers weren't just potent—they were transformative, reshaping entire battlefields and strategies.
Each ability, regardless of its generation, was further ranked by strength on a scale of Level 1 to Level 10, determining its raw power and practical utility. A Level 1 power could barely move a pebble, while a Level 10 ability could decimate cities. Strength and generation combined to establish a user's standing, with even the strongest First Generation power often falling short against the versatility of a Second Generation one, let alone a Third.
And Noah?
He was a First Generation. His ability? "Perfect Echo."
It allowed him to replicate any sound he heard with flawless accuracy, whether it was a whisper, a symphony, or the roar of a beast. Ranked at Level 5, it was a "strong" ability by all accounts, but what good was it? Summoning perfect imitations of enemy war cries or bird calls wasn't going to stop a Tier-3 beast from ripping him apart.
'Maybe I could annoy someone to death with my perfect impressions,' he thought bitterly. The examiners had tried to frame it as "strategic," but no amount of sugarcoating could hide how useless it was for combat.
As Noah spiraled deeper into his self-loathing, Miss Brooks reentered the room, her usual confidence slightly shaken. She cleared her throat, snapping everyone's attention back to her. "Now, where were we?"
A student reminded her about the beast hierarchy, but she waved it off. "Enough theory for today," she declared, a mischievous gleam in her eye. "It's time for some field training."
Noah and Kelvin immediately exchanged wide-eyed glances.
"Outside the base?" Kelvin whispered, his voice tinged with excitement.
"Are you kidding me?" Noah hissed back. His stomach churned at the thought.
Miss Brooks's sharp voice broke the murmuring students' spell. "Alright, proceed to the East Wing student Armory to gear up for field training. You have ten minutes to get suited up and ready at the south gate!"
Adrian had barely moved before several students approached him with wide smiles, trying to strike up conversation. It wasn't every day you could befriend the Deputy Headmaster's son, after all.
"You're so lucky to have Commander Albright as your father."
"What's it like being part of military royalty?"
"Do you already have a high-ranking ability?"
Adrian smiled politely but gave little more than curt replies. He clearly wasn't interested in making friends.
As the class exited the room, Kelvin leaned close to Noah and muttered, "Don't you think it's a little weird? The Deputy Headmaster's kid, someone with that kind of status, in our class? Shouldn't he be in 1A or something?"
Noah shrugged, though he'd been thinking the same thing. "Maybe his scores weren't as great as they thought," he said flatly, trying to hide the bitterness in his voice.
As they walked down the bustling corridor, Kelvin suddenly tensed. "Oh, no," he hissed under his breath, his voice dripping with dread.
"What is it now?" Noah asked, already bracing himself.
Kelvin nodded toward the corner ahead, where an older woman in an apron stood wielding a mop. Her gray hair was tied back neatly, and her sharp eyes immediately caught sight of Noah. She waved him over with an expectant gesture.
Noah sighed but obeyed. "Good morning, Mrs. Harper," he greeted her with respect.
Mrs. Harper narrowed her eyes. "Good morning? You mean you skipped breakfast this morning, don't you?"
Noah scratched the back of his head. "I was running late. I'll eat something after class, I promise."
Mrs. Harper frowned, tapping her mop on the ground in disapproval. "That's not good enough, young man. You need your strength! I've packed something for you. Come find me at lunch if you're hungry." She patted him firmly on the shoulder, then did the same to Kelvin, who awkwardly grinned.
"Thank you, Mrs. Harper," Noah replied softly.
As Mrs. Harper walked away, a few passing students snickered.
"Did she pack you snacks, cleaner boy?" one of them whispered mockingly.
Another added, "What's next, are you going to mop the armory?"
Kelvin bristled, ready to snap back, but Noah raised a hand, stopping him.
"It's not worth it," Noah said quietly, though his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Kelvin glanced at his friend, worried. "You know they're just idiots, right? Mrs. Harper's basically family to you. That's something to be proud of."
Noah didn't respond immediately to Kelvin's attempt at consolation. His mind drifted back to thoughts of his parents. Both were once esteemed technicians and engineers, among the best in their field. The top dogs aboard the ark had offered his parents high-ranking positions as part of the development and maintenance teams aboard the floating utopia.
He'd been just eight years old when they left, promising to send for him once they were settled. For six months, they'd sent letters and funds for his care, but then, just like that, the support stopped. No messages, no money—nothing.
Mrs. Harper, his childhood nanny, had stepped in to raise him, working tirelessly as a cleaner in the barracks to ensure he had food to eat and a roof over his head. She'd filled the void his parents had left behind, not that it stopped other students from mocking him about her.
'It's easy to laugh when you've never had to struggle,' Noah thought bitterly, but he quickly pushed the anger aside. If his parents wanted to abandon him for a cushy life on the Ark, that was their choice. He wouldn't waste time mourning people who'd forgotten him.
Kelvin gave him a sidelong glance, clearly picking up on his friend's tense expression. "Come on, man, don't let those idiots get to you. Mrs. Harper's a saint for sticking by you. You're better off with her than with parents like—"
"Drop it," Noah said flatly, cutting Kelvin off. He didn't want to dwell on it any longer.
'I'd be damned if some spoiled brats think they can mock me for that?' Noah thought, his anger simmering beneath the surface. He wouldn't let them tarnish the one person who had stayed by his side.
Kelvin opened his mouth to say something else, but Noah cut him off. "Let's just get to the gear room."
Rounding a corner, they entered a large, metallic building marked with the academy's crest. Inside, rows of lockers and shelves lined the walls, each containing pieces of equipment for the students.
Noah's sour mood dissipated as his eyes lit up. This was what he'd been waiting for—beast gear. Protective suits, reinforced with specialized alloys and integrated with augmentations to enhance the wearer's abilities, lined the shelves.
Kelvin whistled, equally impressed. "Now this is more like it."