Emisarry Of Time And Space-Chapter 182: Sylgrid Jade.

(A/N Big thanks to everyone for the Power stones and Golden tickets, they mean a lot. As usual, please don’t hesitate to comment or drop a review. ENJOY)

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A week passed faster than Orion expected.

Not because it was easy.

But because it was consuming.

From the very first morning, the rhythm of Project Jade had stripped away anything resembling academy life. There were no bells, no leisurely breakfasts, no last-minute rushes to class. Every day began the same way—5:00 a.m., sharp. No alarms were needed after the first morning. By the third day, their bodies simply woke on their own, conditioned by repetition and consequence.

By 5:40, they were dressed and outside their quarters. By 6:00, they stood in formation before Commander Zion.

Every single day.

Zion did not waste words. He did not waste motion. He did not waste time.

The first shock had been what he didn’t allow.

No mana.

No weapons.

No affinities.

On the first day, Daenys had actually asked—politely—if it was some sort of joke. Zion had stared at her for three seconds before replying that if she wanted to rely on mana every time things became uncomfortable, she had already failed as a Chronos combatant. That had ended the discussion.

What followed was brutal in its simplicity.

Endurance drills that stretched muscles until they screamed. Balance exercises that punished the slightest lapse in focus. Reaction training conducted with weighted restraints. Formation movement repeated until every step, every turn, every halt became instinctive. Sparring without mana that forced them to confront bad habits they had long since masked with power.

Orion had expected difficulty. He had not expected exposure.

Without mana, without spatial manipulation, without Temporal Locus humming quietly in the background, he felt stripped down to something rawer. Cleaner. Every mistake was unmistakably his own. Every success, too.

And Zion noticed everything.

He corrected posture with a single tap of two fingers. He adjusted timing with a glance. He said very little, but when he did, it was surgical.

"Again."

"Wrong angle."

"Too slow."

"Think."

The tactics sessions were where things truly shifted.

Zion taught them how to move as a unit. How to cover blind spots without being told. How to rotate leadership mid-engagement without confusion. How to retreat without it becoming a rout. How to advance without overextending. He broke down hypothetical battlefields and forced them to adapt on the fly, changing variables mid-exercise with no warning.

Weather.

Terrain.

Civilian presence.

Enemy numbers.

Unknown abilities.

They learned how to think while exhausted, how to make decisions with incomplete information, how to trust the person beside them without hesitation. Zion didn’t care who was strongest or fastest. He cared who could function when things went wrong.

And things always went wrong.

By the fourth day, the academy excitement had been burned out of them completely. There was no chatter about ranks or talents anymore. No casual boasting. No idle complaints. They ate when told, slept when allowed, trained when commanded.

They were no longer students.

They were recruits.

Orion found the experience strangely grounding.

After each day’s training ended, while the others collapsed into rest or quiet conversation, he returned to his quarters and continued his own work. Refinement. Calculations. Mental frameworks. He didn’t push himself recklessly—Zion’s regimen had already done enough of that—but he maintained momentum. It felt... balanced.

By the seventh day, exhaustion had settled deep into their bones.

And yet, when they assembled once more beneath the glass dome, none of them slouched.

Commander Zion stood before them, hands clasped behind his back, gaze sweeping across the thirteen faces with something close to approval.

"I believe it has been a fulfilling week for each and every one of you," he said evenly. "A week that has aligned your mindset closer to what is required."

No one spoke.

"I also believe," Zion continued, "that you are prepared for what comes next."

They stood sharper without being told.

"Your mission begins tomorrow," Zion said. "And now, you will receive the details."

He tapped his bracelet.

A hologram bloomed into existence between them, rotating slowly. Terrain. Topography. Boundaries.

Mission Location: Jade Forest.

Zion spoke as the information hovered.

"The Jade Forest lies northwest of the Chronos estate, bordering Wickle County and the Tulip Barony. It is a region known for extensive jade mining and production."

The display shifted, highlighting deep forested zones.

"The Sylgrin race is native to this forest. Their continued presence and territorial control are directly tied to jade extraction operations."

Another layer appeared.

"Intelligence indicates the discovery of a rare variant—Sylgrin Jade."

Orion’s eyes sharpened slightly.

Zion continued without pause. "Your mission objective is simple. Retrieve the Sylgrin Jade. Report back."

Simple did not mean easy.

"Be advised," Zion added, "the Sylgrin are a violence-prone race. Engagement is likely. Caution is advised."

"The duration of your mission is approximately two months, any later and you have failed."

The hologram stabilized.

"That is all the information you will be given."

A few students exchanged brief looks. Limited intel. No enemy numbers. No known leaders. No operational constraints beyond success.

Zion snapped his fingers.

Each of their academy bracelets dissolved into light and vanished. Immediately after, a new bracelet materialized around their wrists—darker, heavier, unfamiliar.

"These are operational units," Zion said. "All mission data has been uploaded. You will retain them until extraction."

He paced once before them.

"You will be deployed alongside multiple groups assigned similar objectives. Entry point will be the forest perimeter. From that moment onward, you are autonomous."

Zion stopped.

"As much as this is a mission," he said, "I will not assign a leader."

That caused a subtle shift.

"You will decide that amongst yourselves."

He let that hang.

"That will be all."

With no further ceremony, Zion vanished.

The dome fell quiet.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then chairs were dragged forward almost instinctively. The thirteen gathered, forming a loose circle without discussion. Habit had already taken root.

Orion tapped his bracelet, scrolling through the mission data once more.

"Alright," he said calmly, lifting his gaze. "Gather round."

They leaned in.

"We don’t have much information," Orion continued, "but I have more to add. Let’s go over it."