Chapter 2: The Four Academy Systems
1582 Words
Marcus Smith was gone.
He left without hesitation.
Ethan Smith, however, felt strangely hollow. His father had left just like that, without giving him any time to prepare.
On one hand, he worried about his father’s safety on the battlefield ahead. On the other, he found himself anxious about how he was supposed to live alone from now on.
He had grown used to his father’s care, used to having him around. Suddenly being left on his own felt deeply unfamiliar.
“Dad… before you left… you didn’t even wash the dishes.”
Ethan muttered to himself, forcing a bitter smile. He sighed, deliberately pushing certain thoughts aside. The Battlefield of the Heavens was unimaginably dangerous—if he let himself think too much, he feared he might chase after his father and drag him back home.
“The Civilization Academy…”
Ethan didn’t bother washing the dishes. He slumped onto the couch and stared blankly ahead.
Before leaving, his father had repeatedly urged him to apply to the Civilization Academy. That had indeed been Ethan’s original plan—but now…
“If you hadn’t gone to the Battlefield of the Heavens, I would’ve gone to the Civilization Academy without hesitation. But you just had to go. How am I supposed to stop worrying?”
“You might not come back for years. Am I supposed to sit safely in the rear and worry about you every day?”
“At your age, shouldn’t you have a bit more sense?”
Ethan rubbed his temples, his head throbbing.
“This is your fault. Since you’re not here anymore, I won’t apply to the Civilization Academy. I’ll apply to the War Academy instead!”
He clenched his teeth.
The Civilization Academy was ideal—deciphering the cultures of the myriad races, analyzing their techniques, researching their civilizations.
Every civilization researcher was a priceless asset, able to remain safely in the rear without ever stepping onto the front lines.
The War Academy, on the other hand, existed solely to prepare people for battle.
Hadn’t he spent years painstakingly studying the languages of the myriad races just so he could stay safely in the rear and remain by his father’s side?
And now, his aging father had gone ahead of him, charging into the most dangerous battlefield of all.
Once admitted to the Civilization Academy, it was almost impossible to be sent to the front lines.
But the War Academy was different. He had heard that many practical courses involved direct deployment to the Battlefield of the Heavens.
“The War Academy… requires real strength.”
Though he said it casually, Ethan felt troubled. The War Academy wasn’t something one could enter just by wanting to—it was far more demanding than the Civilization Academy, at least for him.
The Civilization Academy placed little emphasis on combat strength. The War Academy, however, demanded it—after all, it existed to supply the front lines with powerful warriors.
Origin Opening. Thousand-Pound. Ten-Thousand-Stone.
This was the cultivation path of humanity.
The human body was not naturally suited for cultivation. One had to open the nine Origin Apertures to connect the body and vital energy before formally stepping onto the cultivation path.
There were nine apertures: the seven sensory apertures—mouth, nose, eyes, and ears—along with the Divine Palace and the Hundred Assembly, located at the crown of the head and the navel.
Only by opening all nine could one absorb vital energy, temper the body, strengthen the bones, and undergo true transformation—becoming a warrior of formidable combat power.
“I’ve only opened the mouth and nose apertures. The ear apertures haven’t responded yet. Without reaching the Fourth Origin Opening, getting into the War Academy won’t be easy.”
Ethan muttered under his breath.
The War Academy existed to cultivate elites. It consumed enormous resources and would never waste them on the weak.
To gain a stable chance, one needed to open both ear apertures and reach the Fifth Origin Opening.
If the eye apertures were opened—reaching the Sixth or even Seventh—admission was virtually guaranteed.
Those with extraordinary talent who opened the Divine Palace or the Hundred Assembly would be specially recruited on the spot.
Anyone who opened all nine apertures before the age of twenty could enter the War Academy directly—every academy would compete to recruit them.
“I’m only at the Third Origin Opening…”
Ethan sighed. Third Opening wasn’t bad—but it certainly wasn’t impressive.
At Nanyuan Secondary Academy, there were nine preparatory classes with a total of 750 students. Over a hundred were at the Third Opening, and more than a dozen exceeded it.
Based on previous admission ratios, fewer than twenty students were accepted into War Academies each year.
In other words, the Fourth Opening was a strong guarantee. The Third Opening was a one-in-a-hundred gamble.
And War Academies varied in quality. Those willing to accept Third Opening students tended to be weaker—making them less appealing than the Civilization Academy.
“There are still more than three months left. The War Academy… I’ll decide then.”
Ethan clenched his fists.
If his father was unreliable, then he had to be dependable himself.
Running off to the Battlefield of the Heavens at that age—what was he thinking?
“Hah…”
Late at night, Ethan woke up once again.
Cold sweat soaked his body.
“Again… this damned dream… Dad…”
He called out instinctively. In the past, whenever he woke from nightmares, his father would rush in immediately. Tonight, however, there was no response outside his room.
Ethan froze before remembering—his father had already left that afternoon.
“Damn…”
He sighed, turned on the light, and checked his communicator. It was barely past three in the morning.
“Over ten years… not a single peaceful night.”
Anyone would break under that.
Back then, Ethan had even been afraid to fall asleep, nearly collapsing from exhaustion.
“What is wrong with me?”
Leaning against the headboard, he pondered the question he had asked himself for years.
He had asked his father, who had been equally at a loss. Doctors claimed it was severe psychological trauma caused by shock.
But Ethan couldn’t remember ever being frightened.
“Every time, it’s the same. I’m chased in the end—by monsters, demons, creatures…”
He frowned.
The dreams weren’t exactly identical. More accurately, he was hunted every night—but the pursuers were always different. Some weren’t even humanoid.
All kinds of monsters. Illusory, yet clearly distinct in form.
What had he done to deserve this?
Being hunted in dreams for over a decade—who else could claim that?
His father once suspected the Nightmare Race, but this was human territory. If a Nightmare Race expert had been casting spells here for over ten years, they would have been eliminated long ago.
And if a Nightmare Race infiltrator had entered human lands, it would’ve been to target powerful figures—not to waste ten years on an ordinary boy.
“That never-ending nightmare… it’s infuriating.”
Ethan muttered bitterly. He didn’t know when it would finally end. At least now he was somewhat used to it—otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to live normally at all.
“Dad said that once all nine apertures are opened and I reach the Thousand-Pound Realm, illnesses vanish, evil can’t invade, and vital energy tempers the body. Maybe then the nightmares will stop.”
For now, that was the only hope Ethan clung to.
Lost in thought, time slipped by quickly. Before he realized it, light seeped through the window.
Dawn had arrived.
Marcus Smith was gone—but life went on. Today wasn’t a holiday. He still had to attend the academy.
After washing up and grabbing a simple meal, Ethan slung his backpack over his shoulder and left home.
Downstairs, a buzz-cut teenager was already waiting.
When he saw Ethan, he hurried over. “Ethan, my dad said Uncle Marcus left yesterday—”
“Yeah.”
Ethan answered before he could finish.
The boy grew agitated. “Why would Uncle Marcus do that? At his age, going to the Battlefield of the Heavens—that’s basically—”
He stopped himself.
He wanted to say it was suicide, but he couldn’t say that in front of Ethan.
“It was his decision. I couldn’t stop him.”
Ethan forced a smile. “Besides, there are millions of soldiers and countless invincible human experts on the battlefield. It’s not that easy for something to happen.”
“I know, but Uncle Marcus is only at the Thousand-Pound Realm!”
The boy was even more anxious than Ethan. “That’s strong to us, but on the battlefield, that’s the weakest level. The soldiers of the myriad races start at Thousand-Pound.”
“I know.”
“Ethan, why aren’t you panicking at all?”
The boy was frantic. If it were him, he’d be crying already.
“What good would panicking do?”
Ethan sighed. His father was already gone. Worrying wouldn’t change anything.
“Let’s go to school. Stop talking.”
“School?”
The boy stared at him. “You’re still going to school?”
Ethan fixed him with a stare until he felt awkward.
“What else would I do? Stay home crying and wait for bad news from the front lines?”
- Writer
