My Infinite System.

William walked briskly through the long stone corridor that led from the observation balcony to the senior combat class training hall. His shoes tapped sharp echoes against the polished floor. He clenched his tablet tighter in his hand, his smirk from earlier gone. In its place was a faint tension that pulled at the corners of his mouth.

When he reached the tall oak doors of the combat hall, he paused, breathing out slowly to steady his face. Then he pushed them open.

Inside, the senior combat class students were gathered in small groups, some sitting on stacked mats cleaning their weapons, others sparring lightly in the far corner under flickering rune lights. Their instructor’s arrival made them straighten instantly.

”Gather,” William said, his voice echoing against the high ceiling.

The students moved quickly, forming two neat lines before him. Thirty-two in total. Older than Class Zero by two to three years, their uniforms were dark grey instead of black, with reinforced chest plates and shoulder guards strapped over them. They wore leather belts lined with mana cartridges, potion vials, and collapsible weapon sheaths. Many had scars along their forearms or knuckles—marks of daily combat drills, sparring, and real-world hunting practice against lower-tier monsters.

At their front stood Darren, a tall boy with buzzed black hair and a narrow jaw. His brown eyes were cold and focused under his mana-reactive combat visor that rested pushed up on his forehead. Strapped across his back was a long spear engraved with faint silver glyphs that glowed each time he moved.

Beside him stood Rina, a short girl with wide shoulders and an armguard covering her entire left arm up to her shoulder. On her right thigh was holstered a heavy mana revolver, rune etched along its barrel.

William’s eyes flicked across all of them before speaking.

”There’s been a change,” he said sharply.

Some students raised their brows. Others frowned.

”Change, sir?” Darren asked, his tone flat.

William exhaled softly, feeling the faint breeze from the training hall’s ceiling vents rustle his hair.

”Your next assessment match,” he said, his voice carrying clearly across the silent hall, ”is no longer just between yourselves.”

He paused, letting the words settle before continuing.

”You will face Class Zero.”

Silence. Then a flicker of confusion and surprise spread among the students.

”Class Zero...?” Rina asked, her dark eyes narrowing faintly. ”The first-years?”

William nodded once. ”Yes.”

Darren scoffed softly, adjusting his spear strap. ”That’s a joke, right? They’re kids. I’ve seen some of them in the mess hall. They can’t even reach the top shelf.”

William’s gaze didn’t change. ”This is not a joke.”

Another boy in the back with short red hair and twin daggers strapped to his chest crossed his arms. ”Why are we fighting them? What’s the point?”

William’s jaw tightened faintly. ”Because the instructors want to see reality. They want to see what happens when humans face special ability awakeners.”

Silence fell again. The faint hum of the rune lights above them was the only sound.

Rina lowered her gaze to her revolver, her thumb brushing along the engraved glyphs at its cylinder. ”We’re not ability users,” she said quietly. ”We’re just... normal.”

”Normal doesn’t mean weak,” William replied, his voice low but firm. ”What are you?”

The students straightened slightly.

”We are hunters-in-training,” Darren answered, his tone tightening.

”And what does that mean?”

”That we fight... regardless of what we awaken,” Rina said, her voice soft but hard at the edges.

William nodded. His eyes swept across all their faces.

”You are the Combat Class,” he said. ”Humans who failed to awaken special abilities, but refused to walk away from the battlefield. You learned weapon arts. You trained your bodies. You carved runes into your blades and armor because you refused to die powerless against monsters.”

He stepped forward, his boots echoing against the polished rune-marked floor.

”Today, Class Zero is your monster.”

A quiet, cold determination spread across their faces. Darren rolled his shoulders back, the runes along his spear shaft flickering a faint blue.

”What’s the strategy, sir?” he asked calmly.

William allowed a faint smile to flicker across his lips, though his eyes remained cold.

”We will fight as a formation,” he said, raising his tablet to flick through tactical overlays. ”They have superior raw power, but we have discipline, technique, and teamwork. Darren, you’ll take squad alpha—engage their vanguard. Rina, you take squad beta, target their supports from range.”

Rina nodded, sliding her revolver free for a moment to check its rune chamber, then holstering it again with a sharp click.

”Gamma squad will flank from the west gate. Delta squad forms fallback lines and medical support.”

The students nodded, each one listening in absolute silence. William’s gaze flicked to the digital countdown ticking in the corner of his tablet.

”You have twenty minutes to prepare. Gather your armorers. Sharpen your weapons. And remember—”

His eyes narrowed slightly, a faint shadow flickering behind his gaze.

”If you lose... Zenith Week is gone.”

Their expressions hardened instantly. Zenith Week was what they trained for—where external guild recruiters watched, where international hunter organizations offered direct contracts. Losing it meant returning to normal combat drills with no hope of accelerated graduation.

Darren slammed his spear butt against the floor with a sharp crack.

”We won’t lose.”

The students dispersed immediately, moving to their weapon lockers, rune forges, and armor tables with quiet efficiency. A faint hum of mana echoed across the room as the combat engineer teams activated engraving kits to refresh runes and reforge minor cracks in armor plating. A scent of hot iron, leather oil, and mana powder filled the air as the class prepared.

When the Combat Class finally marched down the western tunnel toward the arena gates, their footsteps were silent and unified. They wore reinforced leather and rune-steel plates across vital areas. Their weapons shimmered with fresh glyph etchings—blades sharpened to micro-serrated edges, spear tips engraved with velocity runes, revolvers loaded with compressed mana bullets that burned blue in their chambers.

At the tunnel mouth, William stood waiting, his arms folded, eyes sharp. As they passed him, each student bowed their heads slightly in silent acknowledgement before stepping into the blinding light beyond.

When they emerged onto the arena floor, the roar from the packed stands rolled over them like thunder. Hundreds of students stood in the observation platforms, mana screens projecting the battlefield from dozens of angles.

And waiting at the center stage—

Was Class Zero.

They stood calmly under the glowing screens. Silas cracked his massive knuckles, veins pulsing along his forearms. Reia tightened her wrist brace, her golden circuits flickering faintly against her pale skin. Vyn stood silent, her long black hair drifting softly in the morning breeze, shadows curling faintly at her feet.

Evelyn rolled her shoulders back, faint arcs of lightning flickering up her arms before fading. Her hair glowed under the rising sun, her expression quiet but sharp.

And at their front, hands tucked in his pockets, black hair drifting across half-lidded eyes—

Stood Lucian.

His gaze flicked over the approaching Combat Class students, his expression calm and bored as always. But behind that gaze burned something sharp, something almost hungry.

The Combat Class spread out into formation, spear tips and revolver barrels catching the morning light, boots grinding dust into the cracked stone stage. Darren stepped forward, spear resting lightly in his palm as he pointed the tip down at Lucian’s feet.

”Class Zero,” he said, his voice echoing clearly across the silent arena. ”We won’t hold back.”

Lucian tilted his head slightly, his black hair falling over his eyes as a faint smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

”Good.”

The breeze rustled through the silent battlefield, carrying the smell of cold steel and drifting stone dust under the quiet sun.

And as the bell tower struck the hour above the academy domes—

The inter-class war began.