The construct materialized across from me, its metal frame catching afternoon light as enchantments flared to life behind its eyes. Sword and shield, basic stance, programming running through whatever passed for its consciousness.
I didn't wait for it to settle into a read position.
The moment the official's hand fell and "BEGIN" echoed across the platform, I moved.
First Light.
My draw was perfect, every component executed exactly as Jack had drilled into me through thousands of repetitions. Stance solid, weight distribution optimal, the saber leaving its sheath in a motion so smooth it seemed like the blade had simply appeared in my hand already cutting.
Mana flooded through the established pathways, channeling into the technique with efficiency born from month-long practice. The cutting pressure manifested as visible distortion in the air, a crescent of compressed force that traveled faster than the construct could process.
The construct's head separated from its shoulders before its combat protocols could activate. Clean cut, no resistance, metal and enchantment parting like paper before a razor.
The body stood for a fraction of a second, blue glow fading from severed neck, then collapsed in a clatter of metal plates against stone.
Time elapsed: less than one second.
The crowd's noise cut off abruptly, thousands of voices falling silent simultaneously. I could feel attention shifting toward Platform Seven, focus sharpening as spectators who'd been watching other fights turned to see what had just happened.
I maintained my expression, cold and dismissive, as if instant decapitation was simply expected performance rather than anything notable. Inside, satisfaction flickered. The first demonstration had landed exactly as intended, showing capability without revealing the full extent of my proficiency.
The second construct materialized before the first had fully dissolved.
This one carried dual daggers, its stance lower and more mobile than the sword-and-shield variant. The moment it fully formed, it surged forward with speed that exceeded the first construct's capabilities.
I tracked its movement easily, enhanced perception making the attack seem almost slow despite objective velocity. The construct committed to a diagonal slash from my left, its second dagger positioned for follow-up if I dodged rather than blocked.
I used Phantom Step.
The footwork pattern activated smoothly, mana pulsing through my legs in precisely timed bursts that Jack had beaten into muscle memory. My body shifted three feet right, the construct's daggers cutting through space I'd occupied a fraction of a second earlier.
Before it could adjust, I was already moving again. Phantom Step chained into another First Light execution, this one horizontal rather than vertical.
The cutting pressure caught the construct at torso level, bisecting it cleanly. Upper body separated from lower, both halves hitting the platform and dissolving into motes of fading enchantment.
Time elapsed: two seconds.
The silence in the stands was absolute now. No applause, no commentary, just pure attention focused on Platform Seven as fifteen hundred applicants and thousands of current students watched to see what would happen next.
'Two down with minimal mana expenditure,' I thought, checking my reserves quickly. 'Efficiency exactly as planned. Third construct should be manageable with Heaven Splitter if it proves resistant to First Light, or combination work if—'
The third construct materialized, and something was immediately wrong.
The visual difference was subtle. Slightly more refined articulation in the joints, smoother transitions between plates, eyes that glowed with deeper intensity than the previous two. It carried a single longsword in a grip that suggested programmed expertise rather than basic competence.
But the real difference became apparent the instant it moved.
The construct blurred.
Not metaphorically. Its form literally became indistinct as it crossed the platform distance in a burst of speed that exceeded anything Peak Novice tier should demonstrate. The longsword came at me in a thrust so fast I barely registered the attack before my body reacted on pure instinct.
I threw myself sideways, Phantom Step activating without conscious thought, raw survival instinct overriding tactical consideration.
The blade passed through space my chest had occupied, missing by perhaps an inch. The displacement pressure from its passage was strong enough to make my examination clothes ripple.
'That's not Peak Novice tier,' the realization hit with absolute clarity. 'That's Apprentice rank speed. Low Apprentice at minimum. The construct broke through mid-materialization.'
The construct pivoted smoothly, its sword resetting into guard position as it tracked my new location. No hesitation, no delay, its programming adapting to my evasion and already calculating the next exchange.
I had perhaps two seconds before it attacked again.
My mind raced through options with the clarity that came from actual danger. Wait for academy officials to notice the error and stop the fight? They were watching, they had to see the speed difference, but no signal came. The barrier remained sealed, no intervention forthcoming.
Either they hadn't noticed yet, or this was intentional. Some kind of test beyond the standard examination parameters.
It didn't matter. I couldn't afford to wait and hope for rescue.
The construct moved again, its sword coming in a horizontal slash designed to limit my evasion options. I met it with my saber, the clash of metal on metal ringing across the platform with force that sent vibrations up my arm.
'Stronger too,' I noted, feeling the impact stress my grip. 'Not just speed, actual Apprentice-tier attributes backing the technique.'
I disengaged before it could leverage superior strength, using Phantom Step to create distance and reassess. The construct followed immediately, giving me no time to breathe or plan extended strategy.
Its sword work was sophisticated. Each strike flowed into the next with practiced efficiency, feints mixed with genuine attacks in patterns designed to create openings through accumulated pressure. This wasn't beast-level combat anymore. This was trained warrior technique programmed into an artificial frame.
I blocked, parried, evaded in rapid succession, my Flash God arts keeping me barely ahead of attacks that would have overwhelmed someone relying on pure reaction speed. But I was burning mana faster than planned, each Phantom Step costing resources I'd intended to conserve for later stages.
'Need to end this quickly,' I thought, parrying another combination and giving ground to avoid the follow-up. 'Can't let it wear me down through sustained pressure.'
The construct pressed its advantage, sensing or programmed to recognize when opponents were defending rather than attacking. Its assault intensified, strikes coming from multiple angles in rapid succession.
I caught one attack on my saber's edge, redirected another with minimal movement, then saw the opening I needed.
The construct had committed to a downward slash, its full weight behind the attack. For just a fraction of a second, its center mass was exposed and it couldn't abort the strike's momentum.
I activated Devastating Charge.
The skill triggered with a surge of energy through my legs, my speed increasing dramatically as I closed the gap before the construct could reset its guard. My shoulder drove into its chest plate with force amplified beyond what my base strength should provide.
The impact sent the construct backward, its footing disrupted. Not enough to knock it down completely, but enough to create space and time.
I used both.
Heaven Splitter.
The technique demanded everything I could channel into it, mana flooding through pathways and into the blade until the Einsworth Family Saber thrummed with barely contained power. I thrust forward with every ounce of strength and precision I possessed, the compressed energy building at the weapon's point.
The air itself seemed to compress, visible distortion forming as the technique reached critical density. Then it released.
The projectile that erupted from my thrust was concentrated destruction, air compressed beyond normal limits and given direction through perfect execution. It crossed the distance to the recovering construct in an instant.
The impact was catastrophic.
Heaven Splitter struck the construct's chest plate dead center, the compressed air detonating with force that obliterated metal and enchantment simultaneously. The explosion of energy scattered pieces across the entire platform, fragments bouncing off the barrier before dissolving into nothing.
The construct was simply gone, not collapsed or disabled but completely destroyed, no intact pieces remaining larger than my fist.
I stood in the aftermath, breathing harder than I wanted to show, my mana reserves depleted by perhaps forty percent from that single technique. Sweat dampened my forehead despite the cool air, physical exertion and mental stress combining to push my enhanced physique toward its limits.
Time elapsed for the third construct: approximately one minute.
Total time for all three: one minute and three seconds.
The silence that followed was different from before. Not the shocked pause after instant decapitation, but something heavier. Uncomfortable, almost.
I looked up toward the officials' platform and found Director Astrea standing at the railing, his amber eyes locked directly on Platform Seven. On me specifically. His expression was unreadable, but the fact that he'd moved from his seat to observe personally suggested the third construct's performance had not escaped his notice.
Other officials clustered near him, several checking enchanted tablets that probably monitored construct parameters. Their body language suggested confusion, concern, rapid analysis of what had just occurred.
The barrier around Platform Seven dropped, the shimmer of protective enchantment fading to nothing.
"Kaine Einsworth," the platform official announced, his voice carrying less confidence than before. "Stage One complete. Report to the staging area for Stage Two assignment."
No acknowledgment of the error. No explanation for why the third construct had operated beyond its supposed parameters. Just clinical confirmation that I'd passed and instruction to move along.
I sheathed the Einsworth Family Saber, the blade sliding home with a soft metallic whisper. Checked my reserves one more time, confirming I had enough remaining for Stage Two if it began soon. The Primordial Chaos Physique was already working to restore depleted mana, my enhanced regeneration kicking in automatically.
I stepped off the platform, my boots hitting the regular arena floor with a solid impact.
The applicants waiting for their turns at Platform Seven stared at me with expressions ranging from shock to calculation to barely concealed fear. The girl who'd been called fourth in rotation looked pale, her confidence visibly shaken by watching what she'd have to face.
Gerard, the massive Draven warrior who'd demolished his constructs through pure strength, nodded once when our eyes met. Acknowledgment between competitors who'd both demonstrated capability, though his forty-three second completion time suddenly seemed less impressive compared to my one minute three seconds despite my third construct being measurably more dangerous.
Lyra stood farther back, her silver eyes tracking me with the same analytical assessment she'd used on the construct before destroying it. She'd completed in approximately two minutes across all three fights, efficient and controlled. She showed no obvious reaction to my performance, but something in her posture suggested she'd filed the information away for future reference.
I maintained my cold, aloof expression as I walked past them all, refusing to acknowledge the attention or react to their stares. Inside, my mind was racing through implications and questions.
'The construct's tier breakthrough wasn't random,' I thought, analyzing the sequence of events. 'It happened during materialization, which means either the enchantment malfunctioned specifically on my third construct, or someone altered the parameters deliberately. Testing me beyond standard examination requirements.'
The timing suggested intention rather than accident. First construct destroyed too quickly, second construct destroyed efficiently, third construct mysteriously upgraded to force me into genuine difficulty.
'Director Astrea watching personally supports deliberate testing theory,' I continued, weaving through crowds toward the staging area. 'If it was a simple malfunction, officials would have stopped the fight immediately and assigned a replacement construct. They let it continue, let me face Apprentice-tier opposition during an examination supposedly capped at Peak Novice.'
The question was why. What about my performance had triggered special attention beyond normal evaluation procedures?
'First Light execution speed was exceptional but not unprecedented,' I thought, reviewing possibilities. 'Lyra and Gerard both demonstrated notable capabilities in different ways. Unless...'
Unless someone had already been watching me before the examination began. The mysterious observer from last night, the way attention had shifted after my confrontations with Ravencroft students and the princess. People who knew the disappointing Einsworth heir's reputation and found actual capability suspicious enough to warrant closer scrutiny.
'Can't know without more information,' I concluded, approaching the staging area where staff members directed successful applicants into groups. 'But it's worth remembering that someone considers me interesting enough to test beyond standard parameters. I need to be more careful about what I reveal in Stage Two.'
The staging area was organized chaos, staff members sorting successful applicants into groups of ten while maintaining separation between those who'd completed Stage One and those still waiting their turn. I joined the growing cluster of people wearing small pins that marked examination progress, the enchanted metal confirming we'd passed combat capability assessment.
More applicants arrived steadily as other platforms completed their rotations. I recognized some faces from the morning assembly, others were strangers from different kingdoms. The crowd was perhaps a hundred strong already, which suggested good pass rates across early rotation groups.
'Or they're filtering weaker applicants into later time slots,' I thought, watching the composition. 'Front-load capable students to set pace expectations, save obvious failures for afternoon when fatigue and demoralization compound.'
A staff member approached, checking my registration token and consulting his list.
"Kaine Einsworth, Aldoria. You're assigned to Tactical Group Twelve for Stage Two. Report to assembly point gamma when your group number is called. Expected start time approximately ninety minutes from now."
Ninety minutes. Enough time for my mana regeneration to restore most of what I'd spent, though I'd enter Stage Two with less than full reserves unless I found somewhere to meditate properly.
I nodded acknowledgment and moved toward the edge of the staging area, finding a position where I could observe without being crowded. Other applicants gave me space, whether from respect for personal boundaries or because my performance at Platform Seven had made them wary.
The princess appeared perhaps ten minutes later, her midnight hair distinctive even in the crowd. She wore the same progress pin as everyone else, her passage through Stage One apparently successful. When she noticed me watching, she smiled slightly and inclined her head in acknowledgment before moving toward a different section of the staging area.
More familiar faces followed. The boy who'd tried to claim my registration line appeared, looking satisfied with himself until he noticed me and his expression soured. Several Castern applicants arrived in a cluster, their group dynamics suggesting they'd coordinated before examination rather than meeting here.
Gerard emerged from the crowd, his massive frame making him easy to track. He'd apparently completed so quickly that there'd been minimal delay between his finish and mine despite me fighting after him.
Lyra was called to a different platform after our rotation at Seven, but I spotted her entering the staging area approximately thirty minutes later. Her clothes showed no signs of damage or stress, suggesting her subsequent performance had matched the efficiency of what I'd witnessed.
The sun climbed higher as morning progressed toward midday. The arena floor continued processing applicants through Stage One, twelve platforms running continuously with five-minute breaks between rotations for construct reset and platform maintenance.
I found a quiet corner and settled into basic meditation, not deep enough to lose awareness of my surroundings but sufficient to maximize mana regeneration. The Primordial Chaos Physique worked steadily, my enhanced recovery pulling energy from ambient sources and converting it into usable reserves.
By the time my ninety minutes had nearly elapsed, I'd restored approximately seventy percent of my depleted mana. Not full capacity, but substantially better than the sixty percent I'd had immediately after Platform Seven.
"Tactical Group Twelve, report to assembly point gamma!" The announcement echoed across the staging area, magically amplified to cut through ambient noise.
I stood, checked that my saber sat properly at my hip, and made my way toward the designated assembly point.
Nine other applicants were already gathering there, their expressions ranging from confident to nervous to carefully neutral. I recognized two of them from the morning assembly, though I didn't know their names or kingdoms.
A staff member waited with an enchanted tablet, checking off names as we arrived.
"All present," she confirmed after the last member joined. "Follow me to your scenario chamber. Stage Two begins immediately upon entry. Remember, individual performance matters more than group success. Decision-making, adaptability, and tactical thinking are being evaluated. You have forty-five minutes to complete your scenario."
She turned and began walking toward a building adjacent to the main arena, its architecture suggesting specialized facilities rather than simple storage or administration.
The ten of us followed in loose formation, none speaking, each probably running through mental preparations similar to mine.
Whatever Stage Two demanded, I'd face it with the same approach that had worked in Stage One: demonstrate capability without revealing the full extent of my abilities, maintain the cold persona that kept others at distance, and prove that the disappointing Einsworth heir was more than his reputation suggested.
The scenario chamber awaited, and with it, the next test of whether I deserved to call the Continental Academy home.