The Grand Arena of the Oakhaven Academy was a bowl of tiered stone and sun-bleached banners. Usually, the Mid-Year Assessment was a festive occasion, but for the bottom-tier students, it felt more like a public sentencing.
Elian stood in the tunnel leading to the sands, his fingers tracing the coarse fur on Ignis's neck. The fox was tucked under his arm, still slightly sluggish from the previous night's excursion. Around them, other students were preening.
"Look at that, the 'Ash-Sweeper' actually showed up," a voice sneered.
Elian didn't need to look. It was Kaelen, the son of a local textile magnate. Beside him stood a Gale-Hog, a Bronze-Rank beast with bristling green spines and tusks that hummed with wind energy.
"I heard the academy is hiring a new groundskeeper, Elian," Kaelen chuckled, his beast snorting a small localized cyclone into the dirt. "You should save yourself the embarrassment and just hand in your resignation now. An Ash Fox? My hog eats those for breakfast."
Elian didn't take the bait. He just looked at the Gale-Hog's stats through the Matrix's passive lens.
[Species: Gale-Hog (Bronze-Low)]
[Skill: Wind Thrust (Uncommon)]
[Potential: Limited.]
Limited, Elian thought with a small, private smile. My fox has a ceiling higher than the sky.
"Next! Elian Voss and Ignis!" the Proctor shouted from the center of the arena.
Elian stepped out into the light. The stands were half-empty; most spectators had already left after the Gold-class students finished their flashy displays. The Proctor, a weary man named Master Thorne, didn't even look up from his clipboard.
"The test is simple, Voss," Thorne droned. "Standard Accuracy and Power. Target the enchanted straw dummy at thirty paces. You have three attempts to ignite it. If the flame doesn't hold for ten seconds, you fail. Begin."
The few students remaining in the stands leaned over the railings, prepared for a laugh. An Ash Fox's [Ember] was notorious for being blown out by a stiff breeze.
Elian walked to the chalk line. He set Ignis down. The fox looked up at him, its amber eyes reflecting the morning sun.
"Ignis," Elian whispered. "Don't hold back. We need those scholarship credits for the next fusion."
Ignis trotted to the mark. The fox didn't look like much—scrawny, gray, and small. It sat back on its haunches, and for a moment, nothing happened.
"Any day now, Voss!" a student yelled from the stands.
Then, the air changed.
The mana in the arena suddenly began to swirl, drawn toward the fox's open maw. It wasn't the gentle gathering of a Common skill; it was a hungry, aggressive suction. Master Thorne's eyebrows shot up as he felt the atmospheric pressure shift.
Whoosh.
A ball of concentrated, white-hot orange flame manifested in front of Ignis's snout. It was the size of a grapefruit, spinning with such velocity that it whistled.
"What in the—" Thorne started, but he was cut off.
THOOM.
Ignis launched the [Fireball]. It didn't arc like a slow projectile; it streaked across the arena in a blur of heat. When it impacted the enchanted straw dummy, the "enchantment"—meant to resist basic elemental attacks—shattered instantly.
The dummy didn't just ignite. It disintegrated.
A shockwave of heat rolled over the first few rows of the stands. A cloud of black soot and ash rained down where the target had once stood. The stone floor beneath the target was scorched black and cracked.
Silence. Absolute, deafening silence.
Ignis wobbled for a second, then sat down and began calmly licking its paw, though Elian could see the fox's sides heaving.
Master Thorne stared at the charred spot on the floor, then at his clipboard, then at the scrawny Ash Fox. He walked over to the impact site, touched the glowing, molten residue of the dummy's metal frame, and hissed as it burnt his finger.
"That..." Thorne stammered, his voice echoing in the quiet arena. "That was not [Ember]. That was a Tier-2 [Fireball]. Voss... how does an Ash Fox possess an Uncommon-grade combat skill?"
"He's cheating!" Kaelen yelled from the sidelines, his face pale. "He must have used a forbidden combat drug on the beast! There's no way!"
Elian stepped forward, his expression calm. "It's not a drug, Proctor. It's just... intensive training. Ignis has a very high affinity for fire. We've been working on compression."
It was a blatant lie, but in Aethelgard, "hidden techniques" were a dime a dozen among the elite. For a commoner to have one was rare, but not impossible.
Thorne looked at Elian with a new, sharp intensity. He wasn't a fool; he knew no amount of "training" could force a beast past its Bloodline Shackle so easily. But the results were undeniable.
"The target is destroyed," Thorne announced, his voice regaining its professional edge. "Score: S-Rank for Power. F-Rank for... well, there's nothing left to judge for accuracy."
He scribbled furiously on his parchment.
"Elian Voss. You have passed the Mid-Year Assessment with High Honors. You are hereby promoted to the Silver-class and granted a stipend of five Silver Credits for 'Exceptional Development.'"
Elian bowed, but his heart was already racing ahead. Five Silver Credits. That was enough to buy at least two intact Bronze-Rank Fire Cores or twenty Iron-Rank ones.
As he walked off the sands, he felt the weight of dozens of eyes on his back. The "Slow Path" had just taken its first major step, but he knew the road was about to get much more dangerous. He had drawn a target on his back.
"Rest up, Ignis," Elian whispered as he tucked the exhausted fox back into his cloak. "Tomorrow, we go to the market. It's time to see what happens when we fuse [Fireball] with something else."