Bond Master

The Personalized Crucible

The following morning marked the official, highly anticipated commencement of their training at the Golden Divine Academy, but to the surprise of the fresh intake block, there were no ringing alarms or rigid, pre-scheduled classroom rosters posted on the dormitory message boards. Instead, as the early sunlight filtered through the heavy golden drapes of Room 22, a series of calm, sweeping announcements reverberated through the integrated audio runes of the residential fortress. The instructions were exceptionally straightforward: every newly awakened initiate was ordered to remain inside their assigned quarters and wait patiently for the specific proctor in charge of their designated combat group to arrive and personally deliver their individualized training routine.

Hearing the broadcast, Ren Barrett let out a slow, content breath as he stretched his aching muscles. This incredibly flexible, personalized approach to education sounded infinitely more luxurious and accommodating than any traditional public schooling structure he had ever heard of back in the industrial outer towns. It made him feel a sudden, sharp wave of appreciation for the elite lifestyle he had suddenly inherited.

Back in the soot-choked alleys of his childhood, missing a single clock-in at the foundries resulted in severe wage deductions, and the local teachers believed that a dozen grueling laps around the gravel yard were the only proper cure for a student's lack of attention. Perhaps, if luck was truly on his side, his assigned personal advisor would be a reasonably patient, high-minded instructor who wouldn't spend the semesters screaming at commoner recruits for making minor mistakes during runic calculations.

During the early morning breakfast window, Ren navigated the quiet corridors down to the grand refectory hall to secure another massive feast. He packed a whole roasted primeval fowl into his canvas satchel specifically for his hidden companion, along with an immense mound of raw, nutrient-rich monster meat. Interestingly, the little Volden Shackle-Hound’s terrifying consumption rate had temporarily leveled off after its explosive growth spurt during the night. It was no longer a tiny, fragile hatchling desperately begging for scraps every ten minutes.

By the standard metrics of the dangerous outer wilderness, a fully grown Volden Shackle-Hound wasn't considered a massive apex predator in terms of pure physical displacement or crushing weight; rather, they were categorized as exceptionally lethal, high-tier stalkers due to their profound sensory synchronization and armor-shattering ambush capabilities. As a Shackle-Hound progressed toward biological maturity, its natural instincts would perfectly master the intricate patterns of the [Bone-Plate Rend] skill, enabling the canine monster to single-handedly isolate and butcher prey that significantly outmassed it with a singular, hyper-focused strike.

While a mature hound weighing only a few dozen kilograms might not sound particularly terrifying to a heavy vanguard warrior, a specimen that achieved a high enough tier of skill proficiency could actually stalk, ambush, and execute magical beasts positioned an entire combat Rank above its own classification. This incredible feat, rarely witnessed among common monster breeds, was a direct consequence of the Shackle-Hound bloodline’s unparalleled rate of skill adaptation and martial intelligence.

It was well past the noon hour before Ren’s personal instructor finally made an appearance at the western corridor of the dormitory block. By that point, Ren was growing thoroughly bored with simply pacing the perimeter of his private spatial balcony, waiting around for a knock. He had spent the morning rigorously practicing his shared [Bone-Plate Rend] technique, throwing out rapid, straight-line piercing thrusts with his iron-studded gauntlets until his shoulders burned with cellular fatigue and his internal soul-force channels felt thoroughly drained.

After taking a short, refreshing nap on the low-profile leather bed to recover his vitality reserves, he had meticulously pruned the dense foliage of the greenhouse, but the introductory textbooks stuffed inside his canvas satchel offered absolutely no guidance on what a Bond Master was supposed to do next.

A sharp, military cadence of knocks rattled against the heavy timber of his door frame, snapping Ren out of his thoughts. He rushed across the dark grey charcoal room, sliding the iron bolt back to reveal a sharp-featured female soldier waiting out in the hallway.

The woman was dressed in a pristine, tailored dark green military uniform complete with a sharp pencil skirt and high leather boots, her posture completely rigid and commanding. Her eyes held the unmistakable, deeply concentrated silver-crimson ring of a veteran serum user, and a heavy, silver-pommeled saber hung elegantly from her hip.

"Good afternoon, initiate Ren Barrett," the female officer announced, her voice carrying a crisp, authoritative snap that instantly cut through the quiet air. "I am your primary combat skills professor. You may address me as Sergeant Corvina. In addition to instructing your assigned intake block in close-quarters martial arts and the essential tactical survival disciplines required of the Nation's defenders, I will be serving as your personal guidance counselor and academic advisor throughout your foundational year."

Ren offered a respectful, disciplined nod, stepping back to allow her entry. "It's an honor, Sergeant Corvina. Please, come inside."

Sergeant Corvina stepped into the plain room, her sharp gaze instantly scanning the dark grey bulkheads, the low leather platform bed, and the iron writing desk with practiced, military precision.

"The Academy administration has officially evaluated your initialization papers," Corvina continued, turning her eyes back to Ren. "The proctors have determined that your unique Bond Master class is fundamentally too divergent from the standard physical warrior tracks for a traditional classroom schedule to be of any practical use to you outside the mandatory daily battle training courses.

Because your progression relies on entirely unmapped parameters, you and I will be working together via one-on-one tailored sessions for the foreseeable future. Now, tell me—do you possess enough adequate physical space within these quarters to conduct an initial analytical lesson, or should we mobilize and relocate to an open classroom in the training pavilion?"

Ren realized with a wave of internal amusement that his morning wish for a gentle, easy-going teacher had completely evaporated. Sergeant Corvina was undeniably striking, but her intense, unyielding demeanor was about as far from 'kind and gentle' as logistically possible.

Looking at the rigid set of her jaw, Ren was absolutely certain that forcing exhausted students to run endless disciplinary laps around the academy courtyard was right at the top of her list of preferred pedagogical methods.

"I actually inherited an exceptionally large spatial extension out on the patio deck," Ren said, gesturing toward the heavy golden drapes at the rear of the room.

"The gazebo space out there should be perfectly suited for an overview. Please follow me, Sergeant."

The private outdoor gazebo seemed like the absolute safest learning environment available. Given the sheer architectural weirdness of this enchanted fortress—with its self-contained training golems, shifting stairwells, and warped spatial parameters—Ren figured that keeping the hidden botanical garden left behind by his reclusive predecessor wouldn't cause any major administrative issues.