After the opening ceremony, the applicants were led in groups through the inner gates of the academy into a hall. Rows of wooden desks filled the chamber from wall to wall.
The moment they stepped inside, silence settled.
Sheets were handed out. Quills dipped in ink, waiting.
Arthur, Toren, and Nyelle were seated far apart.
The moment the bell rang, the test began.
Nyelle sat upright, eyes sharp, hand flowing steadily across the paper. Her brows furrowed only slightly as she read through lines of dense script — questions about ancient wars, arcane theory, political alliances, and combat formations. She wrote fast and sure, flipping to the next page without pause.
Toren, on the other hand, was frozen.
He stared at the first page, one hand gripping his hair, the other holding the quill like it might stab him. He glanced around once, eyes wide, then looked down again, muttering, "I'm going to die here…"
Meanwhile, Arthur leaned back in his chair, arms folded.
He had read through the first few questions and gave up… then slowly laid back in his chair with eyes closed relaxing. His desk creaked as he leaned back, expression flat.
Thirty minutes in, across the hall, there was a soft shuffling sound.
Someone stood up.
Heads turned.
It was Lucien Vaelric.
He walked up to the front, calm and casual, and placed his test scroll on the instructor's table. His expression was unreadable — neither smug nor proud — just done.
Then, without looking back, he walked out.
Nyelle didn't even notice — too focused.
Toren looked like he was about to faint.
Arthur realizing he could leave, he stood up, walked to the front, and handed in, his empty sheet to instructor Donrik Levrell.
Without a word, he left the hall.
The cunning looking noble instructor looked at him and thought, "Bloody commoners, useful for nothing, we should ban them all from academy"
The clock kept ticking. The pressure rose.
Outside, Arthur spotted Lucien leaning against a pillar.
Lucien glanced at him. "You completed it? Didn't realize you were the smart type."
Arthur shrugged. "I didn't. Just handed the sheets back."
Lucien shocked for a moment, then laughed. "I knew you were interesting. Unlike those fools scribbling nonsense just to fail, you accepted it. What's your name?"
Arthur started walking. "Arthur."
Lucien walked alongside him. "Hmm… next up—physical test."
Lucien smirked. "Maybe I should follow your path and skip the next two tests. I already know I'm qualified."
Arthur didn't respond, just kept walking.
A few more students were exiting nearby rooms—clearly nobles, dressed in finer clothes. Among them was someone who stood brighter, more composed than the rest.
Lucien glanced at the group. "Interesting… looks like the prince is a smart one too."
Prince of Valoria, Alarion Valenhart gave a small nod toward them, then turned and walked off, his gang following behind.
Arthur watched briefly, then continued walking with the others—toward the arena.
Arthur waited for 2 hours in main hall, with Lucien hanging around near him. Then he turned and found Toren and Nyelle coming out of wit test hall, All the students were guided back to the main stadium, this time into the open field where a large arena had been set. Students already changed into more suitable clothes for the physical round.
They shared a quiet moment, drinking water, stretching, and prepping themselves for what was next. The heat was starting to rise.
Then the bells rang again.
The call for the second test.
The crowd was back—cheering.
Up on the stage, Eldric Thorne, Head of the Academy, stepped forward.
"For the next round—the Physical Test—you will be assessed in four areas: Speed. Endurance. Accuracy. Strength. Each task will be scored individually."
A pause.
"Students your combined score will determine your ranking. The top 10% (excluding students who are passed in other tests after results) will pass and be enrolled."
The announcement caused murmurs among the crowd. Some students straightened, others tensed.
Thorne's voice carried again.
"Prepare yourselves. The tests begin now."
Students lined up at the race track inside the arena, called up by number. Each participant had to dash to the finish line while dodging arrows fired from mechanisms on either side. The arrows were blunt-tipped, designed not to pierce—but getting hit still meant bruises, fractures, or worse.
The next group was getting ready. Toren stood at the starting line, waiting for his turn. Ahead of him, a student in his line sprinted full force. Toren watched with growing confidence as the boy neared the finish.
"Not that bad," Toren muttered.
But just as the student reached the end—an arrow struck him clean in the head. He flew sideways, crashing into the ground, unconscious, blood leaking from where the blunt tip cracked skin.
Gasps echoed from the crowd.
Another student behind him, who had dodged all arrows, stumbled trying to avoid the fallen body and collapsed near the line. Both were disqualified—last to finish.
Toren swallowed hard. "...Oh gods."
Then the whistle blew for his group.
Toren started slower, eyes wide, focusing more on dodging than speed. Arrows whizzed past him, some grazed his side—but he kept going.
With one final dive, he crossed the line—6th place.
An arrow stuck to his ass.
He groaned. "Of all places…"
Next up: Nyelle, Lucien, and others.
Nyelle dashed forward gracefully, weaving through arrows. Her breathing stayed even, and with a final surge, she finished 3rd.
Lucien, confident he is already qualified with smile he ran arms loosely swaying, didn't even try. He jogged casually, clearly disinterested.
He finished last, on purpose.
Arthur's group was called.
In his row: Prince Alarion of Valoria—proud, perfectly composed.
As the signal flared, both of them launched forward—Arthur and the Prince, side by side with 4 rows in between, fast as lightning. Arrows shot from both ends, but they moved with precision, weaving through the danger like they'd done it a hundred times.
The rest of the noble-born students in their row trailed behind, struggling to keep pace.
Up on the royal platform, Valen Draegor, legendary swordsman, leaned forward for the first time that day.
"Hm. Interesting," he muttered. "Looks like your prince's training paid off, Sir Vale."
Sir Vale nodded. "Yes. He's been trained since childhood."
Draegor's eyes narrowed on the other runner.
"But that other boy… he's more interesting. Who is he?"
Vale looked. "Arthur. An orphan. I freed him out of slavery years ago. He's been in the junior division since. Good physical scores I heard from junior trainers… but I haven't trained him yet. I was waiting for him to get senior division."
Vale smiled. "Seems this kid training hard, he's keeping up with prince"
"Nah," Draegor said quietly, watching closer. "He's… gaining on him."
Down on the track, Prince Alarion threw a surprised glance at Arthur beside him—matching his speed with ease.
As the final stretch neared, Arthur gaining ground. Two arrows fired straight at them—Arthur catched it mid-air and dodged one without slowing.
Up in the stands, Draegor laughed, a rare grin spreading across his face.
"This batch might not be so bad after all."
Arthur surged forward and crossed the line barely ahead of the prince, claiming 1st place.
10 points.
Prince Alarion followed just behind—2nd place, 9 points.
The prince exhaled, then turned toward Arthur, face neutral.
"Fair play," he said with a nod.
Arthur nodded back.
They returned to the waiting area, rejoining the formation of students.
On the stage, Draegor looked at Vale with amusement."He beat your prized student, Vale."
Vale smiled faintly. "Seems so."
But something about that statement left a strange weight on his thoughts.
As the next batch of runners lined up, Arthur's eyes locked onto a familiar face.
That fierce noble girl—the one he'd seen in the capital nearly strike down a thief—was stepping onto the track, hair tied back, expression cold.
Arthur leaned slightly, curious.
Nyelle noticed. "Who are you staring at?"
Toren chimed in, grinning. "Yeah, someone caught your eye?"
Arthur shrugged. "I don't know her name. Saw her before… in the capital."
From behind, Lucien scoffed. "That's Astrid Caelra. Royal clan. Known for being ruthless—and fierce. But…"
Arthur turned. "But?"
Lucien crossed his arms. "Her father, the head of their Royal clan, was accused of stealing an important ornament from the palace. He's in prison. Their whole name took a hit. Lost Royal status, reputation ruined. Some say the story's shaky, but… a mark was placed on their clan."
He paused, eyes narrowing. "She's been trying to prove his innocence and clear their name. She talks less, I got ignored twice at royal banquets."
Arthur thought back. That anger during that robbery… maybe that's why it was so raw.
Then the whistle blew.
Astrid launched forward.
And she flew.
Arrow after arrow fired, but her movements were flawless—sharp, calculated, lightning-fast. Within seconds, she was across the finish line, far ahead of the others in her group.
Nyelle blinked. "That was…"
Toren stared, mouth open. "What was that?"
Up on the stage, Draegor leaned in, visibly impressed.
"Woah, She might be faster than that Arthur kid."
Vale remained silent, watching closely.