For us first-years, this was how the academy decided to run our assessment.
It wasn't like the second or third years.
They got the easy way out, just placing their hand on a machine that scanned their power, processed it, and displayed their level neatly. Clean, quick, simple.
But for us? No. We had to fight.
The academy wanted us to be tested in actual combat, to experience the pressure of battle firsthand.
They wanted to expose our flaws, our weaknesses, the gaps in our movements and decisions.
We were raw material, and this was their way of shaping us before the real deal.
I swallowed, my throat dry. Just thinking about it made my palms clammy.
Instructor Gari stood in front of us, holding a tablet in one hand.
His face, as always, was unreadable, cold, but there was a strange sharpness in his eyes, as if he could already see through each of us, our strengths, our limits, even our fear.
He scrolled lazily for a moment, then lifted his gaze back to the crowd.
"I will be calling the names of those who will be entering," he said, his voice carrying across the room like the weight of a hammer. "When your name is called, you will step forward. You have thirty seconds each. No more."
That was it. No further encouragement, no warm-ups, no sugarcoating.
He called the first name.
A boy stepped out. He carried himself with confidence, his sword clutched firmly in his right hand.
He didn't hesitate, didn't falter, just marched forward like this was what he had been waiting for. A swordsman.
As he crossed the line, the barrier separating us from the test chamber glowed bright blue, humming faintly.
At the same time, a digital counter appeared on the wall.
[30 seconds.]
The boy exhaled, slid into his stance, and the moment the timer began, the dummies moved.
They came alive instantly, rushing toward him with mechanical precision.
He charged without fear. His blade cut through the air, slicing into the first dummy's chest.
Metal clanged. Sparks flew. He pivoted sharply, swinging at another dummy to his side, splitting it down before it could even react.
But two more came from behind.
Without even looking, he twisted into a backflip, his sword flashing in a clean arc.
Two heads went flying before he even landed.
He slid across the ground, low and quick, and severed another dummy's leg before driving his blade through its chest.
It was brutal. Efficient. The kind of swordsmanship that came from practice, not panic.
I couldn't lie, he was good. Better than most of us probably expected.
Another dummy came at him with a wooden sword, but he twisted midair, deflecting the strike with his blade before cutting down his opponent in a swift counter.
He moved from one target to the next, sharp and unrelenting. But then—
Thwip!
An arrow sliced through the air.
The boy's eyes widened. He barely had time to react, swinging his blade instinctively. Steel met wood as he deflected it, but his stance faltered for just a heartbeat.
A ranged attacker.
Across the room, a dummy stood with a bow in its hand, its eyes glowing faintly as it nocked another arrow.
It fired. Fast.
The boy gritted his teeth and deflected again, sparks flying as he angled the strike away.
A third shot followed, and once again, he blocked it, his arms trembling now from the force and speed of it.
The archer dummy was relentless, shooting arrow after arrow with deadly precision.
The boy's expression hardened. He dashed forward, weaving between strikes, his sword flashing to knock aside anything that came too close. His speed didn't drop. His steps were fluid, determined.
For a moment, I thought he would cut the dummy down and win this.
But at the very last second, he stopped. His instincts screamed at him, and he pulled back sharply.
Another arrow shot straight past where he had been a split-second ago, sinking into the floor with a dull thunk.
Now there were two archers. And more dummies were closing in, pressing him from all sides.
His jaw clenched. He was about to move, to break through somehow—
BEEP!
A loud sound cut through the chaos.
The timer froze. The dummies all stopped in unison, their weapons lowering as their bodies locked into place. The blue glow of the barrier flickered faintly.
The boy stood there, chest heaving, sweat running down his forehead. His knuckles were white from gripping his sword.
Thirty seconds. His time was up.
And just like that, the first person assessment was over.