Bond Master

The First Link

.

Page Two: Magic-Affinity Classes. Open the specialized compartment beneath your bedding assembly using the thumbprint of your left hand to extract the standard casting mediums, catalysts, and runic stabilizers required to channel your latent ambient Mana.

Ren knelt by the side of the bed, locating a smooth brass latch. He pressed his left thumb against the cold metal plate. With a soft click, a long drawer slid outward. It wasn't filled with weapons, but rather a bewildering array of esoteric tools.

There were bundles of dried, silver-leafed herbs used for mental clarity, small glass vials containing glowing blue liquid catalysts, and an assortment of strange geometric instruments. Among them sat a heavy glass orb with no base, perfectly smooth and filled with a swirling, milk-white fog. It looked remarkably like a high-grade snow globe devoid of any internal scenery.

Curious, Ren picked up the heavy glass sphere.

The moment his fingers wrapped around the surface, the milky fog inside violently snapped into a brilliant, blinding white light. Simultaneously, a cold, weightless sensation bloomed directly behind his eyes.

A stark, mechanical prompt echoed cleanly into his consciousness, completely independent of his own thoughts: Confinement Vault space initialized. Tethered entity absent. Please record a baseline bond to stabilize structural viewing.]

Ren froze, holding his breath as the words resonated within his mind. The message didn't disappear; it lingered like an afterimage. As he focused on that internal sensation, he felt a sudden, terrifying expansion within his own soul. It felt as though a massive, subterranean labyrinth was unfurling behind his temples—a vast, echoing hall constructed of black iron pillars and heavy, hanging chains that stretched into an infinite dark void. It was an entire pocket dimension waiting to be populated.

"What if I choose something legendary?" Ren wondered, his mind racing as he thought back to the school lectures regarding the mythical beasts that guarded the deep continents. "Can I anchor a Wyvern? A Behemoth? A Sovereign Drake?"

The dark void within his mind remained entirely silent. There was no response, no miraculous manifestation. The internal prompt was clear: he needed to record a baseline bond. He couldn't just invent a creature out of raw imagination; he had to physically locate a living vessel to anchor within the chains of his vault.

But this was a pristine, high-security military transport train slicing through the managed borders of the Golden Dragon Nation. There weren't going to be wild earth mice or stray alley cats wandering through the carpeted corridors. If his primary class skill required physical contact with a biological target to activate, he was facing a catastrophic bottleneck before he even reached the Academy gates.

A soft, polite knock on his compartment door shattered his concentration. Ren hastily set the glowing glass orb back into the drawer and slid it shut before opening the door. The same uniform-clad guard from earlier was standing in the corridor, a relaxed smile on his face as he took note of Ren’s rumpled clothes and slightly dazed expression.

"Having any luck parsing through the mechanics, kid?" the guard asked, eyeing the open instruction manual on the desk.

"Yes and no," Ren admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I felt... something. Like an empty space opening up inside my head. But the book says I can't progress until I utilize a baseline skill, and I'm missing the target required to trigger it."

The guard chuckled, nodding sagely. "Ah, the classic compatibility wall. Don't let it beat you down just yet. You're already miles ahead of the other recruits in this carriage; most of the kids from the outer sectors are still completely dead to the world, sleeping off the serum's shock. Look, you've been working your brain raw for hours. Why don't you come get something to eat? I always find the gears turn a bit smoother on a full stomach."

"Food sounds incredible, honestly," Ren said, his stomach letting out a timely, roaring growl that emphasized the point.

"Follow me, then," the guard said, gesturing down the narrow hallway. "The main dining hall for the standard students isn't scheduled to open until tomorrow morning, but the staff galley runs twenty-four hours a day. I'll sneak you in for an early plate. Besides, you're about to find out that the food provided on the elite track is completely different from the gray nutrient mash and salted tubers you're used to returning to the foundries."

Ren stepped into the corridor, sliding his door locked behind him. As they walked through the vibrating train cars, passing rows of identical, silently locked compartments where his future peers were still unconscious, Ren listened intently as the guard continued to speak.

"The magical abilities our nation leverages put an absolute, back-breaking tax on the human metabolic system," the guard explained, his heavy boots thudding rhythmically against the floor.

"When a mage casts a high-tier fireball or a guardian projects a kinetic wall, they aren't just burning abstract Mana—they're burning through their body's raw caloric reserves, cellular proteins, and glucose levels. If an elite tries to survive on common civilian rations, their muscles will literally atrophy and digest themselves within a month of intensive training.

To keep us functional, the military cultivates specialized agricultural zones filled with low-tier magical flora and ranches stocked with domesticated mana-beasts. The meat and grains are saturated with ambient energy. It heals the micro-tears in your muscles and replenishes your core reserves instantly."

They passed through a heavy hydraulic door, entering an expansive, pristine dining car lined with polished chrome counters, leather booths, and an open-concept kitchen grid. A massive, iron-topped flat grill dominated the rear wall, radiating an intense, comforting warmth.

A burly man wearing a white chef’s apron over a modified military tank top was hunched over a massive wooden cutting board, meticulously slicing through a slab of deeply marbled, violet-tinted meat. He didn't look up as the door hissed open, but his booming voice cut through the sizzle of the prep stations.

"Woken up early, have we?" the cook called out, wiping a blood-stained cleaver on his apron. "The student menu isn't prepped, but if your staff or an early bloomer, just stack whatever raw proteins and grains you want on the prep counter by the grill. I'll fire it up for you in a minute."

"Thanks, Chef," the guard called back, guiding Ren toward the massive refrigerated display cases lining the left wall. "Go ahead, kid. Take whatever catches your eye. Don't be shy about the portions; the military covers the tab for anyone carrying a mark."

Ren stepped up to the glass, his eyes widening at the sheer abundance of luxury. He picked up a large ceramic plate, his hands trembling slightly as he used a pair of silver tongs to claim two thick, premium steaks cut from a Primeval Aurochs—a low-tier magical beast known for its incredible muscle density. He added a mountain of deep-grain wild rice that shimmered with a faint, iridescent sheen, and a collection of thick, nutrient-dense mountain tubers that smelled of rich, unpolluted earth.

As he slid his plate down the line toward the cooking station, his gaze drifted to a small, straw-lined wooden crate sitting on the bottom shelf of the cooler. Tucked inside the nest was a small cluster of oversized, stone-grey eggs.

Their shells weren't smooth; they were covered in intricate, naturally occurring geometric ridges that looked remarkably like interconnected metallic links. The kitchen staff usually utilized these specific eggs to thicken high-energy broths or enrich the sauces for high-ranking officers due to their dense concentration of unrefined life-force.

Fascinated by the pattern, which mirrored the aesthetic of his own marking, Ren reached into the cooler and picked up one of the heavy, cold stone-grey eggs.