The Sovereign System.

The night was one of the longest Luke had ever experienced. The entire Military Academy was like a hornet's nest that had been stirred—soldiers were crawling everywhere, searching for any clues that might have been left behind.

By the time morning arrived, grim news came from the City Lord's Estate. It turned out assassins had also visited Viscount Diego, who barely managed to preserve his own life during the attack.

With news of his father's injuries, Kayson panicked, wanting nothing more than to rush to his side. However, the entire city was currently in lockdown.

Both Master Gale and Master Boyd gathered the remaining students in the pavilion. Out of the twenty students across the two intakes, only eight remained after the attack. Aside from Luke and Kayson, two other students from their dormitory had managed to fight back and kill an assassin: Arthur Hale and Brian Nautilus.

Luke recognized Arthur as one of the first to ridicule him before his fight with Kayson. The guy had oily black hair, hollow brown eyes, and was of average height and build.

Brian, on the other hand, was broad-chested with vibrant orange hair tied in a braid. At first glance, the combination of his hair color and green eyes reminded Luke of the Scottish Highlanders—renowned fighters in his memory.

Despite their stark physical differences, the two shared a certain gloom and vulnerability. It wasn't surprising, considering they had just fought and killed someone who wanted to take their lives.

Luke only knew one of the other four surviving students: Liu Tang. He was the big guy Luke had humiliated earlier, now bearing a crooked nose and missing teeth from eating the pavement.

Master Gale addressed the students, his expression grave. "You have all done well to survive last night's attack. The matter is still under investigation, so we have no concrete answers yet. Today, we will burn incense and joss paper for the deceased and mourn their passing."

It felt strange to see the old Master so sorrowful, especially since he usually treated them with indifference. For the first time, Luke realized the man cared for them in his own way.

With a heavy atmosphere, they each approached the altar and burned incense for the deceased. Luke was familiar with this ritual, thanks to his extensive reading.

Once the ceremony was complete, the two Masters relocated the first-year students to another heavily guarded building closer to the center of the estate. This was where the older students resided—though there were only six of them.

Even without the deaths of his fellow students, their numbers would have dwindled over time. Luke had heard that the Military Academy only graduated the best students, awarding them a high rank upon completion.

Those who failed were still sent to the army but only as minor officers. There were rare instances of failed students rising to greatness, but none had ever ascended to the rank of General.

Of the six older students, one truly stood out to Luke. The man was of average height and wore a black-and-red robe, a fan held loosely in his left hand. He sported a pencil-thin mustache over a bare chin, but it was his piercing blue eyes—eyes that seemed to see straight into Luke's soul—that truly caught him off guard.

The man cast a sharp glance toward the first years before walking away, his interest apparently fading.

Luke exhaled sharply, only now realizing he'd been holding his breath. His eyes gleamed with curiosity as they followed the retreating figure.

'Who the hell was that?'

Just being on the receiving end of the man's gaze had set off alarm bells in Luke's mind, leaving him tense. He couldn't tell if the reaction was purely instinctual or if it was something deeper.

"This will be your new lodging from now on. The west hall is free—go get some rest. The maids will bring your belongings over later," Master Gale stated before promptly leaving with the towering Master Boyd.

Luke sighed in relief. He was far too exhausted to do anything but sleep. As he started toward the west hall, he noticed Kayson rooted in place, anxiety written all over his face.

Luke turned to him and quickly understood. 'He must be worried about his father.'

Placing an arm around Kayson's shoulder, Luke offered a soft smile. "Let's get some rest. I'm sure your father is fine."

"Y-Yeah…" Kayson replied, though his voice lacked conviction. Even so, he followed Luke. His exhaustion and unease were plain to see—rest was something they both desperately needed.

By the time Luke ushered Kayson into the room and onto one of the beds, the boy practically collapsed, falling asleep almost instantly. Luke gave a small smile before walking over to his own bed and lying down. His body ached in protest as he sank into the mattress.

Staring at the ceiling, he held his hands out in front of his face and frowned. The sensation of his blade piercing the assassin's gut replayed vividly in his mind, making his stomach churn.

"I killed a man…" he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Luke had known he would need to wrestle with his morality after arriving in this world, but he hadn't expected it to happen so soon. While it was true that he had acted in self-defense, there was no denying the blood on his hands. His innocence was forever tainted.

'Will there come a time when I feel nothing after killing someone?' he wondered, staring at his trembling hands.

The question lingered as his eyes grew heavy, fatigue washing over him like a tide. This world would either change him or break him—he knew the choice would ultimately be his.

As the sweet embrace of sleep overtook him, Luke found himself dreaming of Earth. His trusty mobile phone was clutched tightly in his hands, a faint smile playing on his lips. A simple joy filled him, yet it felt hollow. The world around him was bathed in a pale yellow hue, dull and unreal, like a faded memory.

Suddenly, the sound of glass shattering pierced the air, followed by a sharp pain in his chest. He looked down at his phone—only to see a sword in its place, its blade driven deep into his body.

His breath caught in his throat as he raised his eyes. A figure clad in black stood before him, its face unmistakable—it was the assassin. This time, however, his expression was twisted into a sinister smile, one that radiated pure malice.

Luke's gaze dropped back to his hands, now gripping the sword's hilt. The pain in his chest intensified. A strangled wail broke the silence, and when he looked up again, the assassin was sprawled on the ground, lifeless. Blood oozed from his eyes, his mouth foaming in a grotesque and haunting scene.

"ARGH!"

Luke bolted upright, a sharp cry escaping his lips. His chest heaved as cold sweat clung to his skin, his clothes damp and uncomfortable. His wide eyes darted around the unfamiliar room, his breath uneven, until they landed on Kayson, who stirred from his sleep.

'It was just a dream,' Luke thought, his body trembling. It had felt so real.

He placed a hand over his chest, where the phantom pain had lingered moments ago, but all he felt was the frantic pounding of his heart.

"Bad dream, brother?" Kayson asked, his voice groggy but laced with concern.

Luke nodded, unwilling to elaborate. Saying it out loud felt like granting the dream power, something he desperately wanted to avoid. Sunlight filtered through the windows, casting long shadows across the room and hinting that the day was already well underway.

"I'm hungry," Luke said finally. "I'll feel better after a good meal."

Kayson chuckled softly. "You and me both. I'll meet you in the dining room."

Luke hesitated, his gaze lingering on Kayson for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off.

"What? You want to accompany me to take a shit?" Kayson quipped, raising an eyebrow.

Luke let out a dry laugh and stood up. "If it smells half as bad as the shit that comes out of your mouth, I'll pass."

With that, he left the room, shutting the door behind him. Yet, his thoughts lingered on Kayson. It was clear the man wasn't in a good place, much like himself. While Kayson's worry could easily be attributed to his father's fate, Luke couldn't help but notice the shadow hanging over him.

'Looks like it was his first time too,' Luke mused.

This world was steeped in war, its scars etched into the fabric of society. The books spoke of heroic battles and masterful strategies, their words romanticizing bloodshed and stoking dreams of glory in eager readers.

But wasn't war just organized murder? Men sent to die for someone else's ambition, leaving behind fatherless children and grieving widows. For what? So some king could claim more land? More wealth?

Luke's hands curled into fists, his thoughts a tangled mess of frustration and despair.

One day, Luke would have to stand on the battlefield, his orders sending waves of men to their deaths—not just his own soldiers, but his enemies as well.

'Will I be able to do it?' he wondered, his thoughts heavy.

But a better question arose: did he even have a choice?

Lost in thought, Luke noticed Arthur and Brian walking through the hall, their expressions grim. They seemed to be heading to the dining hall as well.

"Hey, mind if I join you?" he called out.

The two boys stopped, surprise flickering across their faces. It wasn't like Luke to approach anyone, much less initiate a conversation. Though they didn't respond with words, their lack of protest was answer enough. Luke fell into step beside them.

It was strange. Until now, Luke had felt nothing but disdain for the other students, going out of his way to avoid them or establish dominance when necessary. But now, looking at Arthur and Brian, all he saw were two kids—alone, afraid, and far from home.

Placing a hand on Brian's broad shoulder, Luke felt the larger boy flinch under his touch.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot," Luke said, offering a soft smile. "Why don't we start over?"

The reaction was immediate and almost comical. The two boys froze, their eyes widening and jaws dropping as if Luke had just suggested something outrageous.

Luke's eye twitched, but he kept his smile steady.

"R-Right, sounds good," Brian said after a beat, his large frame visibly relaxing.

Arthur nodded quickly, his words tumbling out. "Great! I-I wanted to apologize for my behavior during the induction. I see now how foolish I was."

'Only after I beat the shit out of you all in combat training,' Luke thought, amused. Still, he accepted the apology with a nod, feeling unusually magnanimous.

The trio made their way to the dining hall and found a table with four chairs. The initial atmosphere was tense, but once the food arrived, the two boys began to relax, their guarded demeanor slipping away.

Brian, it turned out, came from a northern family in the Marxx Kingdom. His ancestors were shipbuilders with a proud history, even boasting a famous naval general among their ranks. But since the general's death over 150 years ago, his family's glory had faded, and Brian was determined to restore it.

Arthur, on the other hand, was the third son of a merchant family with noble status in Clayton City. With little chance of inheriting the family's wealth, he had chosen to forge his own path at the Academy.

Luke listened attentively, nodding along as he helped himself to the food. The two boys seemed more at ease with him now, the tension melting into camaraderie.

"What about you, Luke?" Brian asked, his curiosity evident. But as soon as the words left his mouth, his expression shifted, a flicker of unease crossing his face.

Luke chuckled softly, understanding the hesitation. It seemed they'd momentarily forgotten he was just a commoner.

"There's only my father," Luke replied, his voice tinged with wistfulness. "He works as a mercenary. I just hope he's still alive by the time I leave this place."

The table fell silent for a moment, the weight of his words settling over them. Luke's thoughts drifted to Sebastian. Despite only spending about a week with the old butler, the man had left an indelible mark on him.

I hope you're safe, Sebastian, he thought, his chest tightening with concern.