Memorize

After entering the training camp, the instructors signaled the start of intense training from the very next day. Within just the first week of firing that signal flare, the North Continent Player Academy had already cemented its infamous reputation. Out of 130 participants, a staggering 17—over 10%—had given up on the training and dropped out. Notably, 15 of these were players specializing in close and long-range combat.

It's important to emphasize that the North Continent is under the jurisdiction of players from South Korea. One key difference that sets South Korea apart from the countries governing other continents is its compulsory military service. Because of this, it wasn't uncommon to find reserve soldiers and military-affiliated players among the adult male population.

Perhaps due to this, the North Continent Player Academy—proudly the first of its kind across all continents—had a distinctly military flavor. The academy not only imposed harsh training but also restricted basic freedoms, such as control over everyday life, including food, clothing, and shelter during work hours.

"If it was just about the training being tough," some might think, "you could grit your teeth and bear it." However, what truly drove new players to their breaking point was the content of the training itself. The intensity was such that actual military guerrilla training seemed mild in comparison. Many certified players couldn't handle it, vomiting on the first day and ultimately failing to endure the regimen.

The highlight, or perhaps the peak of this grueling training, was undoubtedly the special weekend training. The calendar on Hall Plain follows the same system as Earth, with weekends every seven days. This weekend training, conducted every Saturday and Sunday, was the true reason so many new players abandoned the academy, especially those in combat classes.

This training involved one-on-one combat between players.

Of course, magicians and priests were excluded. For magicians, the core principle was to channel and materialize mana into reality, which was already a difficult task at first. There was also an overwhelming amount of knowledge to master. Even if they dedicated 13 full weeks to it, mastering the basics seemed out of reach. Priests faced a similar situation, with few offensive spells and a focus mainly on healing and support magic, so they were naturally excluded from this training.

However, anyone thinking this combat was just a friendly sparring match would be sorely mistaken. Players were given sharp weapons and had to actually fight each other, with the goal of inflicting significant injuries. While they were protected by sturdy gear over vital areas like the head and heart, other parts of the body were left exposed, making the combat brutally realistic.

Every combat session was meticulously prepared. Renowned players were brought in as instructors to oversee the fights and prepare for any unexpected blows, and experienced priests were always on standby, ready to heal any injuries.

Even so, the mock combat training was something most players found nearly impossible to accept. No, it went beyond being hard to accept—many players cursed it as "insane" training. However, I held this training in high regard. It was because this specific training addressed the one concern I had about An-Hyun and his group during the rite of passage.

In 'Hall Plain', no one knows when, where, or what might happen. Once you move a certain distance outside the city, no place can be considered safe. You could trigger a trap, or you might be ambushed by monsters or vagrants. Even in areas under player influence, this can happen—let alone in the unexplored regions, which need no further explanation.

Such situations demand quick judgment and reflexes from players. Survival often hinges on how swiftly you react. Imagine being caught in a dangerous situation and hesitating, unable to stab someone with a blade because you're unsure or reluctant. That hesitation would be incredibly dangerous. This is why the mock combat training—where you learn to both stab and be stabbed, to get used to being injured—was an essential part of the process.

There was just one concern for me: I couldn't afford to get injured during the mock combat. In other words, I had to win every single fight. The other players, who were still beginners, had no chance of breaking through my defense.

While I could easily win against weaker opponents, facing stronger ones came with more pressure. For example, when I fought Wu Jung-Min, I spent the entire match focusing on defense, waiting for an opportunity to counterattack. That strategy paid off, and I eventually secured victory by catching him off guard.

As things stood, it was inevitable that I would start gaining some recognition. However, since I was still just a new player, the attention wasn't overwhelming. The other instructors and players merely noted that the level of this batch of new players was high, and among them, I stood out as particularly exceptional. Comments like "Kim Su-Hyeon is promising" or "He's got potential" were common. This level of recognition was within acceptable limits, so I took it in stride.

There's a saying: 'Talent will show itself.'—just as a sharp needle eventually pokes through a cloth, a person with outstanding abilities will naturally stand out. In the past, I had a compulsive belief, born out of old habits, that I needed to hide myself no matter what.

"If things go on like this, you'll act the same way in the same situation again, right? And then, things might repeat themselves just as they are now."

"Player Kim Suhyeon, you can't do everything on your own."

Those words from Han-Byeol and Seraph shook me to my core. I didn't want to lose 'him' and 'her' this time. I wanted to step into the light and be of real help to them. This time, I wanted to witness a happy ending with them, not a tragic one.

In 'Hall Plain', power is determined by how many comrades you have by your side—those you can trust and rely on. History, and my own experience, prove this. Even a player with unmatched strength, boasting a strength of 101 points and ruling an era, eventually crumbled under the combined might of an alliance. Therefore, to gather such comrades, you need a certain level of ability and reputation.

I realized that my mindset had changed slightly from when I first arrived. Now that I had entered Hall Plain, I was ready to do what was necessary when the time came. Once I made that decision, my actions naturally began to shift as well.

No matter how grueling the training was, I participated passionately without a single complaint. Even when the instructors pushed training to extremes, I followed along obediently and maintained a polite attitude. This dedication eventually translated into solid training results, and soon, I noticed that the instructors began looking at me with a sense of approval. (As a side note, the instructor assigned to my dorm eventually became someone who would run errands for me at the beginning of the year.)

As word of "Player Kim Su-Hyeon" started to spread, my relationships with the other players improved as well. More and more players wanted to befriend me or establish good relations. Instead of standing out all at once, I was slowly, step by step, revealing my potential as I steadily climbed the ranks. In other words, I was gradually proving myself as someone with promise.

Humans are adaptive creatures. While the length of the adjustment period varies for each person, the fact that one has adapted holds significant meaning. The difference in survival rates between players who adapted and those who didn't was substantial.

During the second, third, and fourth weeks, there were still a fair number of dropouts. However, as we moved into the fifth, sixth, and seventh weeks, the number gradually decreased, and by the eighth week, not a single person had quit. Those who remained were, in essence, the cream of the crop—players who had been thoroughly filtered and proven capable.

Of course, just because someone remained in the academy didn't guarantee survival, and conversely, those who dropped out weren't necessarily doomed to die. The world of Hall Plain is full of too many unpredictable variables to use the academy as the sole measure of life and death. It all came down to probabilities and possibilities.

It's no wonder that when clans look at their entry requirements for players graduating and entering 'Hall Plain', they often focus on one key factor: whether or not the player has graduated from the Player Academy. I've even heard that some clans on other continents give extra credit if you've graduated from the North Continent's Player Academy.

For those who left the academy early, if they survive for two years, they'll probably regret missing out on the four ability points they didn't receive as a reward.

An-Hyun and his group overcame my initial concerns with flying colors. Even Sol, who I had been worried about, successfully completed the training without a single dropout from the group. It seemed their past experience with the grueling forced march after leaving the trap-filled city had helped them adjust.

An-Hyun, contrary to my expectation that he would become a swordsman due to his familiarity with the sword, chose the lance as his main weapon. When I asked about his profession, it was no surprise when he said he had chosen 'Lancer'. With his strong base physical stats—aside from mana—he could've suited any weapon, though I did feel a twinge of disappointment.

I still vividly remember the moment when Sol was in danger in that clearing, and An-Hyun threw his sword, severing the deadman's arm. Ever since, I had held a high regard for his talent with the sword. If he had chosen the same path as me, that of a swordsman, I might have been able to help him advance toward becoming a Sword Master. But since he had a stronger interest in lances, there was nothing I could do.

Still curious, I asked him why he chose to be a lancer, and his answer was quite unexpected.

"Back then, I thought you were dead, and I couldn't think straight. Honestly, the angel pissed me off. She kept avoiding answering when I asked about you, talking about player settings and all sorts of nonsense. She told me to become a swordsman, so I told her to screw off and picked the lance out of spite."

Listening in, An Sol added that her brother had initially insisted on becoming a spell caster, much to everyone's annoyance. She laughed, recalling how she saw an angel flustered for the first time. At their nonchalant words, I sighed inwardly.

Sol's choice didn't stray from my expectations. As I had anticipated, she became a 'Priestess'. According to An-Hyun, while it took him a long time to choose his profession, An Sol made her decision in a fraction of that time. She was uncomfortable with wielding weapons and disliked hurting others, so becoming a priest suited her perfectly.

Lee Yun-Jung, on the other hand, chose daggers as her main weapon, sticking to what she had used during the rite of passage. Interestingly, she didn't just pick a single dagger but opted for dual daggers, wielding one in each hand. When I asked about her profession, she proudly told me she had chosen to be a 'Mercenary'.

Considering Lee Yun-Jung's well-rounded stats, including her mana, she would excel in any close-combat role. If it were up to me, I might have suggested 'Assassin', but a mercenary, with the ability to wield various weapons, seemed like a solid choice as well.

Now that the new players had gained access to their personal information and abilities, it wasn't uncommon for them to ask about each other's stats during the academy. However, I gathered An-Hyun and the others and made it clear to them that they should never reveal their stats or abilities—especially detailed information—to anyone, not even the instructors or other players. I stressed this warning multiple times.

I reminded Sol multiple times, two or three times at least. She didn't even understand why I was doing it, but just smiled brightly as if she was happy. I could definitely feel that after we encountered the boss monster, the attitude of the group towards me had subtly changed.

However, there was one person who seemed to be drifting away from us. As I started to make a name for myself at the academy, An-Hyun, An Sol, and Yun-Jung showed signs of pride, even though they hadn't done anything themselves. The fact that they acted like this showed that they no longer saw me as an outsider. But Han-Byeol was different.

Han-Byeol was steadily distancing herself from me and the rest of the group. When we first gathered after training, I asked her what class she had chosen, and she immediately responded coldly.

"You just told everyone not to reveal their information to others, right?"

I had only said not to share detailed information, not that they couldn't mention their class. After all, that's something people eventually find out. I forced a smile, but I couldn't help feeling a little hurt. Sensing my reaction, she quietly added that she had chosen a magic-related class, but I just nodded in response. I could have used the "Third Eye" to check for myself, but I didn't activate it on purpose. Based on her talent in magic, I already had a rough idea.

Han-Byeol also frequently skipped our group meetings. I had heard through Sol that even though mages had a lot to study, practice, and memorize, that was no different from other classes. We only met once a week for an hour or two at most, yet she struggled to attend even that.

"Oppa, just don't bother with her. She's not in the same dorm as me and Sol, and she barely even talks to us. Let her do whatever she wants. To be honest, I never liked Kim Han-Byeol from the start."

"That's a bit harsh. But still…"

"But still, what? Rumor has it that she's been talking to that guy, you know, the one who explained things to us when we first left the inn. Some people saw them together. She's a traitor."

As Yun-Jung called Han-Byeol a traitor, I couldn't help but smile bitterly. It seemed like the bad feeling I had at the start was becoming a reality. Honestly, getting an offer from the Golden Lion Clan wasn't something to be angry about. Even for me, by the 8th week, I had secretly received offers from more than five different clans, including, of course, the Golden Lion Clan. 

However, the real issue wasn't about the offer—it was how Han-Byeol was changing.

Still, her distancing herself from us continued to bother me. Even when she did occasionally join us, she barely spoke. There was only one time when she initiated a conversation with me, and that was to ask what my plans were after graduation. I simply brushed it off, saying I hadn't decided yet.

After that day, I began to see 'her' and Kim Han-Byeol as separate entities in my mind. I also decided not to dwell on the issue with Han-Byeol any longer. While I wished she would stay with us, I wasn't going to force her. If she chose not to follow, then so be it. I wasn't going to hold back anyone who wanted to leave, but those who wished to join would be thoroughly vetted before being accepted. I preferred quality over quantity, and I had no desire for a large, unrefined group.

There's a word: "fate" or "connection" (인연). It refers to the relationships formed between people. I believe that fate is not just a matter of chance but something that can be shaped and cultivated. That's why I believe in it. I've personally experienced the incredible strength that comes from bonds formed through genuine connections.

So, I decided to treat Kim Han-Byeol as just another potential connection. If fate brought us together again, we would meet. If not, I would let her go. I had the ability to form plenty of other meaningful connections; clinging to one uncertain bond would be foolish.

Once I freed myself from the shadow of 'her', I began to see things more rationally—things that had been hidden from me before. Looking at the situation objectively, it was much more beneficial to focus on players who had already been tested, rather than betting everything on someone like Kim Han-Byeol, whose potential was still just a possibility. Besides, even if there weren't many players with similar potential, there were bound to be some out there.