Ethan Lyle felt a nagging prickle of regret as he surveyed the crowd. If he had known this many people would make it through, he would have let the monsters thin the herd a bit more before stepping in.
I’m too soft-hearted for my own good, he mused, leaning against a jagged stone pillar.
"Boss!"
A blur of motion collided with Ethan’s midsection. Kieran Ji practically tackled him, his arms locked in a death grip. "Boss! You’re my savior! My hero! My literal god! Look at me! I’m a beast!"
Kieran was vibrating with so much adrenaline he looked like he might vibrate through the floor. The cause was simple: his status window was flashing a terrifying Level 15.
At that level, an invitation to the Xia Imperial Academy wasn't just a possibility—it was a goddamn guarantee.
Ethan pried the boy off him, unbothered. Between the Symbiosis Sigil and the sheer scale of the slaughter he’d just unleashed, it would have been weirder if Kieran wasn’t Level 15.
"Get off me," Ethan muttered, shrugging him away. "We’re in public. Stop making a scene."
"Never! I’m yours for life!" Kieran lunged for Ethan’s leg instead, clinging to his boot like a desperate barnacle.
"Piss off!"
Ethan felt the weight of a hundred bewildered stares. He felt a vein throb in his temple, but deep down, a rare spark of warmth flickered. Since he’d arrived in this world, he’d lived like a ghost in the shadows of The Hollow, hiding the secret of his Undying Constitution. Kieran was the first person he’d let in, even if only an inch. Friendship was a strange, dusty concept he hadn't touched in a long time.
Across the plaza, the atmosphere shifted. Nira Ashford marched into the Grand Trial grounds, her expression like thunder.
She was Level 14. She had only managed to claw her way up two levels during the entire skirmish. She’d started strong, her eyes set on eclipsing Ethan’s Level 16, but then the monsters had simply… vanished. One moment she was in the thick of it, the next, the forest was a tomb.
"Damn it all," Nira hissed, her knuckles white as she gripped her weapon. Her eyes burned with a renewed, frantic light. "Two levels behind. Fine. I’ll make it up in the technicals. Leveling isn't everything; it's the pilot, not the plane."
As the last sliver of the sun dipped below the horizon, the massive teleportation gates groaned and slammed shut. Anyone left outside was officially disqualified. The gates of destiny were locked.
Silently, an old man appeared at the center of Ashstone Plaza, standing before the ancient monolith. He looked harmless, even kind, but the air around him seemed to bow in reverence. Behind him, hundreds of proctors fanned out across the plaza, their eyes sharp and unforgiving.
"Candidates of Verdant City," the old man began. His voice wasn't loud, yet it resonated inside every ear, clear as a bell. "Welcome to the 886th Grand Trial. I am your Chief Examiner, Roland Marsh."
The chatter died instantly.
"The Trial is split into two phases: The Gauntlet Assessment and The Arena Trials. We begin tomorrow." Roland’s gaze swept the crowd. "Tomorrow is the Gauntlet. Ten stages designed to test the limits of your class. You may withdraw at any time, but your scores will be final. A perfect score for each stage is ten points. Only those who clear all ten stages with a cumulative score of 85 or higher will proceed to the Arena."
He paused to let the weight of that sink in.
"The Arena Trials will decide our Grand Champion. Victory earns points; defeat earns nothing. Any gear is permitted. Any 'special' consumables or outside interference will result in immediate expulsion. Go. Rest. The Gauntlet begins at dawn."
The tension in the plaza was thick enough to choke on. Candidates began scrambling, pulling bedrolls and rations from their packs, preparing for a night on the cold stone.
Kieran looked at Ethan, who was standing empty-handed. "Boss, where’s your gear? Don’t tell me you didn't pack a sleeping bag."
"I don't need it," Ethan said. Compared to the hellish filth of the Hollow, a stone floor was a five-star resort.
"That’s insane! You need peak mental clarity for the Gauntlet!" Kieran scowled, then thrust a high-end, synthetic-fiber sleeping bag at Ethan. "Here. Take mine."
Ethan blinked, actually touched. "What about you?"
"Me? Oh, don't worry about me." Kieran waved a hand dismissively. He turned and whistled.
Two proctors—actual exam officials—marched over, lugging a massive, plush Simmons luxury mattress between them. They set it down with a heavy thump right next to Ethan.
Ethan stared. "Are you kidding me?"
"What?" Kieran asked.
"The Grand Trial… they provide room service?"
"Provide? No, they extort. This thing cost me 200,000 credits for one night. It’s a total ripoff, but a man has to sleep." Kieran sighed, looking genuinely pained by the expense.
Ethan stared at the luxury bed, then at the exhausted students shivering in their sleeping bags. This is why people hate the rich.
Ten minutes later, after a brief "demonstration of martial virtue," Ethan was the one lying on the 200,000-credit mattress. Kieran was curled up in the sleeping bag on the floor.
Morning arrived with the relentless tolling of a bell.
"The Gauntlet begins," Roland Marsh announced. "Form ten lines. Enter the pillars."
Ten towering stone columns at the edge of the plaza began to glow, opening swirling portals at their bases. Ethan joined the sixth line. When it was his turn, he stepped through the threshold and found himself in a sterile, metallic room.
A grid of laser-light swept over him. A mechanical voice echoed from the walls:
[Candidate: Ethan Lyle. Class: Forbidden Incantator. Level: 18.]
[Mana Regen: 1.4/sec]
[Evasion: 20%]
On the observation deck overlooking the plaza, several powerful figures watched the live data feeds. Among them was a woman in a sea-green dress, her presence like a cool breeze. Despite her age, she possessed a timeless, ethereal beauty.
She approached Roland Marsh and gave a slight nod. "Chief Roland. My apologies for the delay."
Roland’s expression softened into one of deep respect. "Serena Sutton. You’ve arrived just in time."
The other assistant examiners went stiff. Serena Sutton wasn't just a proctor; she was the recruiter for Sovereign Academy—the pinnacle of education in the Xia Dominion.
Suddenly, one of the pillars flared with an intense violet light.
"Level 18?" Roland’s brow furrowed. "In Verdant City?"
Level 10 was the baseline for a decent college. Level 12 got you into the elite tier. But 18? That was "monster" territory.
Serena’s eyes sharpened. She leaned in, her interest piqued. A Level 18 student was an automatic candidate for Sovereign Academy. But then, she saw the class designation.
Her excitement died instantly.
"A Forbidden Incantator?" she whispered, her voice tinged with disappointment.
The room grew somber. "What a waste," one examiner sighed. "If he were anything else—even an A-Rank class—he’d be a legend. But a Forbidden Incantator? The boy won't see his twenty-fifth birthday."
"The last one we saw was ten years ago, wasn't it? Lived to twenty-three. Died of 'old age' before he could graduate."
"He must have been spamming Forbidden Incantations to power-level. He’s burning his future for a moment of glory. He’ll be lucky to hit twenty."
"How do we score the first stage?"
Roland shrugged. "The data doesn't lie. He’s Level 18. Give him the ten points."
Inside the metallic room, the voice spoke again.
[Stage 1: Level Assessment. Score: 11/10.]
[Threat Level: 2 / 5]
A wall slid back, revealing a glowing crystal sphere on a pedestal.
[Stage 2: The Triad Assessment. Place your hand on the sphere.]
Ethan walked up. He considered using his Samsara Burn to mask his stats, but decided against it. He needed the highest score possible to catch Sovereign Academy's eye. He pressed his palm to the cold glass.
[Strength: 480 | Agility: 270 | Spirit: 1,199]
[Stage 2 Score: 11/10.]
[Move Speed: 8.5]
In the observation room, someone choked on their tea.
"Eleven hundred Spirit? That’s... expected for his level, I suppose. But 480 Strength?" the examiner sputtered. "Why does a mage have nearly 500 Strength? Is he planning to punch the monsters to death while his organs fail?"
Roland Marsh watched the screen, intrigued. "The boy is an anomaly. Let’s move to Stage 3. That’s where the physicals end and the work begins."
A sophisticated combat dummy slid from the floor in Ethan's room.
[Stage 3: Offense. Execute your most powerful skill. Score will be determined by impact intensity.]
Most powerful? Ethan thought.
His first instinct was Chaos Divinity Bolt, but that required sacrificing half his internal organs. A bit overkill for a midterm. He needed power, but he needed to be "efficient."
He raised his hand.
"Forbidden Incantation: World-Rending Tempest."
He sacrificed his tonsils. A minor price.
CRACK-BOOM!
A bolt of silver-white lightning, thick as a tree trunk, obliterated the air. When the light cleared, the dummy wasn't just damaged—it had been reduced to a fine, grey powder that drifted in the air.
Ethan blinked. "Uh oh."
The dummy was supposed to display a numerical score. It was hard to display a score when you no longer existed.
The observation deck was silent.
"That dummy was rated for Level 25 Awakened," an examiner whispered. "He’s only 18. He turned it into dust."
"He used a Forbidden Incantation," Roland noted, rubbing his temples. "The boy is a lunatic. Who uses a life-burning spell on a training dummy? It’s like using your life savings to buy a candy bar."
"Do we fail him for destroying the equipment?"
"No," Roland sighed. "Give him the ten points. Just... try not to let him blow up the room."
[Stage 3: Offense. Score: 11/10.]
[Mana Regen: 0.6/sec]
[Mental Resistance: 67]
Stages 4, 5, and 6—Casting Speed, Burst Capacity, and Sustained Output—went by in a blur of silver lightning and shattered records. Ethan was a perfect 60 for 60.
Then came Stage 7.
A heavy, reinforced cage rose from the floor. Inside, a creature snarled—a beast with fur like smoldering charcoal and eyes the color of fresh blood. Its muscles were knotted cords of power, and its claws left deep gouges in the reinforced steel of the cage.
[Stage 4: Evasion. Survive for 3 minutes against the Level 25 Emberfang Wolf. Avoid all damage for a Perfect Score.]
The timer appeared on the wall. The cage door hissed open.
The Emberfang Wolf, starved and driven to a frenzy, lunged. It moved like a shadow, a blur of teeth and heat, closing the distance in a heartbeat.
Ethan didn't move. He didn't dodge.
"Forbidden Incantation: World-Rending Tempest."
BOOM.
The silver bolt struck the wolf mid-leap. The creature didn't even have time to howl before it was cooked from the inside out, hitting the floor as a blackened, smoking husk.
Ethan looked at the timer. It had barely ticked one second.
"Technically," Ethan muttered to the silent room, "if it's dead, it can't hit me. That counts as evasion, right?"