The sun had barely risen when Commander Surez stormed into the barracks.

His voice cut through the room, sharp as an order carved into steel.

“Recruits! Today you will report to the Grand Hall for Captain Sharlok’s lecture. Wash. Dress. Move!”

Sky let out a long sigh.

At least—after two days of sweat and torture—he’d finally get to wash like a human being.

On his bed, the imperial uniform had been laid out with care. A military set—simple, immaculate. Everyone in the Empire wore green.

But not with the same weight.

A regular soldier’s uniform was bare. Severe. Stripped of anything that could resemble pride.

A captain’s or a general’s, instead, gleamed—medals, rank stripes, gold details that left no doubt about who gave orders and who received them.

Sky pulled the uniform on with a pained grimace.

“Feels like it’s made of sandpaper…” he muttered, sliding his dark sunglasses onto his nose like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The Grand Hall was enormous.

Rows of tables and chairs stretched so far they disappeared along the stone walls, while massive imperial banners—heavy as verdicts—hung from the ceiling, almost brushing the floor.

At the center, on a small raised platform, stood Captain Sharlok.

Back straight as a spear. Silent. He wrote formulas and military terms in white chalk across a vast blackboard, as if he were carving doctrine into stone.

The last footsteps faded.

Sky and the other recruits took their seats.

Then—silence.

A silence that felt imposed by something deeper than fear.

Sharlok turned slowly.

His gaze swept the room like an invisible blade, exposing every hesitation.

When he spoke, his voice wasn’t loud.

And yet it thundered through the hall like cannon fire.

“Today you will learn the Way of the Empire. Every imperial soldier must know his duties, his enemies… and who he truly serves.”

He paused.

“The Empire exists to bring order and destroy chaos. Our mission is to defend the peace of those who choose to live by the law that binds us.”

On the board he wrote two words: Order and Peace.

“That is why security comes before all else. Our lord is the Emperor—the one who sits at the top of every rank, the only man with the power to decide the fate of the world.”

On the platform, Sharlok stepped behind the lectern. He set his coat over his shoulders as if he were carrying the weight of a continent.

“The birth of the Empire dates back nearly three thousand years. Twelve families. Twelve bloodlines. Twelve supreme codes.”

And from that moment on, he didn’t stop.

Sky sat in the front row. His focus was slowly fogging over.

Shark, beside him, had already tipped his head back, eyes wide open and dead inside.

A recruit a few rows behind quietly fainted without a sound.

Shark whispered, “This… is worse… than physical torture.”

Sky stared ahead, hollow-eyed. “If this is the Way of the Empire… it’s longer than I thought.”

Sharlok didn’t hesitate. To him, every word was vital.

And that… was only the introduction.

The Grand Hall sank into an almost religious silence.

“The Twelve Founding Families of the Empire…”

He listed the names one after another, as if reading a verdict etched into history itself.

When he spoke Zhaar’n—the throne of the First Emperor—the air seemed to stiffen.

“Imperial succession follows three degrees of Legitimacy. Blood. Mandate. The Consent of the Twelve. Even so, only House Zhaar’n holds Absolute Prelation.”

Shark murmured, “Is he… still talking…?”

Sky sighed. “I think he’s going to… forever.”

But then the tone shifted.

“And our enemies…”

Sharlok’s eyes sharpened into blades.

“Are all those who threaten the Empire. Criminals. Pirates… and above all—the Clans.”

That word finally snapped Sky’s attention into place.

“Our task is not to deal with common crime,” Sharlok continued. “We monitor Level Ups. And when a criminal organization collaborates with one of them… imperial intervention becomes inevitable. And final.”

He drew a scale on the blackboard.

“For centuries, the Empire has classified Level Ups based on the threat they pose to human civilization.”

He pointed to the first tier.

“Level One. Contained threat. Limited damage. Trained units are sufficient to neutralize them.”

Down to the second.

“Level Two. High risk. Urban areas compromised. Requires coordination between senior officers and organized forces.”

The chalk struck the third mark.

“Level Three. Large-scale destruction. A single individual can erase a city. Intervention requires multiple captains, specialized units, and direct supervision.”

Sky straightened.

“Level Four. Regional devastation. Only a General can lead an operation of that magnitude—supported by elite detachments.”

Silence.

“Level Five. Continental threat. Extremely rare individuals, often serving clan leaders or leading strategic operations. Facing one requires war on a massive scale.”

Sharlok circled the next tier.

“Level Six. Absolute clan chiefs. Individuals capable of driving the world into total destruction. When one of them moves… the Empire responds with all its strength.”

Shark stiffened. “And… Level Seven?”

A long silence.

“Level Seven exists,” Sharlok said at last. “And there is only one. Information on him is classified. And it is better that way.”

He turned to the hall.

“If you ever stand before that monster… there will be no battle. Only annihilation.”

The silence that followed was complete.

Sky, instead, wore the faintest smile.

Not fear.

Excitement.

In that moment, he understood something:

the Way of the Empire wasn’t his path.

Castel Rock wasn’t a school.

It was a prison.

And Sky had already decided he would escape.

—

 Next Episode — The Oath to Escape