Today was an important day for the students of Volance School. Those between the ages of sixteen to seventeen were to undergo a crucial examination process.
A different path awaited the magis and the knights.
For the knights, only those who had reached a high rank in combat were shortlisted. A month prior, they had undergone an intensive series of battles. Students clashing against one another in tournaments, each performance carefully scored based on skill and number of victories.
With the large number of knight students, such a process was necessary to ensure that the final examination would not be long-winded. From hundreds, only fifty were chosen.
These fifty would now take turns attempting to draw the magic-infused sword embedded deep within stone. Of them, only two or three would ultimately be selected.
Such a small number spoke volumes of how difficult it was to be chosen as a judge.
Those selected would continue their studies in law, enforcement, and justice for another year before gradually stepping into their duties as a Judge.
This process would begin first, followed by the magis examination.
Today, however, was no ordinary day.
The exams were to be conducted in the presence of Emperor Visil himself.
It was a great honour. But for many of the students, it only deepened their nervousness.
The new emperor was widely respected. To pass this exam meant stepping one step closer to serving him personally.
The Emperor arrived at the Grand Arena—a massive circular structure carved from pale stone, its towering walls lined with layered tiers that rose high into the sky. The arena was alive with sound. Thousands had gathered: students in uniform, seasoned alumni, high-ranking officers and noble families seated in clusters, their presence marked by fine garments and quiet prestige.
The air buzzed with anticipation.
Once built for the emperor's personal entertainment and the brutal training of his soldiers, the arena had long since evolved into something greater—a stage where the future of the empire was decided.
Banners bearing the imperial crest draped from the upper walls, swaying gently in the wind. The wide central grounds, where the sword lay embedded in stone, stood in stark contrast to the roaring crowd that encircled it.
At the highest tier, positioned directly at the center, was the imperial seat—elevated above all others. It was adorned in deep red and gold, simple yet commanding.
As Emperor Visil was announced, the arena erupted into cheers as he sat down.
The sound rolled like thunder.
Below, the students stiffened. The weight of the moment pressed down on them, and their nervousness doubled.
All but one.
Among the group stood a young man grinning, even laughing to himself.
From above, the emperor's gaze settled on him.
It was not the grin of confidence—but something more careless, almost playful.
Despite his larger build compared to the others, there was an unmistakable air of foolishness about him.
An airhead.
Visil's eyes lingered for a moment before shifting to his right, where the heads of noble families were seated.
Among them was Lord Elbus Nichard.
A man who had once served alongside Visil's adoptive father, Eomer. He was also the one who had supported the implementation of the judge system and the very first to attempt drawing the magic sword from the stone, a relic created by the Charoite magis.
Visil spoke to him calmly.
"Lord Elbus, your youngest of two sons is taking the exam today?"
Lord Elbus stiffened, instinctively swallowing as surprise flashed across his face. He had not expected the emperor to know.
Now old and nearing retirement, Elbus had long hoped that one of his sons would succeed him.
His eldest, already a judge, seemed the obvious choice—exceptional in nearly every aspect. Yet, his combat strength had declined after sustaining injuries in the last war.
And then there was his youngest. Seventeen years old.
Gifted with a large and powerful build. Exceptional in combat. Ranked first in the duel tournament by points.
A promising talent.
But beyond his strength and physique…
He was a complete idiot!
A troublemaker who constantly brought his father headaches. The brute who loves picking fights, causing chaos, and performing miserably in intellectual studies.
To his teachers, he was nothing more than a mighty elephant with a brain the size of a pea.
"El—Ekhem…" Lord Elbus cleared his throat, regaining composure.
"Yes, Your Majesty… he is taking the exam today."
Visil glanced sideways at the lord, who seemed visibly worried that his son might cause an embarrassment. A faint smile formed on his lips. It was rare to see the mighty Lord Elbus so unsettled—and over something as simple as his own child.
How amusing.
At that moment, a figure approached and took the seat to Visil's immediate left.
Kaiser.
He moved without sound, his presence almost unnatural. Even as he sat, there was no wasted motion, no shift in expression. His face remained as it always was—calm, cold, and utterly unreadable.
"You're late," Visil said.
"My apologies, Your Majesty. The magis teachers insisted I give a small speech to those taking the exam today."
"I can imagine how much more terrified the students are now…"
In his mind, Visil pictured it clearly—Kaiser standing stiffly on the stage, his expression as lifeless as ever. The young girls would be swooning over his striking features and perfectly toned physique, while the boys watched in admiration and anticipation.
Only for Kaiser to say, in that same flat tone—
"Some of you may get hurt today. So… good luck."
Words that, from a dark magis' perspective, were meant to be realistic… perhaps even encouraging.
But to a group of already nervous students?
Utterly crushing.
"Hahahaha!" Visil let out a laugh, unable to contain himself as he imagined their faces.
"I do not appreciate your laughter."
"You don't seem to appreciate anything, my friend. That's just who you are… ever so emotionless. And annoyingly perfect."
It wasn't entirely untrue.
Kaiser was no ordinary magis.
Three years ago, he had slain his own father, Vicar Wrath. A man whose madness had played a key role in driving the previous emperor, Zerethis Deprayse, into a war-fueled frenzy. His father had long since lost his sanity, becoming a danger to both empire and bloodline alike.
Kaiser had ended his father's insanity himself.
He had always detested his father. One of the many reasons Kaiser chose to support Visil on his path to becoming emperor was not out of loyalty, but for something far more personal.
It gave him the right to bring his own father down.
And with that act, he inherited the power of the Wyvern Spirit - Azhdar.
Since then, something about him had changed.
His pupils had turned a deep, unsettling crimson—like embers that never dimmed. His skin now carried a darker sheen, almost as if shadow itself clung to him. There was a quiet intensity in his presence, a pressure that could not be seen but was always felt.
People were drawn to him.
Women who are magis and non-magis alike, were captivated by his sharp features and sculpted form. Men respected him for his skills in combat, and some even feared him.
A fact that irritated Visil more than he cared to admit.
"Anyway…" Kaiser spoke, his tone cutting through the noise of the arena. "Today, you may also be able to choose your royal advisor."
"Urgh… I can do without one."
"You cannot wait for Ayumu forever. Its been 10 years your majhesty. We don't even know where she might be."
Or if she is even alive, Kaiser thought, though he did not say it aloud.
"She is alive," Visil replied firmly as he knows what Kaiser is thinking. "We will meet again soon."
Kaiser said nothing.
He simply looked away, having heard those same words too many times.
Yet, deep within him, there was no denial—only silence.
He, too, wanted to see her again.
That small adorable girl who once waved at him all those years ago… her image remained clear in his mind. She would have grown by now, Kaiser thought.
Or perhaps…
That was nothing more than wishful thinking. There had been no news of her for years.
And in a world like theirs—that usually meant something.
The crowd suddenly erupted into cheers, snapping everyone's attention back to the arena as the exam was about to begin.
It was time.
The Judge Selection had begun.
At the center of the Grand Arena stood a massive stone, weathered and worn, as though it had been taken from some ancient, forgotten land. Embedded within it was the magic-infused sword. Its hilt exposed, etched with faint glowing markings that pulsed like a slow, steady heartbeat.
An unseen pressure seemed to linger around it.
The students were lined up and released one by one, each stepping forward into the open arena under the watchful eyes of thousands.
Every time a hand gripped the sword, it would respond.
A faint glow. A quiet hum. As though it was… thinking.
If the person was chosen, the blade would slide out effortlessly, the markings along its surface igniting into a warm yellow glow, shining with quiet authority.
But if they were not—the sword would remain unmoved. The glow would slowly fade, only to return once their grip was released.
No matter how much strength they used, no matter how they strained, it would not yield. Each student was given only two minutes before being dismissed.
This was not a test of strength.
The magic sealed within the blade did not measure power—but something far more intangible.
It read the heart.
It weighed the mind.
If one was worthy, it answered.
If there was even the slightest corruption… it refused.
Simple.
One by one, the students stepped forward.
One by one, they failed.
Some gritted their teeth, veins bulging as they pulled with all their might. Others tried calmly, hoping composure would sway the outcome. A few even whispered under their breath, as if praying to the blade itself.
None succeeded.
The tension in the arena grew heavier with each failed attempt.
Then—the twenty-third student stepped forward.
A handsome young man with light brown hair.
A familiar face. One the teachers had long expected to succeed.
As his hand wrapped around the hilt, the sword glowed brighter than before.
And without struggle—It slid free.
The markings along the blade shone in a soft yellow light.
For a brief moment, there was silence.
Then the arena exploded into cheers.
The teachers nodded in satisfaction, clapping as they congratulated him. Calm and composed, he gave a slight bow before taking his designated seat among the chosen.
One had been selected. Yet the process continued. More students stepped forward.
More failed.
As the numbers dwindled, the mood shifted once again.
Now, only ten remained.
Among them stood the largest of the group.
The son of Lord Elbus Nichard —Drobar Nichard.
His presence alone drew attention. Towering over the others, broad and imposing, yet completely out of place in demeanor.
He was laughing. Ever so loudly...
The remaining students gathered around him, laughing along as he joked and made light of the entire process. He clearly had no expectations of being chosen—and no intention of taking it seriously.
If anything, he seemed determined to turn it into entertainment.
His booming laughter echoed all the way up to the emperor's seat.
From above, Lord Elbus covered his face with his hand, utterly mortified.
Visil, on the other hand, found it amusing.
Drobar stepped forward with an exaggerated swagger, waving his arm toward his friends.
"Louder! Come on, don't go quiet on me now!"
And they did—cheering and shouting without restraint.
The teachers quickly intervened, scolding them into silence.
"Hahahaha! I didn't even want to be a judge!" Drobar laughed. "A general is enough for me! I'll just be the strongest of them all!"
Still chuckling, he reached the stone.
Without ceremony.
Without focus.
Without even a moment of seriousness—he gripped the sword and pulled.
The blade slid free.
Effortlessly.
He was still laughing.
But the arena had fallen completely silent.
Drobar blinked, still mid-laugh, not yet registering what had just happened.
Around him—people stared in disbelief.
He…?
He pulled out the sword?
Up above, Emperor Visil raised a hand to his mouth, eyes widening in shock.
Beside him, Lord Elbus looked as though he was about to faint.
And Kaiser—
Remained, as always—
Expressionless.