He finally stood before the gate to the world he had been chasing since waking in that emaciated body.
At the entrance to the bridge, guards locked down access. Their heavy golden plate armor, polished with care, still bore the marks of routine violence: deep scratches, circular impacts, dull scars around the shoulders and chest. Their splendor was not decorative. These men had already taken blows meant to kill.
Davin joined the line.
Around him, candidates waited in silence. Some wore travel tunics of coarse wool, others worn leather jackets, and a few dark noble doublets frayed by the road. All of them watched the bridge as if it led less to a school than to a tribunal.
When his turn came, Davin stepped toward the nearest guard.
"Good morning. I'm here for registration."
The soldier studied him.
His gloved hand rested on the heavy pommel of his sword. His gaze dropped to Davin's clean but modest clothes, passed over his saber, then stopped somewhere else. Not on his face. Not on his hands.
On what he gave off.
The guard's posture, until then rigid and marked by mechanical contempt, softened by one degree.
"You are an Initial Adept?"
"Yes."
The soldier nodded.
"Good. Registration is free for Adepts. Normally, the tax is three gold coins for the unranked. Stand aside with the other candidates. In three hours, an instructor will come conduct the admission tests."
Three gold coins.
Davin did not react.
So without mana, even trying your luck costs more than a small fortune. Excellent system. The poor stay outside, the weak pay to fail, and the strong call it natural selection.
He simply nodded and moved toward the indicated waiting area.
A dozen people were already stagnating on the forecourt. They stood apart from one another with cautious distance, like skinny dogs around the same carcass. No one truly spoke. A few gazes slid toward Davin, lingered for a second, then turned away.
They sensed something.
Not clearly.
Not like a Mage.
But enough to understand he was not exactly like them.
Davin leaned against a cold stone wall, arms crossed.
Three hours.
A luxury.
He closed his eyes without sleeping.
If the old veteran discovers that his grandchildren ended up in pieces and I'm the only survivor, he'll trace me back. Sooner or later.
The image of the grandfather returned to him.
His calloused hands.
His steady gaze.
His mana rooted like an old wall.
Davin had no desire to see that wall fall on him.
I absolutely don't have the shoulders to face an Adept at the Summit today. The Academy is the best possible hiding place.
The bandits had probably left no useful witnesses. Even if someone survived, even if a rumor reached Mehian, it would take time. Questions. Cross-checks.
Time was something he could use.
Priorities: enter this fortress, learn to read, master this damn mana, and find a blade that doesn't look like a paper cutter compared to the runic toys of the rich.
He opened his eyes again.
In that order. As long as I'm illiterate, I remain prey walking confidently toward warning signs.
The hours passed slowly.
New candidates arrived. A tall boy with shaved hair, broad shoulders, but an overly nervous look. An older woman with a hollow face, wrapped in a patched cloak. Two adolescents who looked like brother and sister, each clutching a small purse as if their lives were sealed inside it.
In total, there were eighteen.
Eighteen waiting before a bridge wide enough to let entire convoys pass, yet intimidating enough to make it feel as if one wrong step could throw them into the void.
Then the air changed.
Not violently.
It tightened.
Like the surface of water just before a stone pierces it.
A man appeared in the middle of the forecourt.
He had not come from the bridge.
Not from the road.
He was simply there, as if he had extracted himself from the surrounding air with the casual impoliteness of someone for whom distances were only a suggestion.
The candidates froze.
So did Davin.
The man's aura cut through the atmosphere.
Less crushing than that of the Countess's grand mage in blue, but far above Kys. The air around him seemed sharper, denser, as if the light itself hesitated to scatter too close to his skin.
The stranger wore a gray cap from which long strands of deep emerald hair escaped. His main outfit was a dark silk robe-kimono, cut with impeccable precision, covered by a wide green overcoat with broad sleeves that almost completely hid his hands. On the left side of his chest, a stylized castle was embroidered in lighter thread, topped by two thin stars.
The fabric looked supple, but heavy.
Clothing made to move.
And to be recognized.
A smile floated on his lips. The kind of relaxed expression that belonged only to those who had stopped fearing for their lives long ago.
He joined his hands in front of him.
"Good day. My name is Steve. Head of the elemental magic sector. I will be your executioner for today's admission tests. Follow me."
No one laughed.
Steve, however, was still smiling.
A man capable of appearing in the middle of a square without warning just introduced himself as my executioner with good cheer. Everything is fine.
The group began moving in nervous silence.
They stepped onto the monumental walkway connecting Mehian to the Academy. Beneath their feet, the pale stone barely vibrated. On both sides, the void opened hundreds of meters deep. Currents of air rose from the abyss, carrying the raw smell of mineral, cold dust, and ozone.
Davin glanced down.
Mistake.
The depth seemed to swallow the light.
Farther ahead, the Academy dominated the opposite plateau. Its towers, glass domes, aerial walkways. Up close, the whole structure looked even vaster. Older. More certain of itself.
Barely off the bridge, before they had even reached the great gates, Steve stopped abruptly.
"We're here."
A candidate squeezed into a dark silk doublet, already pale, raised his head.
"Here? But we haven't even passed through the gates."
Steve's smile widened.
His teeth shone beneath the daylight.
"Exactly."
He turned toward the stone path leading to the Academy's massive gates.
"The test is simple. Walk to the gate. That's all. Mana is dense on this path, and the pressure increases with every step. If you reach the required threshold, you may have a place among us. Otherwise… go home, or come back when your body can support something other than your ambitions."
A wave of anxiety passed through the candidates.
Steve advanced with a fluid step along the path, almost gliding over the paving stones, until he stopped only a few paces from the great gates.
"If you reach my position, you pass. Ten centimeters short, and you fail. After that, those who pass continue to the gates. The others should avoid dying on my path. It's cleaner for everyone."
The silence grew heavy.
Davin observed the path.
Nothing visible.
No barrier.
No apparent runes.
Just a pale road beneath the light of the two suns.
Obviously, it was the kind of simplicity that killed idiots.
The first five candidates stepped forward.
At first, their pace remained normal. Two men, one woman, and the two adolescents who looked like brother and sister. They advanced with the tension of people trying to prove something.
Then the pressure struck them.
Not all at once.
In layers.
Their steps slowed. One man's shoulders collapsed brutally, as if stones had been strapped to his back. The young woman brought a hand to her chest. The boy beside his sister clenched his teeth so hard a trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.
His sister dropped to her knees after only a few meters.
She tried to stand.
Her arms trembled.
She failed.
"Next," Steve called, without even looking at her.
Three of the five eventually reached his position.
Barely.
One arrived almost crawling, his face purple, the veins in his neck swollen like cords. When he crossed the invisible line, he collapsed onto his side and remained there, panting, eyes wide.
Steve clapped softly.
"Accepted. With questionable style, but accepted."
Davin stepped forward with the second group.
There were eight of them.
Seven candidates around him.
He expected to hit an invisible wall.
A pressure.
A resistance.
Something.
His expression remained calm for a different reason.
He felt almost nothing.
Around him, the air was only slightly denser than before. A subtle mist. A ridiculous atmospheric resistance, like walking against a wind too polite to truly push.
To his left, a man in worn leather ground his teeth with almost worrying violence. The veins in his neck stood out. His breath hissed between his lips.
To his right, a young woman in a gray linen tunic advanced with her back bent, crushed, as if she carried the carcass of an ox on her shoulders. Each step struck the stone with a heavy sound torn out of gravity.
Davin walked straight.
Not fast.
Not slowly.
Simply.
He passed a first candidate collapsed on her knees.
Then a man who had just vomited on his boots.
Then the boy in the silk doublet, trembling so badly he looked like he might swallow his own tongue.
Dramatic. A little filthy. But instructive.
He reached Steve's position.
Then continued.
The instructor did not move.
But his smile changed by a fraction.
A brief flash of curiosity crossed his eyes.
Davin saw it.
Of course.
He reached the great gates of the Academy without slowing for even a second.
Then he stopped and turned around.
The other candidates raised their heads toward him.
Those still standing.
Those on their knees.
Those crawling.
Their gazes held the same thing: astonishment, exhaustion, resentment.
And the primitive jealousy of people suffering beside someone who was not even sweating.
"He's an Adept…" one of them panted, his face congested.
The words came out almost like an insult.
Davin looked at him without answering.
Yes. Keep coughing up your lungs while I discover the administrative benefits of mana.
Among the seven others in his group, only three managed to drag themselves to Steve. The rest collapsed before the line, some with their cheeks pressed against the stone, others curled around their own ribs as if their rib cages were trying to close in on themselves.
The final group went next.
Five candidates.
Worn clothing.
Faces too tense.
Only one succeeded.
A thin man with brown skin reached Steve while staggering, then fell to his knees, both hands pressed to the ground, unable to say a word.
Steve observed it all with the same peaceful smile.
Out of the eighteen who had started, only eight stood on the right side of the test.
Eight.
Davin included.
Steve smoothed the green silk of his sleeve with a casual motion, his gaze sweeping over the bodies scattered across the paving stones with an almost gentle indifference.
"Eight out of eighteen. That's a good ratio."
A few of those who failed looked up in horror.
One of them, the boy whose sister had failed, tried to speak.
"But… can she try again? She was almost—"
"No."
One word.
Light.
Smiling.
Final.
Steve barely turned his eyes toward him.
"She was not almost accepted. She was exactly where she stopped. The nuance matters."
The boy went pale.
His sister, still on the ground, began to cry silently.
Steve dismissed those who had failed with a vague motion of his hand.
"You ten who did not cross the line are no longer authorized to remain on this ground. Leave. The gates of Aethelgard will not open for you today."
No guard shouted.
No one struck them.
That was almost worse.
Two soldiers simply stepped forward to guide the rejected candidates back toward the bridge with the polite efficiency of people removing misplaced goods.
Davin watched the scene.
Not with compassion.
Not really.
But with attention.
So this is the first lesson. Before classes even begin: the Academy doesn't necessarily kill those it rejects. It only shows them enough to understand what they will never be.
Steve turned his attention back to the eight survivors.
His smile regained all its warmth.
"Welcome to Aethelgard Academy. Follow me for the paperwork."
Davin stared at the open gates before him.
The paperwork.
The word struck him almost harder than the pressure of the path.
I have officially entered an ancient magical institution… and my first true enemy will probably be a form.
He followed the group.
The gates of Aethelgard closed behind them with a deep rumble.