Chapter 193: Squad
The hour of squad formation was a brutal microcosm of the Academy’s entire social structure.
The air in the Base Floor, already thick with the ambient hum of the Tower, crackled with frantic, high-stakes negotiation. It was a chaotic marketplace of ambition and fear.
I watched from the sidelines as the "Big Three" squads ford with predictable speed.
Leon’s team was a beacon of protagonist energy. Aiden, Lyra, and Chris ford his core, and he easily recruited the highest-ranking healer, a top-tier scout, and a powerful earth-mage, all drawn to his golden-boy charisma.
They were the "Hero Squad," balanced, powerful, and built for success.
Eric’s team was an exercise in pure elitism. He stood, arms crossed, as Petric and his other lackeys acted as gatekeepers, hand-picking only students from high-ranking noble families.
They were a squad of "Elites," dripping with arrogance and backed by generations of refined, inherited power.
Magnus Daven, anwhile, was playing the politician. He stood on a crate, his voice resonating with false populism.
"The nobles build their walls, but we build our army! Why beg for their approval? Join , and we, the true strength of the commoners, will climb this Spire on our own terms!"
He was building his "Army Squad," a mass of mid-to-high-ranking commoners united by his banner of resentnt.
And then, there was .
I stood alone, in a conspicuous, ten-ter circle of empty floor space.
My "divine rejection" in the Sanctuary, my "taming" of a dark beast, and my public humiliation had made a pariah.
The nobles saw as cursed filth. The commoners, wary of Magnus’s political rhetoric, saw as a volatile, dangerous anomaly. No one would risk their academic future by associating with .
The instructors watched, their faces impassive. Evelyn’s sharp gaze noted my isolation.
Alastor just watched, his expression unreadable, waiting to see how the "brat who used Aura" would handle being a social outcast.
"Forty minutes remaining!" an instructor’s voice bood.
Panic began to set in for the unaffiliated. I saw students scrambling, offering their services to any squad that would listen, only to be rejected.
My first target was in the thick of it.
Alex Vonstel, his shield strapped to his back, was currently standing before Magnus Daven.
"...I’m a hard worker, sir," Alex was saying, his voice earnest. "I’m E-Rank, but my defense is solid. I held the line in the Labyrinth. Just give a chance."
Magnus, surrounded by his new ’Army,’ looked Alex up and down with a dismissive air. "The Labyrinth? I heard that anomaly was just a system glitch that benefited your team. Your rank is 32nd, Vonstel. We need strength, not just loyalty. My squad is full."
He turned his back, leaving Alex standing there, his face ashen with humiliation. Rejected by the nobles, and now rejected by the commoners’ "champion."
He was truly at the bottom.
Alex’s shoulders slumped. He turned, his gaze drifting aimlessly through the crowd, and finally, his eyes t mine. He flinched, as if expecting to mock him too.
I didn’t. I just nodded once, a simple gesture. Co here.
He hesitated, then, having no other options, shuffled over to , the crowd parting around him, the whispers following. "Brother Michael... I..."
"Stop begging," I said, my voice low but firm. "I saw you in the Labyrinth. Your shield-work is steady. You don’t overcommit, and you don’t panic."
Alex blinked, stunned. "You... noticed?"
"I notice everything," I said. "They see a low-rank reject. I see a tank who knows how to hold his ground. You’re with . You’re my shield. Go stand by that pillar and wait."
Alex’s eyes went wide. He looked from to the powerful, jeering squads, and then back to my calm, confident expression.
The despair in his face was replaced by a sudden, fierce, and absolute loyalty.
He didn’t question it. He didn’t stamr.
"Yes, sir!" he said, his voice cracking with emotion.
He marched to the pillar and stood at attention, his back straight for the first ti.
One recruit down.
My next targets were nearby, and they were in a similar predicant.
Seraphina Croft and Kaelen Vance, my other Labyrinth teammates.
Seraphina was currently in a heated, one-sided argunt with a mid-tier noble squad.
"...my archery skills are ranked in the top five of our year!" she was saying, her voice high with indignation.
"I am a Croft! I am offering you my services!"
The noble leader, a boy with a bored sneer, looked her up and down.
"You’re also the one who was part of the ’glitched’ team. And your attitude is... draining. We’re looking for team players, not prima donnas. We’ll find another archer."
He and his group turned, laughing, leaving Seraphina standing there, her face a mask of pale fury and sha.
Kaelen, beside her, just looked like he wanted to dissolve into the floor.
I walked over, Alex now flanking like a silent bodyguard.
"They’re fools, Seraphina," I said calmly.
She spun, her eyes flashing.
"Wilson. What do you want? Co to laugh at , too?"
"No," I said. "I’m here to offer you a job. I’m building a squad. I need an archer."
Seraphina stared at , her mind clearly struggling to compute. "A... job? You want to recruit ? To join... that?" She gestured to Alex, who was standing there like a stoic statue. "A team of rejects?"
"I’m building a team of survivors," I corrected, my voice sharp. "You, , Kaelen, and Alex. We’re the only four students in this entire Academy who have faced a true, anomalous, psychic-corrupted boss and won.
Those idiots," I nodded towards the noble squad that had rejected her, "would have broken and fled in the first thirty seconds. You didn’t. Your aim was steady, even when you were terrified."
Her arrogance wavered, the mory of the Labyrinth—the shared terror, the impossible victory—hitting her.
"I don’t need your flattery," she spat, though her voice had lost its edge.
"Good. I’m not offering it," I said. "I’m offering you a chance to clear the first twenty floors. You can try to beg those nobles for a spot, or you can join the one person in this hall who has actually seen you fight and knows what you’re worth. Your choice."
She looked at the nobles, who were already fawning over another archer. She looked at Eric’s "Elite" squad, which wouldn’t even deign to look at her. She looked at .
"...Fine," she hissed, her pride stung, but her practical side winning. "But I’m only doing this to clear the exam. After Floor 20, I’m finding a real team."
"Understood," I said. "You’re our eyes. Kaelen."
The healer flinched. "Y-Yes, Chief?"
"You’re with us, too. You held that Holy Ward under pressure that would have shattered most B-Rank students. You’re our lifeline."
Kaelen looked like he was about to cry with relief. "Yes! Thank you, Michael! I won’t let you down!"
Four mbers. We needed at least three more.
"Twenty minutes remaining!"
"We need more," Alex said, his voice a low rumble.
"Not just more. We need specific roles," I said, scanning the remaining, panicking students. My ga knowledge was sorting through the database of first-year "extras." I knew exactly who I was looking for.
I pointed to a pair of students huddled near the wall—twins, a boy and a girl, both with mousy brown hair and identical, nervous expressions. They were D-Rank, but no one had picked them. "Them. The twins."
Seraphina frowned. "Finn and Freya? They’re D-Rank, but their individual combat scores were terrible. They’re codependent. They can’t even spar unless they’re together."
"Exactly," I said, walking towards them. "They’re a ’Dual Art’ pair."
The twins looked up, startled, as my squad of outcasts approached.
"Michael-sir," the boy, Finn, stamred.
"We’re not looking for trouble," the girl, Freya, added, her hand moving to the hilt of her dagger.
"I know," I said. "I also know you’re useless when you’re separated."
They flinched, their faces falling.
"But I also know," I continued, my voice low, "that when you fight together, you enter a shared-instinct combat state that lets you rival C-Rank assassins. Your ’Dual Art’ is a rare, powerful technique. Those idiots see codependence. I see a perfect, two-person flanking team."
Their jaws dropped. No one had ever described their "weakness" as a strength.
"You... you know about that?" Freya whispered.
"I know talent when I see it. I need flankers. DPS. Are you in, or do you want to fail the exam?"
They looked at each other, a silent conversation passing between them, and then nodded as one. "We’re in," Finn said, his voice firm for the first ti.
Six mbers. We needed one more.
I scanned the crowd again. And there he was. The final, perfect piece. A tall, gaunt student standing completely alone, his face hidden by the shadow of his hood.
His uniform was simple, his mana signature a low, muddy Earth-affinity.
But there was sothing else... a faint, almost imperceptible trace of dark mana, the sll of grave-soil and decay.
"Gideon Mortis," I said.
My team stopped. Even Seraphina looked unnerved.
"Michael, no," Kaelen whispered, his face pale. "That’s him. From the Mortis family. They’re... they’re ’grave-keepers.’ Cursed. They say they practice necromancy."
"They say," I echoed, "but they’re wrong." I walked straight up to the hooded figure. "Gideon."
The boy looked up. His face was pale and thin, but his eyes were a startling, intelligent green.
"You know my na," he said, his voice a dry rasp.
"I know your family’s affinity," I corrected. "It’s not ’necromancy.’ It’s ’Corpse-bloom,’ a rare Earth/Dark sub-affinity that lets you draw nutrients from the dead to fuel your magic. A powerful debuff and absorption art."
Gideon’s stoic expression shattered, his eyes widening in pure shock. "How... how did you...?"
"I read a lot," I lied. "I need a specialist. Soone who can handle poisons, curses, and debuffs. Soone who can turn the battlefield toxic for our enemies. Your affinity is perfect."
Gideon stared at , his mind clearly reeling. He had been an outcast his entire life, feared and reviled for his "cursed" blood.
And here, the Academy’s other great outcast was offering him a front-line position, not in spite of his power, but because of it.
"...They’ll call us a team of demons," he whispered.
"Let them," I said, a cold smile touching my lips. "I’ve been called worse."
I offered him my hand. "Are you in?"
He looked at my outstretched hand for a long, silent mont. Then, slowly, he grasped it. His grip was surprisingly strong. "I am."
"Five minutes remaining! Register your squads now!"
I walked up to the registration table, my new team trailing behind .
Alex, Seraphina, Kaelen, Finn, Freya, and Gideon.
Seven mbers. A tank, an archer, a healer, two assassins, a debuff-mage, and , the leader. We were a team of rejects, outcasts, and anomalies.
Professor Evelyn Whitehound was at the table, her crystal slate ready.
She looked up as we approached, her eyes sweeping over my squad. Her eyebrow rose, a flicker of genuine, almost predatory amusent in her gaze.
She didn’t have to say a word. Her look said everything.
’This is your squad? The Labyrinth survivors, the codependent twins, and the cursed grave-keeper? Really, Michael?’
"Team na?" she asked, her voice dry.
I looked back at my team. They were nervous, scared, and standing on the edge of social suicide. But they were also looking at with a desperate, unified hope. They were no longer just individuals; they were mine.
"Team Anomaly," I said clearly.
Evelyn’s lips twitched. "How fitting." She tapped the slate. "Team Anomaly. Roster: Michael Wilson (Leader), Alex Vonstel, Seraphina Croft, Kaelen Vance, Finn, Freya, Gideon Mortis. Seven mbers. Registered."
She looked up. "You’re the last team to register. Congratulations on not failing."
"We don’t plan on failing," I replied.
"We’ll see."
Alastor’s voice bood across the hall. "All squads, to the portal! The Trial begins NOW!"
I turned to my new team. I saw Eric’s "Elite" squad sneering at us. I saw Leon’s "Hero" squad looking at us with pity. I saw Magnus’s "Army" laughing.
"They all think we’re a joke," I said to my team, my voice low and cold. "They think we’re the failures, the baggage, the ones who will be eliminated b y Floor 5."
I looked each of them in the eye. "Good. Let them. We’re not here to make friends. We’re here to win."
I turned towards the glowing, swirling portal to Floor 1.
"Stay sharp. Follow my orders. Don’t die. Let’s go."
(To be continued)
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