The rest of Goodwitch's presentation shifted smoothly away from the intricacies of human advancent and into a darker, more pragmatic topic—the creatures of Grimm. The lights in the auditorium dimd a fraction, the main screen flickering to life with images and short clips of the nightmare creatures in various forms. Jaune didn't speak, but he straightened unconsciously, his mind sharpening from lethargy at the change in subject.
Her explanation ca in asured, deliberate beats—each fact heavier than the last. While humans and trained operatives could actively cultivate power, develop rune skills, and channel Aura, Grimm followed a different path entirely. They shared the sa ranking scale, Rank 0 through Rank 3, but their growth was… different. At the very beginning of each rank, rather than painstakingly condensing fragnts into a skill, Grimm instinctively converted their accumulated dream energy into a rune. It wasn't sothing they had to learn or even think about; it happened automatically, as if woven into their very nature.
There was no slow building of comprehension, no months of trial and error—they simply beca more dangerous overnight. And because they had no need for training, the transition from one rank to the next was abrupt, often violent. A Rank 1 Grimm could erge from a pack of Rank 0s in a matter of hours, and a Rank 2 could appear just as suddenly among its lower-ranked kin.
Most Grimm were as they appeared: feral, single-minded and driven purely by predatory instinct. But not all. Occasionally, one would demonstrate an unsettling flicker of intelligence—hesitating in battle, coordinating with others, setting crude ambushes. These were the ones to fear most. They were the ones who survived long enough to rise through the ranks.
When Goodwitch ntioned that, Jaune couldn't help but rember the fight against the Ursa in Ansel, just before he t Raymond and the masked man. It felt as if the beast was playing with him. It was only after he managed to score a hit on it that it suddenly changed its tune and went feral like all the other grimm before it.
Could that be one that would have ranked up? Jaune was fairly certain that it was.
As far as humanity knew, Grimm didn't have aura in the sa way operatives did. Whether they possessed sothing similar—or even superior—was a mystery. Communication with them was impossible, and dissecting them in the waking world yielded nothing but inert blackened remains. Any attempt to understand their "system," if they even had one, was as fruitless as interrogating a storm.
Goodwitch's presentation shifted to a new slide—white text against a dark red backdrop—outlining the rewards and penalties the Nightmare System enforced when Grimm were killed. Here, Jaune leaned forward slightly, absorbing every word. The rules were strict, unyielding, and clearly designed to prevent exploitation.
If an operative managed to slay a Grimm of a higher rank than their own, the System awarded 100 rune fragnts on the spot—enough to imdiately form a rune skill if the operative chose. It was a staggering bonus, but one few ever claid; defeating a creature even one rank above your own was sothing closer to suicide than strategy.
Against Grimm of equal rank, the standard reward applied: ten rune fragnts per kill. A predictable increase. But the mont an operative moved into a position of superiority, the generosity of the System evaporated. Killing a Grimm one rank lower than oneself, yielded absolutely nothing. The sa applied to two ranks and three ranks. Nothing. No fragnts and no gain. No incentive at all.
The logic was plain enough—at least in design. The System wanted risk. It wanted progress born of danger, not from slaughtering the helpless. If you wanted to grow, you had to earn it.
Her tone, cool but edged with finality, carried an unspoken warning: there was no room for complacency. Grimm didn't care about fairness, but the System did, and it enforced its rules without exception.
There were further restrictions, too—chanical and absolute. No operative could hold more than one hundred rune fragnts at a ti. The mont you reached that limit, any kill beyond it, no matter the rank of the Grimm, would yield nothing. No stockpiling, no hoarding for later use. And if you stood at the very peak of your current rank—stats maxed and rune skill created—the fragnts would stop coming entirely. Advancent had to be earned, not padded with excess.
For Jaune, the implications were clear. There was no farming easy targets, no running up numbers for a rainy day. If you wanted to advance, you'd have to walk into danger. You'd have to take on enemies that could—and probably would—kill you if you misstepped.
The slides shifted again, showing quick, brutal footage: operatives clashing with Grimm at varying ranks. Rank 0s, while deadly to the unawakened, were crushed with relative ease by trained fighters. Rank 1s were faster, stronger—pack leaders that could overwhelm. Rank 2s were worse, almost calculated in their destruction, the kinds of monsters that could strip entire blocks to rubble. And Rank 3s… the feed lingered on that tier for only a mont before fading out. The implied scale of destruction was enough.
Goodwitch didn't speculate on the why of these restrictions, nor on the deeper chanics of the System's choices. She simply stated that it was omniscient in its own design, and to question its reasons was pointless. Her voice made it clear: the System was. It did not justify itself to humans, and any attempt to twist its rules would end in failure.
Jaune didn't interrupt—not because he understood everything, but because the weight of the information demanded quiet. Even without directly saying it, Goodwitch's ssage was impossible to miss: the path forward was narrow, steep, and lined with teeth.
When the orientation finally wrapped, the last slide faded into LUCID's crest. No more clips or diagrams. The silence that followed was long enough for the tension in the room to settle into sothing heavier, sothing that would follow Jaune well beyond the walls of that auditorium.
The Grimm weren't just dangerous because of their teeth and claws. They were dangerous because they were efficient, because they were rewarded for existing, because they could rise as quickly as they killed. This was simply the nature of beasts which were born from human nightmares. And for operatives like Jaune, the only way to keep pace was to climb faster, risk more, and hope the System found him worthy enough to survive the next step.
Goodwitch finally set down the holoslate she'd been using to project diagrams of Grimm silhouettes, system prompts, and runic shapes. Her voice, clipped and authoritative from the start, softened a fraction.
"I believe that is enough information for now, Mr. Arc. There is still much you must learn about the properties of the Nightmare Realm, but that can be saved for another ti."
Jaune nodded automatically. His brain felt like it had been packed tight with concepts he'd barely begun to grasp—stat requirents, rune condensation, comprehension, Grimm growth chanics, ranking limitations, and an entire set of "rules" that the System enforced without question. His eyes flicked to the wall clock in the corner of the orientation room and nearly bugged out.
Three hours. Three. Whole. Hours.
No wonder his stomach felt like it was trying to digest itself.
"Yeah," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think if I cram in any more, my head's gonna pop. Or maybe my stomach will, whichever goes first."
A faint smirk touched Goodwitch's lips at his honesty, though it disappeared just as quickly.
"Co with . You need a proper tour of the facility. And, judging by the way you're looking at the clock, sothing to eat."
She stood and led the way out, the click of her heels sharp against the immaculate floor. Jaune rose, stretching his arms with a groan before hurrying to catch up.
The halls of LUCID's main base were sterile but not empty corridors Jaune had expected. The walls themselves seed alive with color—holo-screens projected mission briefings, squad schedules, and a rotating display of operational statistics in clean, minimal graphics. Every so often, a transparent panel would flicker into life, displaying an aerial view of active Nightmare incursions like a living map.
They passed a long row of doors, each labeled with glowing blue text: Simulation Chamber 1, Weapon Familiarization Room, Rune Practice Bay. Through the glass panes, Jaune caught glimpses of operatives in mid-session.
One room showed a man in sleek black armor sparring against a humanoid projection, twin short swords flashing in rapid arcs. In another, a woman practiced her rune skill—a glowing shockwave that blasted through a series of floating drones, scattering them like leaves in a storm.
The most impressive were the holographic training arenas. One door was ajar, and Jaune slowed just enough to peek inside. A massive room, easily the size of a sports field, shifted and shimred under the control of advanced projectors. In seconds, the environnt changed from a ruined cityscape under a blood-red sky to a grassy plain dotted with stone pillars. Operatives ran drills, vaulting from cover to cover, firing ranged weapons or rushing forward with lee attacks.
"You'll get a tour later. For now, don't linger," Goodwitch said without looking back, though he caught the faintest upward twitch at the corner of her mouth.
They finally reached a set of wide sliding doors that parted with a soft hiss.
The sll hit him first—warm, rich, mouth-watering aromas that pulled at every fiber of his being.
"Welco to the LUCID cafeteria," Goodwitch said simply.
If Jaune had been expecting rows of bland tables and a food counter, he was sorely mistaken. The cafeteria was huge, more like an upscale futuristic food court. The ceiling arched high overhead, covered in a panoramic projection of a soft blue sky streaked with slow-moving clouds, giving the illusion of eating outdoors. The air was comfortably warm, with a subtle background hum of quiet conversation and the whir of servitor drones.
Dozens of automated service bots rolled between tables on silent wheels, each carrying trays of plated als. At one end, a line of gleaming food dispensers stood ready, their digital nus scrolling through hundreds of options—from steaming bowls of ran to neatly stacked sushi rolls, from hearty grilled steaks to bright salads that looked like they'd been grown five minutes ago.
Jaune stared as one of the bots rolled past him, its articulated arms adjusting to keep a perfectly balanced tray of pasta steady while avoiding a group of chatting operatives. Each bot's "head" was a simple curved screen with animated eyes that blinked and curved into cheerful expressions as they passed.
The people here were… normal-looking. Or at least, they seed normal. Young, old, n and won—so in casual clothes, others in the sleek armor of active operatives. But sothing about their posture, the way they carried themselves, hinted at capability.
"Hard to believe everyone here's an operative," Jaune said, shaking his head as they stepped deeper inside.
Goodwitch gave him a sidelong look, her tone lightly correcting.
"Not everyone. Non-combat personnel aren't normally able to enter the Dream Realm. But that is a topic for another ti. In any case, many here, are researchers, analysts, support staff, and supervisors. Without them, our field operatives would be blind in the Nightmare."
That made Jaune blink. "So, like, desk work?"
"Specialized desk work," Goodwitch replied smoothly. "So are experts in rune theory. Others track Grimm spawning patterns. A few specialize in logistics, making sure operatives have the right weapons, armor, and dical support. You'll learn more in your squad debriefing."
He filed that away as sothing to think about later. Right now, the tantalizing scent of food was winning the war for his attention.
They made their way to the counter, where a humanoid service bot bowed politely and projected a floating nu in front of them. Jaune's eyes went wide—this was not the greasy cafeteria fare he rembered from school.
Steak dinners, teriyaki salmon, roast chicken with vegetables, fresh-baked bread, even desserts that looked like they belonged in a five-star restaurant. Each al ca with a tiny notation of its nutritional value, calorie count, and—sowhat amusingly—"combat readiness" score.
Jaune didn't hesitate. He ordered a towering burger loaded with everything, a side of seasoned fries, and a large soda. Goodwitch, seemingly as ever composed as she always appeared to be, chose a light salad with grilled chicken and a cup of green tea.
They took their trays and walked toward a quieter corner of the room. Jaune wasted no ti—he bit into the burger like a man possessed, letting out a muffled groan of satisfaction.
"Good food," he mumbled through a mouthful. "Really good food."
"We ensure our operatives are well-fed," Goodwitch replied primly, taking a small sip of tea. "Proper nutrition is essential for performance, both in the Dream and in reality. The academy above us, also shares this trait."
She was referring to Beacon that was on the aboveground. Jaune could hardly believe that there was even a secret military base right underneath the school. He still couldn't wrap his head around how they brought the people in and out of the base without going through the elevators that he had once went through.
Perhaps there were other entrances?
In any case, Jaune didn't reply to her—he was too busy devouring his fries. His earlier exhaustion from the three-hour lecture was fading, replaced by the simple pleasure of eating sothing hot, fresh, and impossibly good.
When he finally leaned back in his chair, burger demolished, soda drained, he caught Goodwitch watching him with a faintly amused expression.
"Feel better?"
He nodded, wiping his mouth. "Better than I've felt all day."
"Good. You'll need the energy. Your tour will begin soon. Then we'll have to get you settled in. Many things to do today, Mr. Arc."
Sothing about her tone made him pause mid-sip of his soda. "Soon as in…?"
Goodwitch's smirk was brief but telling. "Soon."
.
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AN: Advanced chapters, up to 10, and images(free) are available on patreon.
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