"At least we know it's behind the Central Keep," Isolde said, her smile not entirely confident.
"Well… I wasn't expecting any of this," I admitted, no longer bothering to hide my nerves.
We were mentally lost. That was the most immediate conclusion, and it was shared by all the other students who, like us, had shown up for the exam. We were a group of disoriented hopefuls, wandering in circles within an architecture that seemed to mock our sense of direction.
"Haha… Whoever designed this place is pretty good at playing with structural spaces," Isolde added, looking up. She was right. How the hell had they pulled this off?
The tower we'd entered—supposedly one of the routes to the training field—defied all internal logic. From the outside, it was perfectly vertical. Inside, the space felt folded, twisted in on itself. Walls were floors. Ceilings were corridors. It was like we'd stepped into an impossible puzzle.
The other students murmured among themselves, stunned. Some, visibly shaken, turned back to the entrance to catch their breath. They needed air. Or maybe they just wanted to make sure the outside world was still the same.
"Transversomancy. Interesting that they've managed to integrate it into a structure of this scale," someone said behind me.
I turned. A young man with white hair and emerald-green eyes adjusted a pair of metal-framed glasses with refined elegance. Impeccably dressed, his aura was polished to the millimeter. He looked good. Too good. Attractive, even. And he knew it, of course.
"Transversomancy?" I echoed quietly. The term sounded ancient, yet carried an unsettling logic.
"Exactly," he replied. "Magic applied to the structural manipulation of space. It's rare, expensive, and requires a rather advanced understanding of mathematics. Whoever designed this deserves recognition."
"Ooh! That's so cool!" Isolde exclaimed, gazing up at chandeliers suspended at an absurd visual angle.
"But from the outside… it all looks normal," I pointed out. "How do you explain that?"
"Isn't it obvious? Illusory magic. To those outside, this is still a vertical tower. Only those who cross the threshold perceive its true layout."
Ingenious. Terrifying. Unnecessarily showy. In short: very typical of institutions aiming to impress the naive or intimidate the capable.
"Hang on. Who are you?" I asked, cutting through the technical talk with a more practical question.
"Hm? Oh, my apologies. I was rude. My name is Gareth Rex Sauructe, son of Rondalf Rex Sauructe, duke of the western territory," he said, raising his chin with a solemnity that gave me instant mental hives.
And there it was. One of those. The proud heirs of nobility, utterly charmed by themselves, convinced that genealogy is a valid form of intelligence.
"Rex?" Isolde asked, visibly intrigued.
"Indeed."
"Oh! Then you're Uncle Reginald's nephew!"
"Huh?" Gareth blinked, thrown off. "You know Uncle Reginald?"
"Yup! He's our mentor in magical mechanics!"
Magical mechanics? That sounded… reasonably impressive. Way more than plain "mechanics." Points for the name. And for Reginald, if he came up with it.
"Oh… I see. Well, it's a pleasure to meet you both. Your names?" he said, extending his arm in a handshake so polished it felt rehearsed.
I went first, gripping his hand firmly but without overdoing it.
"Lucius D'Arques," I said, releasing it as soon as it was socially acceptable.
"A pleasure," he replied with a smile that seemed genuine, though I had no way to confirm it for sure.
Then he turned to Isolde, who shook his hand with ease.
"I'm Isolde D'Arques."
"The pleasure's mine," he said, releasing her hand with the same courtesy.
"Any idea how to figure this out?" I asked, gesturing vaguely at the distorted surroundings. "There's no clear path to the training field. The exam should be starting, but this…"
"Not the slightest clue," he said, unfazed.
Well, at least I'm not the only one completely in the dark.
"Wow… they really screwed this up," a familiar voice cut in, echoing through the space as if relishing the theatricality of the moment.
"Uncle Reginald?" Isolde said, surprised.
"Huh? Damn… and here I was trying to be all mysterious," replied a figure descending from the ceiling with a casualness that suggested this wasn't his first time doing it.
"Why the hell would you want to be mysterious?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Come on, I just wanted to spook you a bit," he admitted shamelessly. "Though I must say, I did manage to rattle a few," he added, turning to the other students, who were staring at him like they'd just seen a cat reciting Latin. "Hey, Gareth. I see you've already made friends with Lucius and Isolde."
"Good morning, Reginald."
"Good manners. See, Lucius? Why can't you be more like him?"
Go to hell, I thought, though I didn't say it. I just stared at him silently.
"And what are you doing here?" I asked, not bothering to hide my suspicion.
"I'm here to take you to the training field. So, follow me!" he exclaimed, spinning around and marching off with enthusiastic strides.
Isolde, of course, followed without a second thought. I did the same, though with a bit more caution. I didn't trust men with that much energy before breakfast.
We passed through several corridors. As we went, the architecture grew more intricate and striking. Gothic style dominated, with high vaulted ceilings, stone walls, and lighting from iron chandeliers and oil lamps. Classrooms lined both sides—some quiet, others less so. At one point, we passed a library. A couple of students stopped, mesmerized. I guessed for them, knowledge was more appealing than glory or survival. Admirable. Or naive.
Finally, we arrived.
The training area was a wide platform of packed dirt. Plain. Devoid of decoration. Beside it stood a wooden podium and a man with a stern face, looking more like a judge than an examiner. He was watching me, which made me more uncomfortable than it should have.
"Go with Isolde. You two will go first since you arrived before the others," Reginald announced, giving me a light shove as if we were kids stepping into their first play.
"Alright. Let's go, Issy," I said without looking back.
"Got it!"
We approached the podium. The man looked up.
"Names?"
"Lucius Van D'Arques."
"Isolde Equidna D'Arques."
He nodded, without writing anything down.
"Position of interest?"
"General," we answered in unison.
"Alright. Head to the other side of the platform and wait for the other students to finish registering before the exam begins," the man ordered, gesturing with his chin toward stone bleachers behind the platform.
"Got it," I replied, walking over with Isolde.
"Next, please," the examiner said without raising his voice. Another student stepped up to repeat the process.
Time dragged on slowly. The general murmur faded as students took their seats on the steps behind us. Soon, the atmosphere turned thick with anticipation. And then… I felt it. A prickling at the back of my neck. Someone was watching me.
It wasn't just any stare. It had weight. Intent.
But, as usual, I decided to ignore it. For now.
"Alright, now that everyone's here, I want you to give it your all," Reginald began, his voice slicing through the air like a blade disguised as friendliness.
I thought he'd leave after dropping us off, but no. Apparently, he had more… entertaining plans.
"First things first, let me make one thing clear. We won't go easy on you when testing your skills. You'll do everything you can to stay on your feet and advance to the second and final test. If you can't manage that… well, don't expect a participation medal," he said with a smile. It wasn't his usual smile. This one was different. Wilder. Almost predatory.
A shiver ran down my spine, and I wasn't the only one. I saw Isolde tense up beside me.
We'd never seen him smile like that. Never.
"Alright. Let me explain the first test: you'll fight until one of you is knocked off the platform, surrenders, or can't continue. You're free to use any tools, techniques, or pent-up bad mood you've got. But remember this: killing your opponent is not allowed."
A warning as blunt as it was necessary.
Classic combat format. Pure shōnen manga vibes. In my past life, I'd read enough to know exactly what kind of test was coming. Isolde caught on quickly too. We were fine… in theory.
"The second test will be about defense," Reginald continued. "I'll throw an overloaded blast of mana in the form of fire at you, with all the force I find amusing. You need to withstand it for two minutes. If you fail, you're out."
He said it with the casualness of someone discussing the weather. As if hurling lethal flames at kids was part of his morning routine.
"If you feel like you're about to die," he added nonchalantly, "just let the fire envelop you. I'll know when to stop."
Wonderful. An offensive test and a defensive one… A selection process built on imbalance. To see who can endure without breaking. Or without screaming.
"Sounds kinda fun," Isolde said, a mix of nerves and excitement in her voice. "Think they'll pit us against someone strong?"
"I doubt they'll be that different from us," I replied, crossing my arms. "Unless, of course, a monster shows up… like Alicia."
The memory of that beatdown triggered a kind of micro-trauma. The mental image of her impassive face as she crushed us floated shamelessly in my mind.
"Besides, we're kids," I added. "The strength gap should be minimal. In theory."
"Lucius D'Arques," Reginald called, his voice firm. "You're up first."
I stood, gave a brief nod, and headed to the platform. Getting up wasn't easy. It was too high. A subtle trap to throw you off balance before the fight even started.
"Good luck, Lucy," Isolde said, smiling at me from the bleachers.
I returned a small, restrained smile. But inside, I was already channeling mana, letting the flow slowly envelop me. I closed my eyes.
"Leonard Da'Dufflain. Step onto the platform," Reginald said.
I heard the steady footsteps of my opponent. I opened my eyes.
A boy, about thirteen, stood before me. Dark, short hair. A sharp, almost hostile gaze. Ice-blue eyes, like sunlight on frost. He was ready to fight.