Atticus gazed down at the different groups of youths gathered below, all staring at him, waiting for him to speak.
They were all assembled in different units of 80 youths, as Atticus had requested yesterday, with each Ravenstein youth standing in front of their respective groups.
Including Nate, there were 11 units in total.
On the side, Aria and Eric were together with their group of 200+ students. On another side, Lucas stood in front of the non combatants that Atticus had grouped the day before.
"You're all remarkably weak," Atticus's cold words sounded, and a palpable silence immediately descended on the training grounds.
The silence lasted for a few seconds before it started getting broken by subtle sounds of teeth gritting and hands clenching.
The sounds were obviously meant to be subtle, not able to be heard, but how could one forget Atticus's godly hearing? He heard every one of the sounds as clearly as day.
Atticus maintained his neutral state as he watched how many of the youths in the training grounds bowed their heads, struggling to contain their anger.
Atticus was well aware of what he just did; it was exactly what he had planned on doing—striking a sore spot.
All of the youths were well aware of how talentless they were, a fact they had to live with since childhood. But despite that fact, the last thing they wanted was someone saying it to their faces like this.
Unbothered by their reactions, Atticus continued, "It might hurt you, but it would be best if you realize this fact earlier on."
"Yes, the words are harsh, but it is the complete truth. If you were all to be pitted against the other youths in the first years, you all won't last a single second," he added.
Atticus, of course, didn't believe his last words. They weren't the only group with weaklings like the youths gathered below.
Atticus was sure that almost all the top tankers would all have this issue. The joining of a division had been very public. And it was simply impossible for the leaders to know who exactly they were accepting into their division.
It was clear that many of the divisions would be facing the same thing he was facing.
Plus given the sheer number of the new students in the first year, there was bound to be someone always weaker. Atticus was very sure that these youths weren't even the weakest.
"But despite this, you all still have hope," Atticus added after a few seconds, causing the youths who had their heads bowed to raise them again.
They all expressed the same type of reactions—confusion. It was expected, really; they all knew why they were so weak. It was because of their low talents.
Many of them only awakened dormant or unlocked potential, indicating that intermediate-advanced rank would be their limit.
What was causing confusion for all of them was simple: talent couldn't be changed.
Generations and generations of people had all tried to find a way to circumvent this problem, but none succeeded.
Whatever talent you were born with is what you carry on for the rest of your life. So given all this information, they all couldn't help but wonder, what was he talking about?
Atticus continued, regardless of their confused expressions, "For the next one month, you're all going to undergo intensive training. It won't be easy, and I won't force anyone to join."
"But I promise you, while you won't become mind-bogglingly strong, I can assure you that after the duration of the training, you all won't be comparable to your current selves," Atticus said.
And immediately after, Atticus could see expressions of determination on many of their faces.
Atticus smiled.
This was what he wanted to see! 'Looks like they still have hope.' He thought.
Atticus concluded his speech by telling all of them that their training would be carried out by each of their respective leaders of their units.
Atticus stepped back, ignoring Aurora who had both her thumbs raised with a cheeky smile.
He headed towards Lucas's group by the side.
Approaching Lucas and the non-combatants he had grouped yesterday, Atticus suddenly brought out two books from his space ring and handed them to Lucas.
Lucas looked at the two books and saw they were both beginner books for blacksmithing and medicine.
Before Atticus had slept yesterday, he had gone on a shopping spree on the Academy shop. And of the things he bought were those two books. He had also bought some equipment relating to the two fields and many other things.
For what Atticus had in mind for the medical group wasn't some mind-blowing team that could heal major injuries in an instant; he simply wanted people who could at least treat little injuries.
Currently, apart from not having the points to purchase a medical facility from the division shop, Atticus would rather not buy healing potions for little injuries that could be treated very easily. And this reason was the same for blacksmithing.
Looking at the books in his hands, Lucas couldn't help but let out a low chuckle. "Damn, how does your brain work?" He said, curiosity coloring his voice.
"Hmm?" Atticus muttered.
"I mean, we were all literally thrust into this situation without warning just yesterday. Most people would still be trying to find their bearings, especially given the size of the subordinates they were given to control. But you..."
Lucas chuckled a bit as he shook his head and continued, "You not only solved all our major issues in one day, you also brought under control more than a thousand youths from different parts of the sectors."
"And to top all of this, you're already thinking so far ahead and making plans that we wouldn't even need until far later."
"Just..."
Lucas struggled to find the right words to express what he was feeling.
But after a few seconds, only four words came to his head, and those words seemed to encompass his thoughts,
"What the actual fuck..."