The arena trembled with anticipation. Thousands of students filled the stands, their chatter echoing like a hive of restless insects. Mana-lights burned along the walls, flooding the dome in pale brilliance.
At the center, a judge floated on a platform of polished stone. His voice boomed, silencing the crowd.
"This examination will test your mana capacity and control. It is not merely for sport. You will glimpse what awaits beyond Manademia, where true mages clash. You will be given these."
He raised his hand. Silver bands shot outward, fastening to the wrists of every competitor.
John felt the cold weight clamp down. A faint projection shimmered above it:
[Health: 1,000,000]
The judge continued, "These bracelets redirect all damage—physical or magical—into themselves. Your bodies will not be harmed. Strong mages rarely lower them past nine hundred fifty thousand. That should tell you the scale of what you face."
The crowd erupted in roars of excitement.
"You are permitted to go all out," the judge declared. "No restraint. No mercy."
A whistle pierced the air.
---
The Crystal Storm
Karl cracked his knuckles, smirking across the ring. His mana pulsed deep violet, sinking into the arena floor. A rumble shook the ground. Jagged crystals burst upward, gleaming like fangs in the sunlight. They spread in a web, teeth of glass and stone, all under his command.
On either side, his two allies moved. One lifted his hand, releasing a pale glow that wrapped Karl in luminous threads. Amplification. His crystals thickened, edges sharpening, density multiplying.
The other boy's pupils vanished, eyes turning solid white. His head twitched unnaturally, gaze scanning every flicker of motion. The all-seeing eye—tracking the entire battlefield in slow motion.
Kinru bristled with fire, fists crackling with molten heat. Hush sank into the shadows, grimoire threads weaving counter illusions against the eye. John tightened his fists, grimoire small and stubborn in his hand, useless against what towered before him.
"Let's end this fast," Karl sneered.
The crystals answered his command, spears erupting in a violent storm.
---
Outlandish Violence
Kinru bellowed, slamming his fists together. A wall of molten rock burst upward, catching the first volley. The impact rattled the dome, shards ricocheting like shrapnel. But Karl wasn't stopping. Amplified, the crystal storm doubled, tripled, a hail of razors hammering against Kinru's defenses.
Hush's shadows darted outward, weaving illusions of death and grotesque imagery. Kinru's body multiplied across the arena—ten, twenty, a hundred fiery duplicates charging at once.
For a moment, it worked. Karl's eye-ally faltered, tears falling, head snapping between these unbearable illusions.
Then the boy's heart sharpened. He cut through falsehoods with frightening precision, pointing a finger. "There! The real one!"
Karl's crystals obeyed instantly, lances converging on Kinru.
Kinru roared, smashing them apart with molten fists, but each strike drained him further. Amplification made every shard a hammer blow.
John tried to intervene. He attempts to tackle the all seeing eye. A wall of crystals exploded under the blast. His bracelet flickered.
[Health: 999,882]
A shard had grazed him, redirected by the eye boy's callout. Just a scratch, yet nearly a hundred health gone. John's stomach tightened.
"Pathetic," Karl laughed. He slammed his palm into the ground. A jagged wave of crystal tore forward like a tsunami of glass.
Kinru met it head-on. His body blazed, molten light clashing with violet crystal. The explosion lit the dome, thunder echoing as if lightning had struck within.
John staggered back. His bracelet flickered again.
[Health: 999,721]
He was doing nothing. Every twitch, every attempt to help, the eye caught and countered. Karl's storm pinned him down like an insect under a magnifying glass.
Hush, pale with sweat, forced the eye into blindness for precious moments. Shadows twisted around the boy's vision, multiplying threats until his head jerked in strain.
But Hush collapsed to one knee, blood dribbling from his nose. He'd reached his limit.
Karl laughed, drunk on his amplified storm. Crystals towered like spires, a forest of death.
Kinru's body smoked, cuts littering his arms, mana straining at its peak. He staggered forward through the hailstorm.
"COME ON THEN!" he roared.
Each step shattered crystal. Each punch burned hotter than the last. His bracelet flickered—
[Health: 999,510]
—and then his molten fist crashed into Karl's chest.
The crystal mage flew backward, smashing into his own spire. His bracelet screamed with strain, health plummeting, numbers blinking wildly. He slumped unconscious.
The whistle blew. The crowd erupted.
Their team had won.
But John stood motionless. His fists trembled. His bracelet read:
[Health: 999,503]
He was nearly untouched. Yet he had been helpless.
---
Spectacle of Monsters
The following matches unfolded in a storm of brilliance.
On one stage, a girl in midnight blue stepped onto the air itself. Invisible platforms bent beneath her feet as she danced in the sky. Arrows curved away from her body, trajectories distorted by bent space. She stepped sideways, upside down, diagonally—each movement mocking the rules of reality. With a heel drop from above, she crushed her foe into the arena floor.
Another competitor—a serene boy with pale eyes—faced three opponents at once. Their blades hacked his arm clean off. The crowd shrieked. But before blood could fall, flesh wriggled back, bone knitting, skin sealing. He smiled faintly, unbothered, and pressed the attack. Each limb lost reformed instantly. He was no berserker, but an unyielding tide—like a zombie with infinite regeneration.
John watched in silence, chest heavy. These weren't just students. They were warnings. If such monsters were here, what awaited outside Manademia?
---
Bloodlines and History
After the duels, lectures followed. Professors detailed the foundations of magic.
Mana flowed naturally in all mages, regenerating like breath. Some families carried bloodlines, inheriting unique powers: fire veins, shadow-touched eyes, storm-born lungs. Yet history was cruel. Many bloodlines had gone extinct during ancient wars.
Dense mana could saturate the land. Where battles were fought, where mages bled, the soil itself drank their power. Such places spawned monsters—creatures without minds, regenerating endlessly. These abominations were called UkPS.
Long ago, mages had lived proudly among humans, respected as leaders. But politics twisted their gift into weapons. Mages were enslaved, imprisoned, slaughtered as threats. Desperation forged rebellion.
And then—an unknown figure appeared. He showed no magic, but his words united every mage. Under his guidance, they retaliated, vanishing from the world through portals. They built Manademia, the hidden haven.
The man vanished soon after. Rumors whispered he was an SK—a theoretical being sustained by belief alone.
No proof remained. Only legend.
---
Written Test
Days later, the written test began. Rows of students hunched over papers. Quills scratched like the march of ants.
When results came, relief washed through their trio. Kinru passed with solid marks. John scored high, surprising even himself. Hush, of course, was among the top ranks, expression unreadable as ever.
Many flunked. Tears stained the halls. But the survivors marched onward.
---
The Final Challenge
The next trial was announced.
A massive obstacle course sprawled before them, stretching like a labyrinth. Towers, pits, ropes, puzzles, and traps lined the path.
"No magic is permitted," the judge declared. "This test ensures you can survive without exposing your power to the public. Cleverness, not mana, will guide you here."
The gates groaned open. A maze of stone walls awaited, whispers of puzzles and mundane trials drifting through.
The true test had only begun.