Sylvara's Rebirth: A New Dawn for Abel novel Chapter 62

**The Third Signature by Mark Twain**
**Chapter 62: Spend His Money until He Cries**

Auren’s expression was a mixture of solemnity and indignation, as though he were personally experiencing the weight of the injustice laid before them. “Right. If I ever crossed paths with a jerk like that, I’d probably shed a few tears myself,” he muttered, his brow furrowing in sympathy for their plight.

“You don’t have to cry,” came a voice, sharp and chilling. Agares had stepped out only to reappear in the doorway, his face an unyielding mask of frost, his tone so frigid it could freeze the very air around him. “Colonel Kael, Chief Dawn, I have already issued the order. The two of you will be responsible for cleaning all combat mecha.”

Carlos’s response was immediate, his voice rising in protest. “No way!”

The thought of it sent a shiver down his spine. Anything but this. He would rather endure grueling training until he collapsed on the battlefield than scrub down a sea of mecha stained with the grotesque remnants of mutated whip-spider blood and dismembered body parts.

Auren was equally taken aback, the reality of the situation settling over him like a dark cloud. Game over. This was the consequence of associating with Carlos, the fool who always seemed to attract trouble.

In the corner of the room, Sylvara pushed herself upright on the couch, determination flooding her veins. With a swift motion, she pulled up a picture of Agares on her optical computer and jabbed her finger angrily at his image. Her voice had lost all traces of softness, now laced with venom. “You prime-grade jerk. One of these days, I’ll make you regret every single word you just threw at me,” she declared, her eyes blazing with indignation.

With a derisive snort, she added, “Stay on my block list. You can consider yourself lucky if I ever decide to let you out, you worthless husband.”

Just as she finished her tirade, the doorbell rang, slicing through the tension in the room.

It was already dark outside. Who could possibly be visiting at this hour?

Curiosity piqued, she opened the door and stepped through the courtyard gate.

Standing before her were two senior students from the Plant Department, clad in their full uniforms and each carrying a bag. They approached with an air of authority, halting just in front of her. “Are you Sylvara?” one of them asked, his tone serious.

Sylvara nodded, a hint of wariness creeping into her demeanor. “Yes.”

They handed her the bags, their expressions serious. “These are your uniforms.”

She hesitated, her brow furrowing in confusion. “I already received my uniforms when I registered. What are these supposed to be?”

The two seniors exchanged glances, clearly surprised. It appeared that Aslan’s chosen freshman chief was woefully uninformed.

She had no inkling of The Fifth Military Academy’s traditions. Chiefs were entitled to two additional sets of uniforms, distinguished by subtle details that set them apart from their fellow students.

“They’re just uniforms. You have the freshman induction ceremony tomorrow, and you need to wear these,” one senior insisted, sensing her reluctance. He placed the bags on the ground with a firm resolve. “Don’t forget. You must wear them tomorrow.”

With that, they turned and walked away, leaving Sylvara standing in the courtyard, the bags resting heavily in her hands. She shut the gate behind them and opened the bags, peering inside. They looked identical to the uniforms she already possessed.

Perplexed, she shrugged off the oddity and tossed them into her spatial button, a small device she had purchased during her financially strapped days. That little gadget was now nearly bursting at the seams with her belongings.

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