Inside the Grand Hall of Arcanthia, Froy remained seated in silence. He had chosen the highest row, tucked into the corner—out of sight, out of mind. It wasn't fear that guided his choice, but strategy.
Candidates from every known race continued to arrive through shimmering warp gates, one after another. The air buzzed with tension, wonder, and the unspoken knowledge that they had all made it here—but not all would stay.
Eventually, the arrivals ceased.
The hall had reached its limit.
Only 1,000 had made it.
Despite the sheer number of applicants—tens of thousands, maybe more—The Grand Academy of Arcanthia accepted no more than a thousand students. Ever. That wasn't just tradition. It was law.
Even if others passed the qualification trials, if they arrived late… they would still be denied.
It was first come, first served.
What determined the speed of their arrival?
Their own minds.
The first test hadn't been about magic or strength—but will. The ability to confront one's deepest self, endure every surge of emotion in a twisted reflection of their soul, and emerge with clarity.
Some broke. Some wandered for hours.
Froy?
He passed with unsettling ease.
Because he didn't feel much to begin with.
No joy. No fear. No guilt. No hope.
He had accepted that a long time ago.
His emotions didn't hinder him. And so, he passed—one of the very first.
And though no announcements were made, every candidate was assigned a number upon arrival. A silent ranking. A hidden truth.
One that would matter very, very soon.
The hall quieted once more as one of the Academy's instructors stepped forward, his presence steady, his voice amplified by a spell that needed no gesture.
"Now that everyone has arrived," he announced, "you will proceed to the second trial."
"You must now demonstrate your unique ability—your talent, your skill, whatever sets you apart."
"This performance will affect your standing on the Board Ranking. The top 100 performers will be placed into elite classes according to their rank."
"As for the rest," he continued, voice unwavering, "you'll begin in standard classes. However—your ranking isn't fixed."
"You can challenge your way up."
"Any student may challenge someone above them. Win—and you take their place."
"If you want to rise, train. Fight. And earn it."
Before any questions could be raised, the world shimmered—and Froy found himself standing in a massive open arena.
He wasn't alone.
Roughly 100 candidates stood in the same area, each looking around as if trying to determine if this was some kind of battle royale—or something worse.
Apparently, the entire testing group had been split into ten groups of a hundred.
Suddenly, three flashes of power lit up the sky—followed by three figures descending in completely different ways.
The first appeared without warning in one of the judge's seats—a man clad in silver robes, his eyes glowing faintly beneath a circlet of arcane crystal. A teleportation mage, clearly.
The second fell from the sky like a comet, landing at the edge of the platform with a graceful crouch. Despite the incredible height of his descent, the marble beneath him didn't crack. His greatsword was slung across his back, silent as he stood upright.
And the third…
A gust of wind and a burst of heat swept across the field as a massive crimson dragon descended from above, wings spanning dozens of meters. Upon its back sat a woman, poised and calm. She dismounted effortlessly, her long hair flowing behind her as the dragon faded into mist.
A Tamer, without question.
These three were the examiners.
Each of them radiated strength unlike anything the students had yet felt.
The robed mage stepped forward once more, his voice booming across the arena—amplified by enchantment.
"Now then, aspiring students of Arcanthia—show us the full extent of your abilities."
"Your performance will be recorded and compared against other groups. The evaluation board will use this data to determine your initial ranking."
As he finished speaking, a magical pulse surged through the air.
One by one, the 100 candidates in the arena began to rise into the air, suspended by an invisible force.
They hovered in perfect formation—ten rows of ten—spaced evenly with mathematical precision. It was as if the very space around them bent to the Academy's will.
The order was not random.
They were arranged according to the time it took them to pass the first trial—the test of the soul.
Froy floated near the back row, marked as number 91.
Though he had been among the first to enter the Grand Hall, many of those ahead of him had taken the internal trial faster.
And those ahead of him…
They weren't ordinary.
They were monsters.
Froy's eyes scanned the ranks. Some glowed with elemental energy. Others radiated pressure so dense it bent the air. There were elves with tattoos that shimmered like living magic, dwarves wrapped in ancient rune-armor, and beastkin cloaked in primal force.
Among the humans, fewer stood out.
Most lacked the visible auras or fantastical traits of other races.
But perhaps… what they lacked in power, they made up for in spirit.
Or perhaps not.
That was yet to be seen.
The exam began.
The first few stepped forward—one by one—and unleashed their skills.
A girl with fox ears conjured a storm of flame-dancing spirits.
A dwarf summoned an ethereal forge mid-air and shaped glowing weapons from pure mana.
An elven boy channeled light into a lance that pierced the sky like divine judgment.
Cheers erupted from the crowd watching from afar, and magical screens floated in the sky, projecting the performances.
Froy didn't cheer.
He observed.
He calculated.
And deep in his chest, something cold and steady began to hum.
He had seen brilliance.
Now it was almost his turn.
Then came Froy's turn.
All eyes turned to him as he stepped forward—calm, expressionless, unreadable.
He stood before the judges. The crowd. The floating audience. Everyone watched, expecting something.
And then… he walked up to one of the Academy's practice dummies.
A simple, lifeless target.
With one hand, he gently pushed it.
The dummy tipped.
And fell over.
That was it.
No flames.No summoned beasts.No ancient runes.Just a soft nudge.
A stunned silence fell over the arena.
The three proctors exchanged glances. One raised an eyebrow. Another blinked slowly. The third scratched their head as if unsure whether they missed something.
There was no dramatic outburst. No disqualification.
Because the rules were simple:
This trial wasn't pass or fail.It was about evaluation.Ranking.
And based on what they'd just seen…
Well.
Froy knew exactly where he would end up.
Dead last.
Still, he turned around and walked calmly back to his original position—his footsteps light, his expression unchanged.
Among the other candidates, reactions varied.
Some stared in confusion.
Some chuckled, whispering mockery under their breath.
A few narrowed their eyes, their instincts catching something off.
But most?
They dismissed him.
Another weakling.Another joke.
And that was exactly what he wanted.
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"What the hell was that? Was he serious?"
"Tch. Must've passed the first trial on pure luck. Idiot."
"Bet he thinks his looks will carry him. Freakin' pretty-boy trash."
Laughter echoed across the field—mocking, dismissive, sharp.
But not everyone was laughing.
A small few—very small—remained silent. Eyes sharp. Faces unreadable.
They were the first-ranked. The fast passers. The monsters-in-hiding.
And they had been watching everyone from the beginning.
Not just for entertainment.
But for intel.
This trial wasn't just for showing off or securing a place on the Ranking Board.
It was for studying your opponents.
And now, Froy was in their sights—not as a threat, but as a question.
Unreadable. Unexplained.
Unsettling.
They watched him walk off quietly, still calm, still smiling faintly.
He didn't care about rankings.
He didn't care if he was last.
But if there was something he wanted—and if that something required being at the top—
He would climb.
And when he climbed, he would use everyone else as his steps.
Even gods.
Even monsters.
Even kings.
Then—the three examiners floated into view once more.
The mage raised his voice, amplified by a subtle spell.
"That concludes the Second Trial."
"You all did well—relatively speaking."
"Rest. Prepare yourselves."
"For tomorrow, you will face the final test… the one that will decide your fate."
A pulse of mana shimmered around the field.
In a blink, all 100 students were teleported out.
Each into a separate, comfortable chamber—floating above the Academy's central campus.
There, they would eat.
Rest.
Dream.
And for many… tremble.
Because tomorrow…
was judgment.