The digital countdown hit zero, the red numbers flickering out as the three-minute survival window closed.
At the center of the arena, the Emberfang Wolf—a Level 25 engine of predatory violence—lay in a heap of charred meat and shattered bone. It had been dead since the first second of the trial.
A synthesized female voice echoed through the chamber, cold and precise. "Candidate: Ethan Lyle. The Gauntlet Assessment: Stage Seven. Objective: Evasion and Survival. Status: Perfect Score. Awarded: 10 Points."
In the observation deck, silence reigned. The examiners stared at the monitors, their faces masks of disbelief.
A Level 25 monster was an insurmountable wall for any student entering the Grand Trial. The protocol was simple: burn every defensive cooldown, kite, hide, and pray to stay alive until the clock ran out. Every year, the top talents earned their scores through high-octane maneuvering and flawless reflexes.
Ethan Lyle had ignored the script. He hadn’t kited. He hadn’t hid. He had simply uttered a Forbidden Incantation and deleted the threat from existence in a heartbeat. He spent the remaining two minutes and fifty-nine seconds sitting on the floor, staring blankly into space like he was waiting for a bus.
"I’m taking back what I said earlier," one examiner muttered, rubbing his temples. "With the way he's throwing Forbidden magic around... reaching twenty-three? It’ll be a medical miracle if that kid sees his twentieth birthday."
The sentiment was unanimous. While Ethan’s performance was breathtaking, the veteran Awakened saw him as a tragic figure—a candle burning at both ends with a blowtorch. To them, he wasn't a prodigy; he was a fool mortgaging his entire future for a moment of fleeting glory.
As Ethan transitioned to the eighth stage, one of the staff turned to Roland Marsh. "Chief, do we scale the difficulty for his final three tests?"
The final stretch of the Gauntlet was pure combat. Candidates faced enemies at their own level, then Level +2, then Level +4. For Ethan, that meant his final boss would be a mere Level 22. Given that he’d just vaporized a Level 25 Emberfang, the remaining stages were a formality.
Roland Marsh frowned, torn between the rules and the reality of the monster in the arena. "It’s a matter of fairness. If we scale him up, we’re penalizing him for being too strong." He turned toward the VIP section, specifically to the woman representing the elite. "Serena Sutton, I’d value your input. If we raise the ceiling and Ethan Lyle still achieves a Perfect Score, would Sovereign Academy be willing to extend an invitation?"
If Serena agreed, the higher difficulty would serve as a legitimate scouting tool rather than a punishment.
"My apologies, Roland, but no." Serena Sutton didn't even look at Ethan’s screen. Her eyes were fixed on the feeds of four other candidates. "Dorian Cross, Spencer Holt, Nira Ashford, and Kieran Ji—these are the names on my shortlist. They have true potential."
She gestured dismissively toward Ethan's monitor. "Ethan Lyle is a Forbidden Incantator. This 'power' is a loan taken against his own life. It’s a strobe light—brilliant for a second, then darkness. Sovereign Academy does not invest resources in a dying flame. It would be a waste of our curriculum."
Roland opened his mouth to argue, but the cold logic of the elite academy stopped him. The four students she mentioned were legitimate generational talents. They only looked "normal" because Ethan was currently breaking the world.
In the end, the difficulty remained unchanged. Ethan met the Level 18, 20, and 22 monsters with the same terrifying efficiency. One spell. One kill. Total annihilation.
When the final portal flickered out, Ethan stepped back onto the stones of Ashstone Plaza. He was the first candidate to finish all ten stages.
Gradually, the other elites began to emerge. The plaza, once silent, erupted into a cacophony of adrenaline-fueled chatter as students reunited with their peers.
"Ethan!"
Kieran Ji practically tackled him. The boy was vibrating with excitement. "I got a ninety-six! I’m in, man! I’m actually going to make it!"
Based on that score, as long as Kieran managed three wins in the upcoming Arena Trials, he was a lock for the Xia Imperial Academy.
"Not a perfect hundred?" Ethan asked, genuinely curious. Kieran was Level 15 now; the Warrior-class trials were grueling, but Kieran should have had the raw stats to breeze through.
"Don't remind me," Kieran said, scratching his head sheepishly. "I butchered the combat efficiency score. I’ve leveled up so fast following you that I haven't actually learned how to move my body at this speed. I felt like a toddler in a power suit."
Their conversation was cut short as Roland Marsh’s voice boomed over the PA system, broadcasting the preliminary rankings.
1st: Ethan Lyle – 100 Points
2nd: Nira Ashford – 100 Points
3rd: Dorian Cross – 98 Points
4th: Kieran Ji – 96 Points
5th: Spencer Holt – 95 Points
"Candidates with scores below 85, please follow the ushers to the exits," Roland announced. "Those above 85 are free to rest. However, leaving the designated plaza area now will be considered a forfeit of tomorrow's Arena Trials."
The crowd went quiet, but the silence was broken by a sharp gasp. Nira Ashford stood frozen, her eyes wide with indignation as she stared at the leaderboard. She had a perfect score. Why was she listed as second?
She threw her hand up, her voice ringing across the plaza. "Examiner! I demand an explanation. If we both have Perfect Scores, why am I ranked second?"
The crowd immediately took up the cry.
"Yeah, they should be tied for first!"
"Is this some kind of bias? They both hit the cap!"
"Give us a reason, or we’re filing an official protest with the Board!"
Roland Marsh didn't flinch at the growing unrest. He simply tapped a command on his console, pulling up two side-by-side holographic displays.
"Look at the recordings," he said shortly. "Judge for yourselves."
The plaza went silent as the footage began to play.
Nira Ashford’s trial was a masterclass in Pyromancy. Clad in her sleek combat suit, she moved like a dancer, her flames weaving a protective web around her. In the seventh stage, she had turned the Level 25 Emberfang Wolf into a spectacle. For three minutes, she kited the beast with surgical precision, her fireballs detonating at its feet to disrupt its stride. She hadn't taken a single scratch. She had played the beast like a fiddle.
"She’s incredible," someone whispered. "She’s a Level 14 Pyromage playing with a Level 25 beast. That’s top-tier talent."
"It’s art," another added. "She deserved that hundred."
Then, the second screen flickered to life.
Ethan Lyle’s run was... different. In stages one and two, he stood still for the attribute scans. From stage three to ten, the footage was a repetitive loop of boredom.
Ethan enters. Ethan utters a single syllable. The monster explodes. Ethan waits for the timer.
When the footage of the seventh stage played—showing the Level 25 wolf being erased in the first 0.5 seconds followed by Ethan sitting down to take a nap—the outrage died a sudden, violent death.
"Are you kidding me?" someone choked out. "He killed it? It’s a survival trial and he just... removed the threat?"
"I get it now," a girl muttered, her face pale. "Nira got a hundred because she played the game perfectly. Ethan got a hundred because the scoring system stopped at a hundred."
The realization hit the crowd like a physical weight. If the Gauntlet had been scored out of a thousand, Nira might have still gotten her hundred. Ethan would have broken the machine.
Nira Ashford stood paralyzed, her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. She stared at the image of Ethan sitting in the arena, his eyes vacant and bored, while she had been fighting for her life. The gap wasn't just wide; it was a chasm.
"Any further objections?" Roland Marsh asked.
No one spoke.
"Good. Sub-85s, exit. The rest of you, prepare. Tomorrow, the Arena decides the Grand Champion."
As the crowds thinned, the news hit the outside world. In the VIP lounge, the high school principals were in a frenzy.
"Victor Gao, you lucky bastard!" one shouted, slapping the Verdant High principal on the back. "Two Perfect Scores? And a fourth-place finish? You’ve swept the top five!"
Victor Gao was trembling, his eyes wet with tears of relief and pride. "Verdant High... we’ve finally done it."
"Don't get too comfortable, Victor."
The voice belonged to Principal Sutton of Prodigy High, Dorian Cross’s school. He stood up, smoothing his suit with a sneer. "The Gauntlet is just a stat check. Tomorrow is the Arena. Combat, strategy, and endurance. Do you really think a Level 18 'Forbidden' glass cannon can survive a bracket of the city's best?"
Victor narrowed his eyes. "You think Dorian can take him?"
"We'll see," Sutton said, a cryptic smile playing on his lips as he walked away. "We'll see."