The sun had just risen when Commander Surez burst into the barracks.
His voice cut through the air like an order carved into steel.
“Recruits!
Today you will report to the Grand Hall for Captain Sharlok’s lecture.
Wash up, get dressed, and move!”
Sky let out a sigh.
At least, after two days of sweat and torment, he could finally wash like a human being.
When he returned, he found the imperial uniform neatly laid out on his bed.
A military green outfit.
Simple.
Impeccable.
All imperial soldiers wore green—but not the same green.
The uniforms of ordinary soldiers were bare, severe, stripped of any ornament.
Those of captains and generals, instead, gleamed with medals, rank stripes, and golden details that left no doubt about who commanded.
Sky slipped into the uniform with a pained grimace.
“Feels like sandpaper…” he muttered, naturally adjusting his dark sunglasses on his nose.
The Grand Hall was enormous.
Rows of tables and chairs stretched endlessly along the walls, while massive imperial banners—heavy as verdicts—hung from the ceiling, nearly brushing the floor.
At the center, on a slightly raised platform, stood Captain Sharlok.
His back was straight as a spear.
In silence, he wrote formulas and military terms on a vast blackboard with white chalk, as if carving doctrine itself into stone.
The last footsteps faded away.
Sky and the other recruits took their seats.
Then—silence.
A silence imposed by something deeper than fear.
Sharlok slowly turned.
His gaze swept across the hall like an invisible blade, laying bare every hesitation.
When he spoke, his voice was not loud—yet it thundered through the walls like a cannon shot.
“Today,” he began, “you will learn the Path of the Empire.
Every imperial soldier must know their duties, their enemies… and whom they truly serve.”
He paused, letting the words sink into every mind.
“The Empire exists to bring order and destroy chaos.
Our mission is to protect the peace of all those who wish to live quietly, respecting the law that binds us together.”
He turned to the board and wrote two words in large letters: Order and Peace.
“For this reason,” he continued, “security comes before all else.
Our lord is the Emperor—the one who stands above every rank, the only one with the power to truly decide the fate of the world.”
With calm, inexorable steps, Captain Sharlok moved to the lectern.
He settled his military coat over his shoulders as if bearing the weight of an entire continent.
“The birth of the Empire,” he began in a glacial tone, “dates back two thousand eight hundred and eighty-five years.
Twelve families.
Twelve bloodlines.
Twelve supreme codes.”
From that moment on, he did not stop.
The echo of his words bounced off the marble walls.
He seemed never to breathe.
Sky sat in the front row.
His pupils were slowly fogging over like cold glass.
Beside him, Shark had already tilted his head back, eyes wide open in a state of imminent brain death.
Sharlok continued.
Relentless.
Unyielding.
A recruit a few rows back fainted silently.
Shark whispered without moving his lips,
“This… is worse… than physical torture.”
Sky, staring into nothingness, replied,
“I’m reconsidering my entire existence.”
And yet Sharlok did not tremble, smile, or hesitate.
He was utterly convinced that every syllable was vital to the Empire’s survival.
And this… was only the introduction.
The Grand Hall sank into an almost religious silence.
On the platform, Captain Sharlok continued his endless lecture.
“The Twelve Founding Families of the Empire, guardians of the Origins and guarantors of Balance.”
His voice grew even heavier, and the air itself seemed to thicken.
“House Asterion — Lords of High Strategy.
House Molvaris — Custodians of Technological Research.
House Velhar — Dominators of Trade Routes.
House Ruhnar — Guardians of Military Order.
House Thalara — Nobility of the Spiritual Caste.
House Nemphis — Judges of Supreme Law.
House Kalkharyon — Pioneers of the Western Frontier.
House Yuremis — Archivists of the World’s Memory.
House Psyco — Producers of Energy Sources.
House Vorcellan — Lords of Finance.
House Seraphis — Masters of Diplomatic Relations.
And finally… House Zhaar’n, the Throne of the First Emperor.”
At that name, nearly the entire hall swallowed in silence.
That was the one family to which, by tradition, no face could even be assigned.
Shark was visibly losing his life force.
Sky, eyes dead and unfocused, murmured,
“I’d like… a bullet… to free me right now…”
Sharlok noticed nothing.
There was no time, no mercy in his voice.
“The imperial succession follows three degrees of Legitimacy.
Blood.
Mandate.
Consensus of the Twelve—though, of course… only House Zhaar’n holds Absolute Preemption.”
Shark whispered,
“He’s still talking…?”
Sky, hollowed of all soul, replied,
“I think he will… forever.”
Sky yawned, bored.
The speech felt like any ordinary sermon.
Then Sharlok’s tone shifted.
His voice turned suddenly colder.
“And our enemies…”
He turned toward the audience, eyes sharp as blades.
“…are all those who threaten the Empire.
Criminals, thieves, pirates… and above all, the Clans.”
That word snapped Sky awake.
Finally—something interesting.
Sharlok never lowered his gaze.
“The Empire does not normally deal with common crime.
Our task is to monitor the Level Up.
But when a criminal organization chooses to cooperate with one of them… our intervention becomes inevitable.
And final.”
He picked up a piece of red chalk and drew a numbered scale on the board, from one to seven.
The Grand Hall held its breath.
“For centuries,” he said firmly, “the Empire has classified clans and their most dangerous warriors—the so-called Level Up—based on the threat they pose to human civilization.”
He stepped forward.
His shadow stretched across the front row.
“An advanced calculation system analyzes destructive potential, speed of action, capacity to generate casualties or destabilize territory… and assigns a rank from one to seven.”
He pointed at the first number.
“Level One.
Minimal danger.
Individuals capable of localized damage: small structures, limited groups of people.
A dozen trained soldiers—or a commander like Surez—are more than enough to neutralize them.”
He slid to the next.
“Level Two.
Higher risk.
Entire districts or small urban areas may be devastated.
Stopping them requires a Captain and at least three hundred soldiers.”
Nervous whispers rippled through the hall.
Sharlok raised the chalk to the third number and struck the board sharply.
“Level Three.
Large-scale destruction.
A single individual can reduce an entire city to rubble.
Multiple captains are required, several sergeants… and direct supervision by a Sergeant Major.”
Sky, who had been dying of boredom until then, snapped fully awake.
One person capable of wiping out a city—now that was power.
Sharlok’s voice grew darker.
“Level Four.
Devastation of an entire province.
A General must personally lead the operation, supported by Sergeant Majors and elite units.”
A pause.
Absolute silence.
“Level Five.” He spoke slowly now.
Each word weighed like lead.
“A threat capable of bending a continent.
These Level Up are often supreme leaders or commanders of clans.
To stop them requires at least three Generals, thousands of soldiers, and a large-scale military operation.”
Sky swallowed.
His heartbeat quickened.
Sharlok turned to the circled six.
“Level Six.
The most dangerous clan leaders.
Individuals capable of triggering total destruction, potentially lethal to the entire planet.
When a Level Six moves… the Empire mobilizes all Generals, all elite troops, and the entire war machine.
It is no longer a battle.
It is global war.”
No one dared to breathe.
Not even Sky.
Shark stood rigid as a blade—and then, without warning, burst out,
“And… a Level Seven?!”
The entire hall shuddered.
A wave of fear swept through the recruits.
Sharlok slowly turned.
His eyes were as cold as the first night of winter.
A long silence.
Then, glacially,
“A Level Seven… exists.
And there is only one.
Information about it is classified at the highest levels.
Not even I know all the details… and it is better that way.”
A collective chill descended.
Sharlok fixed his gaze on the hall.
Every recruit felt seen.
“Remember this: if you ever find yourselves facing that monster… there will be no battle.
Only annihilation.”
The hall fell mute.
For a long moment, silence reigned.
No one dared speak.
Then, slowly, an uneasy murmur spread among the recruits—stifled questions, whispered theories, fear made visible.
Sky, however, felt no fear.
His heart was racing—not from terror, but from excitement.
One single man… powerful enough to command respect from all.
The thought ignited a spark within him he had never felt before.
Behind his dark glasses, his eyes gleamed as if about to catch fire.
While the recruits whispered among themselves, Sky remained still, a faint smile on his lips.
So out there existed individuals that powerful…
The idea didn’t scare him.
It thrilled him.
To face them… surpass them… climb that mountain to the summit…
The mere thought electrified him.
It felt as though an entire world of possibilities, battles, and freedom was opening before him.
Yet he knew one thing.
The Path of the Empire was not his path.
Those ideals of order and obedience did not belong to him.
Castel Rock was not a school or a training ground.
It was a prison.
And more than anything else, Sky wanted to be free.
As Sharlok’s voice once again filled the hall, Sky clenched his fists beneath the table.
He had already decided.
He would find a way to escape—and once outside, he would follow only his own path… whatever it might be.
Next Episode — The Escape Pact