The Obsidian Spire was less a building than a verdict carved into the skyline. It rose like a black pyramid forged of glass and steel, every surface lined with humming runes that pulsed faint gold beneath the morning light. Hovercrafts circled its peak, drones drifted like insects, and the rush of traffic bent itself around the colossal foundation as though the city itself had been designed to orbit the guild.
To the cadets gathered at its gates, the Spire was more than architecture. It was promise, intimidation, and judgment dressed in obsidian.
The lot outside teemed with arrivals. Buses hissed to a stop, their doors spilling students in identical uniforms. Family sedans and modest mid-tier cars nosed into the lanes, dropping off nervous sons and daughters. Cadets clustered in small groups, checking their weapons, their badges, their pride.
Then the sound came—a low, predatory purr that cut through the noise. Heads turned. The Phantom Eclipse slid onto the polished stone drive like shadow given form. Black as a starless sky, its surface swallowed reflections whole, barrier runes whispering beneath the finish.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"That's… Seo Joon's son…"
"He's sixteen. How is he even allowed to drive that?"
"That car alone costs more than a guild branch—"
The Eclipse slowed, engine growling once before stilling like a predator at rest. The driver's door opened, and Rin stepped out.
His coat was sharp, charcoal layered over black, the cut precise enough to suggest nobility without flaunting it. Gloves sheathed his hands, boots gleamed faintly with rune-polish. His dark hair fell in loose strands, but the glasses on his face caught the light like steel. There was no arrogance in his stride, only the kind of composure that silenced whispers.
He adjusted his sleeve once, as if brushing away dust, and the murmurs died entirely.
Hyun-woo followed, flames flickering faint at his fingertips even in casual impatience. Jae-seok descended last, his gaze flat and unreadable, a quiet hum of psychic pressure trailing him like the echo of a storm. Together, they looked less like cadets and more like envoys.
The Spire opened its gates, and the trial began.
---
Inside the grand hall, a monolith awaited—ten meters tall, forged from mana-hardened crystal laced with barrier runes. It gleamed faintly, veins of light threading through its heart. Every strike would be absorbed, measured, then converted into energy for the city's power grid.
"In order," the supervisor barked.
Hyun-woo stepped up first. He rolled his shoulders, flames spilling over his fists. With a grin, he slammed forward.
BOOM!
Fire roared, the crystal flared, numbers surged upward in golden digits. 3,400. 3,800. 4,200. The crowd gasped.
The crystal dimmed slowly, cracks fading as it healed itself.
"Raw power," one instructor muttered. "Unstable, but impressive."
Hyun-woo stepped back, triumphant.
Next came the noble boy—the one whose father's purse had already paved his path. He placed a hand on the monolith, mana flowing in steady, polished arcs. Light bloomed neatly, numbers rising to 3,100 before halting. Respectable.
The supervisor beamed as though witnessing divinity.
"Exceptional! Controlled, refined, unlike the wild flares we saw earlier. This is true discipline!"
Applause scattered through the hall.
Then Rin approached.
He did not posture. He did not chant. He drew his blade in a single, unhurried arc and cut downward.
For a breath, nothing.
Then the monolith screamed with light. Veins of gold blazed white-hot, surging upward as though the crystal itself begged for mercy. Digits tore past 5,000. 7,000. 10,000. Systems flickered, struggling to record, until the entire display cut out.
Silence.
Every cadet stood frozen, their mana stilling in their veins. Even instructors stared, mouths thin and tight.
The supervisor cleared his throat sharply.
"Numbers mean little without discipline," he said coldly. "A flashy reading does not equal true strength."
The silence fractured into whispers.
One by one, cadets filed forward. Fists, blades, spells—each strike against the monolith lit it with numbers ranging from a meager 120 to an impressive 2,700. Instructors murmured, scribbling notes, while the crowd applauded every new high score. By the time the hundredth cadet stepped down, the room buzzed with nervous energy. Then, after a brief ten-minute recess, the second test was announced.
---
The ten minutes recess was over, and the next hall held crystal spheres the size of cauldrons for the second test. Their purpose was not raw power but resonance—depth, stability, the harmony of mana.
Hyun-woo pressed his hand down. Flame flooded the sphere in erratic bursts until red lights blinked and a voice droned: "Overflow detected. Control insufficient." He grinned anyway.
Jae-seok placed his hand lightly. The sphere filled with pale ripples, each spreading evenly, layer upon layer, like perfect circles in still water. Supervisors leaned forward, whispering unease.
Then Rin.
He set his hand without word. Mana flowed silently, and the sphere trembled. For a moment it seemed it might shatter—then it stilled, as if cowed, the ripples folding inward like subjects bowing. The readout flickered with error codes before cutting out entirely.
"Glitch," the supervisor muttered too quickly.
The procession stretched on. Some cadets struggled, their mana rippling out of control until the crystals shrieked with red warnings. Others showed steady, respectable resonance, drawing nods of approval. Numbers clustered in the hundreds, only rarely climbing past a thousand. By the end, the hall felt heavy with the weight of comparison. The supervisors allowed a short break, water flasks distributed, before herding the students into the next chamber—sleek pods gleaming like iron coffins.
---
Cadets were strapped into pods, their minds hurled into illusion.
Hyun-woo found himself in a cavern, monsters tearing after him. He whooped and hurled fireballs. The system blared "Penalty. Violation of test conditions."
Jae-seok strolled through. He redirected monsters subtly, slipping them into each other's paths. Obstacles bent, doors opened. His path was clean, calculated.
Rin ran.
To the spectators, his vitals flickered into unreadable blurs. In the simulation, his steps echoed like whispers of steel. Monsters collapsed mid-chase, cut by severed weak points they never saw. Supervisors leaned in, muttering about glitches.
As the pods hissed open and the cadets staggered out, results flashing overhead in dizzying numbers, the crowd buzzed with chatter. Some cheered, some groaned at their rankings. From across the floor, a familiar voice rang out.
"Oi, Rin! Hyun-woo! You made it through too, huh?"
Jin Ha-kyu waved, his uniform drenched in sweat, grin splitting his face despite the bruises. He slapped his score card against his chest like it was a medal. The group shared a brief nod, no words needed—the bond of surviving another test together was enough—before the next round was called.
---
Last was the obsidian relic: an eye that gleamed with inner void.
One by one, cadets sat before it. Nightmares lanced into their skulls.
Hyun-woo fought, screamed, collapsed, then clawed his way back with stubborn laughter.
The noble boy shrieked until his throat cracked, fainting like a child before waking sobbing.
Jae-seok did not flinch. He walked calmly through illusions, each nightmare breaking against his gaze like waves against rock. Supervisors whispered, unsettled.
Then Rin.
The eye blazed. Shadows clawed his mind.
But within, the Codex sat upon his throne, black fire rising higher than the illusion dared. Every nightmare dissolved before it could take shape. Rin blinked once. The relic dimmed, defeated.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
"Impossible."
"He didn't even—"
"He didn't fall unconscious."
By the end of the trials, the hall was thick with chatter. Results scrolled across crystalline panels overhead—tens of thousands of names, ranks from F through A flashing in neat columns, with only a precious handful climbing into S-tier. Some cadets hugged each other in relief, others slumped in defeat. A few walked with heads high, bragging about numbers that barely grazed four digits. Yet through it all, one name kept surfacing in whispers, traded like contraband: Seo Rin.
His results had left the room unsettled—not just strong, but unrecordable, as though the system itself had bent around him. Whispers of "impossible," "enhanced," and "cheating" crackled louder with every minute. It was in this storm of awe and suspicion that the supervisor finally thought raised his voice, although his voice interrupted by the son of his benefactor
---
The noble boy, pale and shaking, spat venom.
"He's cheating! Power enhancers! No one scores like that without pills!"
The supervisor seized the chance.
"Indeed. These results are unnatural. Numbers mean nothing without honesty."
Eyes turned. Doubt bloomed.
Rin said nothing. He simply raised his wrist, the faint glow of a restriction bracelet pulsing there. Then he let his aura slip free.
It fell like gravity unbound. Cadets crumpled. The noble gagged, forced to his knees. Even the supervisor staggered, breath stolen.
Rin's voice cut cold.
"I've been wearing this the entire time. Restrained. Even so—you can't stand."
He stepped past them, aura pressing like an ocean.
"You don't even have a fragment of my potential." His eyes met the noble's, then the supervisor's.
"We are not on the same level."
The supervisor opened his mouth to bark another accusation — and collapsed. His knees hit stone, forehead slamming next, body trembling under pressure too heavy to resist. The noble brat sprawled beside him, eyes rolled white. Even the guild staff on the fringes buckled, mana shields crumbling like paper.
And yet Rin simply stood there, calm, one hand resting loosely on his blade.
A cadet whispered through dry lips, "Is this… the power of a god?"
No one answered. No one could.
He turned. Coat swaying, boots sharp against the marble. Hyun-woo flared his own flames, aura blazing in solidarity. Jae-seok followed, psychic pressure humming like a storm contained. Three figures, walking out like gods.
---
Outside, the crowd parted in silence.
Jae-seok's parents' car awaited. He left with a nod, his calm figure swallowed into tinted glass.
Rin and Hyun-woo slid into the Phantom Eclipse. Doors closed. Silence held—then cracked into laughter.
Hyun-woo howled, pounding the seat. "Did you see their faces?! Bro, they nearly pissed themselves!"
Even Rin's lips tugged upward, smirk breaking his calm. The engine growled, the Eclipse leapt forward, and the city blurred away beneath them as the car turned invincible
---
The trials ended with fanfare, announcements echoing across the chamber as cadets spilled out into the plaza. Some laughed in relief, some argued heatedly over rankings, and others—like Rin's group—walked in calm silence, their results unspoken but undeniable. Yet behind the scenes, not all eyes celebrated. In the upper levels of the Obsidian Spire, where whispers weighed more than numbers, the true judgments of the day were already beginning.
Far above, in a chamber within the Spire, shadows pooled.
The bribed supervisor knelt. The noble boy's father stood beside him, jeweled rings glinting.
"The boy is unnatural," the supervisor whispered. "If not enhancers, then… Seo Joon's blood survives."
From behind the desk, the guildmaster's eyes gleamed cold. His voice was piercing through their throats a blade. And with absolute confidence and arrogance he opened his lips and said, "Then we clip the blade before it learns to cut."
The room chilled. The fate of a boy had already been sealed—at least, in their minds.
Codex Record — The Obsidian Spire
Classification: Guild Headquarters (Sovereign Authority)
Location: Central District, Capital City
---
Structure
The Spire rises like a shard of night piercing daylight — a tower of black stone reinforced with barrier runes older than the Republic itself. Its surface drinks in sunlight, reflecting nothing, as though light itself fears entering.
Inside, the walls pulse faintly with embedded mana circuits, feeding every chamber with stabilizing energy. Crystals are fixed at key intersections, humming with the collective resonance of centuries of battles fought and monsters slain.
---
Function
Guild Examinations: A labyrinth of testing halls designed to measure power, mana, agility, and psyche.
Political Heart: Council chambers host negotiations between guildmasters, nobles, and merchants. What happens in the Spire decides which guilds rise and which collapse.
Barrier Anchor: Serves as one of the core stabilizers for the city's anti-dungeon barrier. Should the Spire fall, the capital would be exposed.
---
Symbolism
The Spire is more than stone and rune. To cadets, it is the threshold of destiny. To veterans, it is a monument to sacrifice. To the corrupted… it is a throne room waiting to be claimed.
---
Codex Note:
> "Steel may rust, flesh may rot, but the Spire endures — as witness, judge, and executioner of every generation's hunters."