After the first test, the applicants were separated into different waiting halls. Kayian ended up in a spacious room with tall windows overlooking the Academy courtyard. About fifty people had gathered here—mostly aristocrats of the second and third ranks, those who had passed the potential evaluation with a "passing score."
The system displayed brief dossiers above the candidates' heads. Kayian skimmed them, memorizing names and weak points. Most were not dangerous—threat level "low" or "medium." But two stood out.
The first was a tall youth with golden hair sitting by the window. Above him, text glowed:
[Corvin Arcturus
Threat Level: High
Schools: Flame (second rank), Lightning (first rank)
Connections: Nephew of the Emperor, member of the Imperial family
Hidden Objectives: Form alliances with the strongest applicants, eliminate rivals]
Kayian recognized him. Corvin was the cousin of the Crown Prince—the one who would later become commander of the Imperial Guard. In his past life, their paths had barely crossed; they had drifted apart after the first year. Now Kayian saw that this man could become either a valuable ally or a dangerous enemy.
The second was a girl with ash-gray hair, standing by the wall in complete solitude. Her face was hidden by a hood, but the system displayed information that made Kayian's breath catch:
[????
Threat Level: Critical
Schools: ??? (locked)
Loyalty: 0
Hidden Objectives: ???
Warning! This target cannot be fully analyzed. Maintaining distance is advised.]
Kayian shifted his gaze to the girl. She stood motionless, almost merging with the shadows. He tried to make out her face, but the hood concealed her features. The feeling was as if he were looking at a void—the system didn't even give an estimated magic level.
Who is she? She wasn't at the entrance exams in my past life.
He wanted to approach, but at that moment the door swung open and the examiner entered—a man in a fourth-rank Earth mage's robe.
"Come out one by one. The tournament bracket has been set. Your task is to demonstrate the full extent of your abilities in combat. The rules are simple: killing is forbidden, as is inflicting injuries that cannot be healed within a day. Victory goes to whoever forces their opponent to surrender or knocks them out of the arena."
He began calling names, and the candidates filed out into the main hall one by one.
Kayian waited. He knew the bracket was arranged so the strongest would meet in the final. His main goal was not to win at all costs, but to show just enough to avoid being considered weak, yet without drawing too much attention.
"Kayian Wellstream, Arena Three."
He stepped into the corridor and headed toward the third arena—a small circular platform surrounded by a magical barrier. Benches for spectators lined the perimeter, already filled with upperclassmen and instructors.
On the opposite side, his opponent was already waiting: a stocky guy with a bull-like neck, a first-rank Earth mage.
[Dorian Hale
Threat Level: Low
School: Earth (first rank)]
Kayian recognized him easily: the son of a wealthy merchant who had hired tutors to scrape through the first stage. They hadn't crossed paths in his past life, but the system showed the guy posed no serious threat.
The examiner on the arena raised his hand:
"Begin on my command. Ready?"
Kayian nodded. Dorian clenched his fists, and stone spikes began forming around his hands.
"Fight!"
Dorian charged forward, swinging a fist weighted with stone. The blow was powerful but predictable. Kayian sidestepped easily, activating Lightning magic at minimum level—yellow sparks flared around his legs, boosting his speed.
He slid behind his opponent and touched his fingers to Dorian's neck. Shadow magic—a weak pulse inducing dizziness. Dorian staggered, lost his balance, and dropped to his knees.
"Surrender," Kayian said calmly.
"Like hell!" Dorian roared, spinning around with his stone fist raised.
Kayian sighed. He didn't want to cause pain, but dragging this out would be foolish. He let the punch slip past, grabbed his opponent's wrist, and used his own momentum to throw him over his hip. Dorian crashed onto his back, the stone armor crumbling apart.
"I said: surrender," Kayian repeated, stepping onto his chest.
Dorian wheezed, trying to rise, but realized the futility.
"I surrender!"
The examiner raised his hand:
"Victory to Kayian Wellstream."
Scattered applause sounded through the hall. Kayian stepped down from the arena and headed toward the waiting benches.
The system issued a brief message:
[Combat complete. Evaluation: efficient, with minimal expenditure. Fate Points awarded: 10.]
Ten points for a fight against a first-rank mage? Pathetic, he thought. But it's a start.
He sat down on a bench and began watching the following matches.
Selena was competing on the adjacent arena. Her opponent turned out to be a girl from House Ardente—a distant relative of Loren, a first-rank Ice mage. Selena, just as in the potential evaluation, displayed third-rank Spirit—white shields blocked the ice spears one after another until her opponent exhausted herself.
Selena won without landing a single blow. She simply waited and forced her opponent to surrender from sheer depletion.
Kayian noticed several instructors exchange meaningful glances. A third-rank Spirit mage was a rarity. Such individuals were either taken under the wing of powerful houses… or eliminated to prevent them from falling into enemy hands.
He approached Selena when she returned to the bench.
"Good work," he said. "But next time, don't wait for your opponent to run out of steam. That works against the weak, but against the strong, you'll just die."
Selena lowered her eyes.
"I don't know how to attack. I was only taught to defend."
"You'll learn," Kayian replied. "You have potential. Spirit isn't just shields. It's manipulation of consciousness, suggestion, even control over others' spells. You simply don't know your own capabilities."
She looked up at him in surprise.
"How do you… how do you know that?"
"I've read a lot," Kayian said with a faint smile. "The Academy will teach you the rest. If you survive until the first year, that is."
He said it without malice, but Selena paled. She understood that her result had drawn attention. Far too much attention.
Kayian's next fight was in an hour. He used the time to observe the other candidates.
Corvin Arcturus competed in the central arena. His fight was spectacular: second-rank Flame scorched everything around him, while Lightning made his strikes blindingly fast. He disposed of his opponent in fifteen seconds, not even giving him a chance to raise his hand. The crowd roared.
The hooded girl stepped onto Arena Seven. Her opponent was a second-rank Ice mage—a serious adversary.
Kayian tensed, activating the system at full capacity. The girl didn't remove her hood, didn't make a single sharp movement. She simply stood there.
Her opponent attacked—a hail of ice spears rained down on her. And… stopped. Literally an inch from her body. The spears froze in the air, then reversed direction and flew back with doubled force.
Her opponent barely managed to raise a shield, but the impact slammed him against the barrier.
"Shadow magic?" someone nearby whispered. "No, that's… that's not Shadow."
Kayian watched without looking away. The system produced an error when he tried to analyze her abilities:
[Analysis error. Unknown school of magic. Threat level revised: Lethal. Confrontation advised against.]
The girl left the arena as quietly as she had appeared. She didn't even glance at the spectators.
Who is she? Kayian asked himself for the thousandth time. She wasn't here in my past life. Not at the Academy, not at court. Has my regression changed more than I realize?
He caught himself staring at her longer than he should have. As if sensing his gaze, she paused for a moment, turned her head in his direction, and though her face remained hidden beneath the hood, Kayian understood: she knew he was watching.
Then she left, and the tension hanging in the air eased slightly.
By the final stage of the tournament, sixteen people remained. Kayian had fought three bouts, each time displaying exactly enough strength to win without causing injury. His style was restrained, almost boring—no fire, no bravado. Just precise movements and minimal magic expenditure.
Some spectators began to snicker. "The Wellstream heir is a gray mage," they whispered. "Two first-rank schools—even commoners are stronger."
Kayian heard these murmurs and smiled inwardly. This was exactly what he wanted.
In the semifinals, he was set to face Corvin Arcturus.
Before stepping onto the arena, Damian approached Kayian. His brother looked troubled.
"You don't have to go out against him," Damian said, lowering his voice. "Corvin is the Emperor's nephew. If you lose disgracefully, it will reflect on our House."
"And if I win?" Kayian asked calmly.
Damian laughed, but the laugh came out strained.
"Win? You, with two first-rank schools, against his second-rank Flame and first-rank Lightning? Don't be ridiculous."
"So are you worried about me, or afraid I'll disgrace the family name?" Kayian looked his brother straight in the eye.
Damian paused.
"I'm worried about the family. Don't do anything stupid."
He turned and walked away.
Kayian watched him go. The system registered the change:
[Damian Wellstream: Loyalty reduced to 28. Suspicion: +8. Emotional state: anxiety, anger.]
He's afraid, Kayian realized. Afraid I'll lose and fall in Father's eyes. Or afraid I'll win and become visible. He doesn't need a weak brother, nor a strong one. He needs me gone entirely.
He stepped onto the arena.