"Hah!"
Feet braced wide, fingers locked around the iron ring, Henry drew a deep breath. Muscles swelled like tempered steel, and with a surge of power he heaved the half-ton block.
Clang!
A tremor rippled through the hall as the massive weight rose. Slow at first, but steady—unyielding. Inch by inch, it lifted until it rested against his chest.
One beat.
Two beats.
Three.
When Henry still held firm after three full counts, Teacher Chaucer gave a curt nod.
"Passed."
"He… passed?"
The students, though expecting something, still stared wide-eyed.
A boy once mocked as dead weight, teetering on the brink of expulsion, had turned the tide in less than a fortnight. To rise from the mud so swiftly—this was the salted fish overturning, the stone sprouting wings.
"How could his strength have grown so quickly?"
"Is this even Henry? Or some impostor in his skin?"
Boom!
Henry lost his grip. The block crashed to the ground, and with it the stone that had pressed upon his own heart. At last—he had passed. No expulsion, no disgrace.
Though he had trusted his strength, only now did he release a full breath.
Within the kingdom of Carlo, Neo Knight Academy stood as the pinnacle, a mirror of Earth's most exalted universities. To graduate from here—or to be cast out—was the gulf between heaven and dust. To remain was to seize the chance for greatness.
"This is impossible!"
Benson's eyes were bloodshot, nails biting deep into his palms. Ten days ago, Henry had been a cripple in all but name. How had he leapt so far?
"Excellent."
Charles, by contrast, was all smiles. He alone knew the nights of tireless training. To see Henry succeed filled him with pride as if the triumph were his own.
"Will you continue?" Chaucer asked, quill poised above his roster.
"Yes."
Henry stepped forward again, eager to test his limits.
At fifty-one rad
ons, strain surfaced.
At fifty-two, the weight bit deep.
At fifty-three, every sinew taut, his breath aflame, the block shuddered but would not rise.
"Fifty-two radons," Henry thought, chest heaving. "So this is my limit."
A thousand and forty catties in Earth's measure—enough to carve his name in history there. Here, it was a step past the standard. A modest victory, yet hard-won, and for him—monumental.
Half an hour later, the six classes stood assembled once more. The mood had shifted: where earlier anticipation hummed, now a heavy dread hung over the hall.
At the fore, the six instructors stood. From among them, Hadde Evis, the grade director, lifted the roster in his hands. Its list was the edge of the blade about to fall.
For after every trial came judgment. Fail once, and punishment awaited. Fail thrice, and expulsion followed, final as death.
"The following have failed this trial."
"Gunter Beck."
"Kamp Giles."
"Goss James."
…
Each name fell like a hammer. Faces flushed crimson with shame, heads bowed low.
"These thirty-one will quarry stone for seven days."
The sentence struck hard. To be sent to the quarries—breaking stone in dust and filth, shoulder to shoulder with common laborers—was humiliation more bitter than lashes.
"And those expelled—"
"Carol Joyce."
"Field Green."
"Kale Duller."
The director's gaze was cold as forged iron.
"These three are expelled. You have one day to leave the academy."
"…What? That's all?"
Murmurs rippled. Even Titus Kirk, brightest of the year, glanced in puzzlement. Should not Henry's name have been among them? Twice already he had failed; by the academy's law, the third should have cast him out. For Lady Scarlet Sera to have wasted her favor on such a one was laughable.
But the director's voice cut like a blade: "That is all. Dismissed."
He offered no explanation.
He too had investigated Henry, torn between duty and deference. Twice had the boy failed; rules demanded his dismissal. Yet Lady Scarlet's esteem could not be ignored. Evis had prepared a compromise, intending to recommend Henry's transfer to a lesser academy. But now—Henry had passed on his own merit, overturning every expectation. Even he was surprised.
Word spread swiftly. Students pressed members of Class Six, and soon the truth was out.
"What? He passed?"
"Damn it! If only I had seized Lady Sera's chance, it might have been me…"
Others, more discerning, shook their heads. Her guidance was priceless, yes, but no single lesson could breed such change.
"It must have been some rare potion," Titus Kirk said at last, his voice calm, authoritative. As an earl's son, he had seen much—and his words carried weight. "Something to force growth."
Soon the rumor hardened into truth: Henry had relied on costly medicine.
Henry paid no heed. His heart was light. He feasted in the hall that night, then returned to his quarters. From within he drew the vial of silver-deer blood and pressed it back into Charles's hands.
Between true friends, sincerity mattered most. Had he truly needed it, he would have taken it. But now? Why waste such a treasure? His own cultivation surged swiftly enough; what took others weeks, he gained in days.
A few days later, as he and Charles left the training grounds, a figure blocked their path—a brown-haired youth, eyes glinting with malice.