The pressure lifted all at once.
Not gradually, not with any warning, but simply gone like a weight removed from my chest. Air rushed back into my lungs in a gasp I couldn't suppress, my vision clearing as oxygen finally reached my brain properly again.
Around me, fifteen hundred applicants reacted similarly. Collective gasping filled the arena, bodies crumpling completely now that the force holding them rigid had vanished. Some remained on the ground, too exhausted or shocked to stand immediately. Others struggled upright on shaking legs, pride demanding they recover quickly despite physical protests.
I forced myself to straighten completely, ignoring how my muscles trembled from the sustained resistance. Showing weakness now would undermine everything the cold, arrogant persona was meant to project.
Director Astrea still floated above us, his expression unchanged. His amber eyes swept across the crowd with the same calm assessment as before, as if crushing fifteen hundred people under his presence had required no more effort than breathing.
'That wasn't even him trying,' I realized, the thought carrying equal parts terror and determination. 'That was ambient pressure, the natural effect of his existence when he doesn't actively suppress it. And it nearly broke me despite everything I've gained.'
When he spoke again, his voice carried the same resonant power but the physical pressure remained absent.
"Three hundred years ago, humanity faced extinction during the Second Demon Incursion. Our kingdoms fought separately, hoarding knowledge and resources while demons coordinated their assault across the entire continent. We nearly lost everything because we refused to unite."
His words echoed through the arena, every syllable clear despite the massive space and thousands of listeners.
"The Continental Academy was founded in the aftermath, built on this floating island as a monument to what cooperation could achieve. A place where the five kingdoms would send their best, where knowledge would be shared rather than hidden, where the next generation would learn to fight as humanity rather than as fractured nations."
He gestured, and illusory images materialized in the air around him. Scenes of demonic armies clashing with human forces, cities burning, warriors making desperate last stands. The images were vivid enough to make several applicants flinch.
"In these three centuries, we have trained over fifty thousand warriors, mages, strategists, and leaders. They defend your kingdoms now. They hold the borders against demon expansion. They delve into dungeons to secure resources that keep civilization functional. Every protection you've enjoyed in your comfortable lives exists because people who stood where you stand now proved themselves worthy."
The images shifted, showing academy students in training, then those same individuals years later commanding forces or defending settlements or exploring dangerous territories.
"Today, you seek to join their ranks. To prove you deserve that same investment of resources and knowledge. To demonstrate you can become what humanity needs rather than remaining what you currently are."
His tone hardened, the warmth of historical context vanishing into cold assessment.
"We do not coddle weakness here. We forge strength. The demons will not spare you because you tried your best. Beasts will not hesitate because you come from noble blood. Only capability matters. Only results matter. Only survival matters."
I felt the shift in atmosphere as his words landed. Some applicants stood straighter, energized by the challenge. Others looked uncertain, reconsidering whether they wanted what this place offered.
"Seven hundred of you will fail today's examination," Director Astrea continued. "You are not failures as people if you do not pass. But you are not ready for what this institution demands. You may return next year if you improve sufficiently. We will judge you again with the same standards."
He raised his hand, and new images appeared. These showed the arena floor itself, stone rising and reconfiguring into distinct combat platforms.
"The examination consists of three stages. All three must be passed to gain admission. There is no partial credit, no allowance for trying hard or showing potential. You either meet our standards or you do not."
The first image solidified into detail, showing a humanoid construct facing a student.
"Stage One tests combat capability. You will face three constructs sequentially, each more difficult than the last. These are enchanted creations that mimic real combat patterns from beasts and trained warriors. They will not hold back. They will attack to kill, though the enchantments prevent actual death."
Around me, I heard nervous whispers starting before staff members silenced them with gestures.
"The first construct matches Low Novice tier capability. A baseline test that anyone claiming readiness should pass easily. The second construct operates at Mid Novice tier. This proves you are not barely qualified but genuinely competent. The third construct fights at Peak Novice tier with technique and tactics exceeding simple beast behavior."
The image showed all three constructs in sequence, each progressively more dangerous in appearance.
"You have five minutes per construct, fifteen minutes total for the stage. Defeat all three to advance. Lose consciousness, sustain crippling injury, surrender, or exceed the time limit, and you fail immediately. Healing is available between your fights for minor injuries, but continued participation remains your choice."
My mind was already working through the implications. Peak Novice tier construct with actual technique would be comparable to the Crimson Alpha I'd fought, possibly more dangerous since constructs wouldn't tire or make emotional mistakes.
'First Light should handle the first two efficiently,' I thought. 'Third will require either Heaven Splitter or sustained combination work. Manageable, but I'll need to be smart about mana expenditure.'
The image shifted, showing groups of students facing various scenario-based challenges.
"Stage Two tests tactical capability and adaptability. You will be divided into groups of ten and face scenarios requiring cooperation, strategy, and quick decision-making. The scenarios adapt based on your group's composition and actions. We grade individual performance within the group context. Success means demonstrating sound judgment, spatial awareness, resource management, and ability to work with or around others effectively."
This stage would be more complicated. Working with strangers, possibly incompetent or hostile strangers, while being evaluated individually. Political dynamics would matter as much as combat capability.
"Stage Three tests your mana foundation. We measure capacity, control, efficiency, and potential for growth. This is not purely about raw power. A student with modest capacity but exceptional control often outperforms someone with deep reserves but poor technique. We will assess your mana circulation, elemental affinity if applicable, and overall energy management."
The image showed students seated in meditation while enchanted devices measured glowing energy patterns around them.
"These three stages will complete before sunset. Those who pass all three will receive temporary academy identification tonight and permanent student housing tomorrow. Those who fail any stage will be escorted from the premises by sunset and must arrange their own transportation home."
Brutal efficiency. No extended evaluation periods, no second chances within the same examination cycle. Pass everything in one day or leave.
Director Astrea's expression hardened further, his amber eyes seeming to pierce through every applicant simultaneously.
"Additional rules you will follow without exception. Lethal techniques against constructs are permitted and encouraged. They are objects, not lives. However, any combat between applicants, during or outside examination, that results in permanent injury or death will be investigated. Self-defense is acceptable. Murder is not."
The distinction was clear enough. Politics and rivalries were tolerated, but there were limits.
"Cheating in any form results in immediate expulsion and blacklisting from all Continental Academy facilities permanently. External aid beyond what you personally carry or have legitimately attuned to is forbidden. We will inspect equipment if suspicious. Do not test our detection capabilities."
Several applicants shifted uncomfortably, probably reconsidering whatever advantages they'd planned to smuggle in.
"Finally, understand what you are choosing if you pass today. First year mortality rate averages three to five percent from training accidents, dungeon expeditions, and practical examinations. Second and third years face increasingly lethal challenges as we prepare you for the reality of defending humanity. Political conflicts between students are tolerated within academy law, but violence has consequences."
He let that sink in before continuing.
"We are not here to make you comfortable. We are here to make you capable. The difference matters when demons breach the borders or legendary beasts rampage through settlements. Your comfort means nothing compared to your ability to protect those who cannot protect themselves."
The floating images dissolved, leaving only Director Astrea suspended above us.
"You have one hour to prepare before Stage One begins. Facilities on the western side include weapon maintenance stations, meditation chambers, and light refreshments. When the bells ring, report to your assigned combat platform immediately. Your platform number was provided at registration. Failure to appear within five minutes of your scheduled time results in automatic forfeiture."
His gaze swept across us one final time, amber eyes seeming to weigh each person's worth.
"The Continental Academy does not wait for anyone. Prove you deserve to walk these grounds. Prove you can become the shield humanity needs rather than remaining privileged children playing at war."
The pressure returned without warning.
Five seconds of crushing force that drove half the applicants back to their knees before vanishing just as suddenly. A final reminder of the gap between where we stood and where we needed to reach.
Director Astrea descended smoothly, his feet touching stone without sound despite the height. He walked toward the officials' observation platform with the same measured grace as his entrance, staff members bowing as he passed.
The moment he disappeared from view, the arena erupted into noise.
Conversations exploded across all five kingdom groups. Some applicants rushed toward the preparation facilities immediately. Others stood frozen, processing everything they'd just heard. A few were openly reconsidering, discussing withdrawal before failing publicly.
I remained where I was, watching the arena floor transform.
Stone rose from the ground in twelve distinct locations, enchantments reshaping solid rock like clay in a sculptor's hands. Combat platforms formed, each measuring perhaps thirty feet square, elevated slightly above the main floor. Barriers shimmered into existence around each platform, protective enchantments that would contain combat effects and prevent interference.
Above each platform, screens materialized from nothing, flat surfaces that would display the fights to spectators regardless of viewing angle. The arena's design ensured everyone could watch everything simultaneously despite twelve concurrent battles.
'Efficient,' I thought, appreciating the engineering even as my mind worked through combat strategy. 'Process twelve applicants every fifteen minutes, one hundred forty-four per hour. Fifteen hundred applicants means approximately ten hours if perfectly efficient, probably twelve accounting for breaks and complications. Stage One will consume most of the day by itself.'
Staff members moved through the crowd, directing traffic and answering questions. Their voices carried over the general noise with practiced authority.
"Platform assignments are based on your registration number! Check your token!"
"Preparation facilities this way! Stay organized!"
"Anyone requiring immediate medical attention from the Director's demonstration, report to the eastern medical station!"
I pulled my registration token from my pocket and checked the engraved number. Platform Seven. That meant nothing about timing without knowing the rotation schedule, but at least I knew where to go when called.
Around me, applicants were beginning to move. The crowd thinned as people headed toward preparation areas or sought their platform locations. I started walking as well, but stopped when someone deliberately stepped into my path.
The girl stood perhaps three inches shorter than me, her midnight black hair pulled back in a practical style that kept it clear of her face. Silver eyes met mine with the kind of direct assessment that suggested she was accustomed to people avoiding her gaze rather than holding it.
She wore the same standard examination clothes as everyone else, but something about her bearing marked her as different. The way she stood suggested martial training from early childhood, weight distributed perfectly for instant movement in any direction.
'One of the Aldorian princesses,' I realized, noting details that matched descriptions from my research. 'Seraphina or Celestia. Can't determine which without hearing her speak or seeing her fight.'
We stood there for several seconds, neither speaking, each taking the other's measure. She'd remained standing under the Director's pressure, one of perhaps twenty people who'd managed that. That alone marked her as exceptional.
"Kaine Einsworth," she said finally, her voice carrying quiet confidence. "The disappointing eldest son. Strange that you're here instead of your brother. The hero candidate."
Not a question. A statement designed to provoke reaction or gather information through my response.
I kept my expression cold, letting my gaze travel over her with the same dismissive assessment I'd used on the Ravencroft students yesterday.
"My family matters are not your concern, princess. Though I'm certain speculation provides entertainment for those with nothing better to occupy their thoughts."
Her eyebrow raised slightly, the only reaction to my casual dismissal of whatever authority her title carried.
"You remained standing under Grandmaster Astrea's pressure longer than most. Either you're stronger than your reputation suggests, or stubborn beyond reason. Possibly both."
"Or perhaps reputation is unreliable when built on gossip rather than observation," I replied. "As you'll discover when examination begins and assumptions prove inadequate."
She smiled then, a slight curve of lips that suggested genuine amusement rather than mockery.
"I look forward to seeing whether your confidence has foundation or if you're simply arrogant enough to believe it does. Either way, it will be entertaining."
She stepped aside, clearing my path, but her eyes remained locked on mine until I turned and continued walking. The exchange had drawn attention from nearby applicants, their whispers starting immediately about the princess engaging the Einsworth failure in conversation.
'Good,' I thought, allowing myself internal satisfaction despite maintaining external coldness. 'More assumptions to weaponize later. Let them think imperial heirs find me interesting for my entertainment value rather than capability.'
I reached the preparation facilities and found them surprisingly well-organized despite the chaos of fifteen hundred applicants trying to use them simultaneously. Weapon maintenance stations lined one wall, staffed by academy smiths who could repair damage or perform basic enchantment refreshing. Meditation chambers occupied the opposite side, small rooms with sound-dampening enchantments and comfortable seating. Tables in the center held refreshments, nothing elaborate but enough to restore energy.
I bypassed the food and weapon maintenance. The Einsworth Family Saber needed no external care, its legendary status meaning it would repair minor damage automatically. Instead, I found an empty meditation chamber and sealed myself inside.
The silence was immediate and absolute, the enchantments cutting off all external sound. I settled into the position Jack had drilled into me over thousands of repetitions and began circulating mana through established pathways.
The flow came smoothly, energy moving through channels that had been carved deeper and wider through a month of brutal training. My capacity had grown substantially from where it started. My control was refined enough that I could direct mana with precision rather than crude general application.
I reviewed combat strategy while maintaining the circulation, organizing thoughts into clear categories.
'First construct at Low Novice tier should fall to basic First Light execution. Minimal mana cost, quick finish, demonstrates competence without revealing proficiency level. Second construct at Mid Novice tier will require either multiple First Light applications or one combined with Phantom Step for positioning. Still manageable with moderate efficiency. The third construct at Peak Novice tier with actual technique is the real test.'
The Crimson Alpha had been Peak Novice tier. That fight had required two First Light executions and emergency mana restoration through crushed cores. But I was stronger now than during that hunt. My attributes had increased, my technique proficiency had grown, and my mana capacity was higher.
'Heaven Splitter as a finishing technique if First Light proves insufficient,' I decided. 'Devastating Charge available as gap closer or emergency option. Crimson Fury for damage boost if the fight extends beyond initial exchanges. Iron Body Method if forced into close quarters without weapon.'
The constructs wouldn't adapt like intelligent opponents. They'd follow programmed patterns, however sophisticated those patterns might be. That made them simultaneously easier and harder than human opponents - easier to predict once patterns emerged, harder because they'd execute those patterns with perfect precision every time.
I spent forty minutes in meditation, time passing quickly despite the lack of external reference. When I finally opened my eyes and checked the chamber's enchanted clock, I had perhaps fifteen minutes before the bells would ring.
I left the meditation chamber and made my way toward the arena floor, joining the stream of other applicants heading to their assigned platforms. The crowd had thinned considerably, most people having already positioned themselves near their designated combat areas.
Platform Seven sat in the arena's northeastern section, its barriers already active and shimmering faintly in the afternoon light. Four other applicants waited nearby, their registration numbers presumably placing them in the same rotation.
I joined them without speaking, maintaining the cold isolation that had served me well. They shot glances at me, recognition flickering across faces as they placed my family crest and reputation, but none attempted conversation.
The bells rang.
Deep resonant tones that echoed off stone and through enchantments, cutting through every conversation simultaneously. Fifteen hundred voices fell silent as everyone turned attention toward their assigned platforms.
Staff members appeared at each platform, checking lists and calling names.
"Platform Seven, first rotation!" the official at our location announced, his voice magically amplified. "Step forward when your name is called. Remember, you have fifteen minutes total, five minutes per construct. Defeat all three to advance."
He consulted his list. "First combatant: Lyra Ashford of Elenor!"
A girl perhaps my age stepped forward from our group. She was small, almost delicate in appearance, with features that suggested diplomatic rather than martial training. But she'd been among those who recovered quickly from the Director's pressure, and she moved with quiet confidence as she approached the platform.
The barrier opened briefly, allowing her to step through, then sealed behind her with a sharp snap of energy.
The construct materialized at the opposite end.
It stood roughly six feet tall, humanoid in shape but clearly artificial. Metal plates formed its body, articulated at joints to allow movement. Its eyes glowed with blue enchantment. It carried a standard sword and shield, its stance suggesting basic competence rather than mastery.
The official raised his hand.
"BEGIN!"
The construct surged forward immediately, no hesitation or testing approach. Its sword came up in a simple overhead strike, a shield positioned to protect its center mass.
Lyra didn't retreat. Instead, she stepped inside the construct's range before its strike could fully commit, one hand touching its chest plate.
Frost exploded outward from the point of contact, ice spreading across the construct's entire body in seconds. The metal plates locked together as joints froze, movement ceasing completely as the construct became a statue.
She stepped back and gestured. The ice construct shattered into fragments that dissolved before hitting the platform floor.
'Ice manipulation,' I thought, attention sharpening with interest. 'But far more developed than my crude applications. She flash-froze the entire construct instantly, then destroyed it through thermal shock. That level of control suggests years of training and substantial elemental affinity.'
The second construct materialized immediately, this one moving faster and carrying two daggers instead of sword and shield.
Lyra's approach changed. She created ice walls between herself and the construct, using them as obstacles that forced it to path around or through them. Each time it committed to a direction, she repositioned and created new barriers, controlling the engagement completely through terrain manipulation.
When the construct finally closed distance, she met it with an ice blade formed from nothing, the weapon's edge sharp enough to carve through metal plating. Three exchanges and the construct fell in pieces.
The third construct appeared, and this one was different. It moved with fluid grace, dual swords dancing through forms that suggested actual technique programmed into its patterns. When it engaged, the strikes came from multiple angles in rapid succession, each one threatening and most of them feints designed to create openings.
Lyra created an ice dome around herself, the barrier thick enough to stop the construct's initial assault. The swords struck the dome repeatedly, each impact sending cracks spider-webbing across the surface but not breaking through immediately.
She was buying time, I realized. Preparing something larger than her previous techniques.
The dome shattered outward, ice shards flying in all directions like thrown daggers. The construct raised its swords to deflect, but several shards slipped past its guard and embedded in joints and gaps between plates.
The ice spread from those contact points, slowing the construct's movements as joints began freezing. Lyra pressed the advantage, her ice blade striking with precision at weakened points until the construct fell.
Silence held for several seconds after the third construct dissolved. Then applause erupted from the stands above, spectators acknowledging competent performance.
The barrier opened, and Lyra stepped off the platform without visible exhaustion. She'd passed Stage One without taking a single hit, without even appearing particularly challenged by any of the three constructs.
'Exceptional control and efficiency,' I noted, filing the observation for future reference. 'She'll be dangerous in later stages if her tactical thinking matches her combat capability.'
The official consulted his list again.
"Second combatant: Gerard Stonefist of Draven!"
The massive youth who stepped forward lived up to his name. He stood well over six feet tall, broad across the shoulders, his frame suggesting pure physical conditioning rather than magical development. His formal examination clothes strained against muscles built through years of brutal training.
He carried a warhammer strapped to his back, the weapon's head easily the size of my torso.
The barrier opened, sealed, and the first construct materialized.
Gerard didn't wait for the official's signal. The moment "BEGIN" left the official's mouth, he charged.
The construct raised its shield, but Gerard's warhammer struck with force that made the entire platform shudder. The shield crumpled, the construct flew backward, and it hit the barrier with impact that sent visible ripples through the enchantment.
It tried to stand. Gerard's follow-up strike pulverized it completely.
Eight seconds. The entire first fight had lasted eight seconds.
The second construct appeared, moved to engage, and died even faster when Gerard simply caught its initial attack on his warhammer's haft and used the construct's momentum to throw it into the barrier hard enough to shatter its frame.
The third construct showed more caution, circling rather than engaging directly. It tried feints, tested different angles, looked for openings.
Gerard waited. Then, when the construct committed to a thrust, he moved.
For someone so large, his speed was shocking. He closed distance in a single explosive step, his warhammer coming around in a horizontal arc that the construct couldn't possibly evade.
The impact was catastrophic. Metal shattered, enchantments failed, and pieces scattered across the platform before dissolving.
Total time elapsed: forty-three seconds across all three constructs.
The crowd's applause was louder this time, impressed by pure overwhelming force efficiently applied.
'Different approach entirely,' I thought, analyzing Gerard's performance. 'No technique visible beyond basic hammer work, just exceptional strength and speed backing simple applications. But effective. Constructs can't adapt to being destroyed before they can execute programmed patterns.'
Gerard stepped off the platform, barely breathing hard, and took position waiting for his Stage Two assignment.
The official called the third name, and I stepped forward.
"Kaine Einsworth of Aldoria!"
The barrier opened. I walked through, feeling it seal behind me with that characteristic snap. The platform felt different from this side, more isolated, the crowd's noise distant despite thousands watching.
I drew the Einsworth Family Saber, the blade singing slightly as it left its sheath. The weapon felt eager through our soul bond, anticipating combat.
The first construct materialized. Sword and shield, basic stance, blue-glowing eyes locked on me.
The official's hand rose, then fell.
"BEGIN!"