Scarlett ran with long, controlled strides that ate up distance efficiently. Her breathing was steady, her posture upright, her mind already sorting priorities.
She needed to register for the examination Immediately.
She had no idea how long she'd been gone. Time inside that space had been… unreliable. Minutes felt like hours, hours like moments, and worse—
She had already been eliminated from the first badge examination.
At least officially.
Scarlett clicked her tongue softly as she moved through the street.
"Tch… what a mess."
Verdant Dawn Academy's entrance examination was infamous for its cruelty, not because it was unfair, but because it was precise. There were no second chances built into the system. If you failed, you failed. If you missed a deadline, that was considered a lack of preparedness.
Weakness, in any form, was filtered out early.
The exam was divided into three stages.
The first was the Mana Core Awakening Test, used to determine elemental affinity, core purity, and cultivation potential. That one? Already in the bag. With her newly rebuilt meridians, absurd constitution and her current level, failing that would be embarrassing.
The second: The Hunting Test.
Survive. Kill. Extract. Submit.
This is the true filter, anyone can have talent, But only survivors become cultivators.
And finally,
The third: The Written Examination.
Scarlett snorted quietly at the thought.
"Who even passes the hunting test just to fail the writing?" she muttered. "They really don't want deadweights."
It wasn't just about strength. It was about judgment. Knowledge. Control.
Verdant Dawn Abbey didn't want reckless beasts. They wanted weapons that could think.
She slowed as the registration building came into view.
The registration building stood apart from the surrounding structures, unmistakable even at a glance.
At first sight, it resembled a modern mercenary operations center, clean lines, wide glass panels, angular steel framing—but a second look revealed the truth beneath the surface. The transparent walls were not ordinary glass, but mana-tempered crystal, faintly luminous with slow-moving runic circuits embedded between layers. Lines of light flowed through them like veins, reacting subtly to the presence of cultivators who passed by.
The exterior walls were forged from black-stone alloy, a material so dense it swallowed sound. Each block was engraved with stabilizing formations, their patterns precise and ancient, yet integrated seamlessly with modern surveillance arrays. Floating drones—small, disc-shaped constructs powered by mana cores—hovered silently near the ceiling, scanning identities, cultivation fluctuations, and hostile intent.
A faint pressure radiated from the building.
Not aggressive.
Not oppressive.
Just enough to remind anyone stepping inside that order here was enforced by power.
This was not the Verdant Dawn Abbey itself.
The academy lay deep within the inner territory, sealed behind layers of formations and political authority. This building was merely an administrative node, a place where the unproven were filtered, documented, and sorted before being deemed worthy to even approach the gates of true cultivation.
Dockworkers, wanderers, mercenaries, and hopeful youths flowed in and out, but all moved carefully, instinctively lowering their voices. No one dared cause trouble here.
Scarlett paused at the entrance.
She clasped her hands loosely behind her back, straightened her posture, and allowed her aura to settle—not suppressing it entirely, but smoothing it into something calm and controlled. It was an unconscious habit now, It was the same bearing she'd once worn as a venerated mother, Old habits, it seemed, did not die easily.
She stepped inside.
The interior was vast and open, the ceiling stretching high above like the lobby of a futuristic government complex. Floating screens projected registration numbers, examination schedules, and mana-core rankings in crisp, glowing text. Long counters made of spiritwood composite lined one side of the hall, each staffed by officials wearing uniform robes interwoven with conductive fibers and defensive arrays.
Everything here screamed expense. Not flashy wealth—but institutional power.
Scarlett walked forward, her steps light,
Thud.
Three bodies collided with her at once.
Or rather—
They collided with something that didn't move.
"Oof—!"
"What the—?!"
"When did they install a wall here?!"
All three tumbled backward in a messy heap, limbs tangling, shoes skidding across the polished floor.
Scarlett blinked.
She looked down.
"…Oh."
One of the boys was clutching his nose, eyes watering as he rolled slightly on the ground. The other two were rubbing their backsides, clearly more offended than injured.
Scarlett immediately bent forward and extended a hand.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said gently. "Are you alright?"
The boy holding his nose froze.
He looked up—
And forgot how to breathe.
The first thing he noticed was her hand.
Slender. Fair. Well-kept. Then her skin, pale, smooth, faintly luminous under the building's lights to the point of translucence, unmarred, untouched, almost fragile. Then her hair, Her hair fell past her waist in a smooth cascade of pure white, not dull or aged, but luminous, like freshly fallen snow under moonlight. Her eyelashes and brows shared the same silvery hue, framing eyes the color of storm clouds, soft grey, calm, observant, far too steady for someone her age. Her nose was small and refined, her lips pale and delicate.
At thirteen, she was still growing, but already, the contrast between her appearance and her name was striking. Cultivation blurred the meaning of age in this world. A child at a high realm could outlive empires. A youth with sufficient talent could look eternally young while standing above centuries-old monsters. Scarlett's beauty was not overwhelming—yet.
It was the kind that promised danger in the future.
Several gazes followed her when she passed. Some curious. Some assessing. Some… covetous.
She didn't notice because at this point she was only looking at the boy she was currently holding…
"I—" his voice cracked suddenly, shooting up several pitches. "I-I'm fine!"
Scarlett tilted her head slightly, concern softening her expression.
"You're sure?" she asked. "I wasn't watching where I was going."
The boy swallowed hard.
"…Y-Yes. I mean—no. I mean—I'm fine," he squeaked. "My name is James."
Scarlett smiled.
It wasn't flirtatious.
It was warm. Familiar.
The kind of smile reserved for children who scraped their knees and insisted they were fine.
"Well, James," she said kindly, helping him to his feet, "I'm glad you're not hurt."
Then, without thinking, she patted his head.
A simple gesture. Things she does to kids when she visits the orphanage.
James nearly short-circuited.
Scarlett turned to the other two boys, who were still sitting on the floor staring at her in stunned silence.
"…Are you both alright as well?" she asked.
They nodded automatically.
"Good." she inclined her head slightly. "Sorry. I'm in a bit of a rush. Take care."
And just like that—
She was gone.
James stood frozen, watching her disappear down the hallway toward the registration counters.
His ears burned.
His face felt hot.
His heart was doing something deeply unreasonable.
Behind him, one of the boys stood up and smacked him lightly on the head.
"Hey," he said. "Snap out of it. She's gone."
James startled so badly he nearly fell over again.
"What is wrong with you?" he snapped—his voice suddenly normal, clear, and irritated.
The other boy blinked.
"…Oh wow," he said slowly. "You can talk normally now?"
He grinned. "Didn't recognize you with that squeaky voice earlier."
James flushed several shades darker.
"Stooop," he said, dragging out the word in embarrassment.
The two boys visibly shuddered.
"…Don't do that," one of them muttered.
James ignored them, eyes still fixed on the corridor where Scarlett had vanished.
"She's the one I told you about."
They followed his gaze.
"…What?"
Silence fell.
James didn't elaborate.
They followed his gaze back toward the corridor.
Somewhere deeper inside the building, Scarlett picked up a registration form and stepped into the examination room, unaware that, without meaning to, she had already left an impression.