The Exam Begins.
"The divine barrier stands imposing. No one has managed to cross it. That is why everyone retreated behind the city of Stormhammer. The elves, fleeing certain death, take refuge behind its walls—even if it means they will have no new power. At the front, the enemy—thousands of attackers. In my hand, a letter—those who asked for things knew how to do it. The alliance request could only be seen by their emissaries. The support request could be read by any mage above level six. But before me, in my hand, lies only the true call of the young elf king: Help my people.
That is why I have moved to the outskirts of the city. Almost fifty years without leaving civilization—only occasional trips outside my tower. Still far from my goal, comforts are still out of consideration—light, transportation systems, and some other benefits are now accessible to most. But crime, violence, vices—I cannot eradicate those from human nature. People must begin to take responsibility; otherwise, they will live in a sterile environment no matter how much I try. That was already difficult without considering those who come. They bring melee attacks, so for now, I will not worry about siege weapons. Yet I hope to make them react.
My magic expands, finds the shield, but it is very basic. Knowing they would run out of magic, the divine entities have developed this protection. It is strong, resists high-level attacks, and has enough power to defend for long periods. But it could not defend them from everything—especially considering they advance through territories with potential for magical and physical attack. It protects them by letting through amounts of magic that do not affect its defense functions. Like those slimes—they were not displaced or annihilated; they merely stayed away from the invaders, as if they disgusted them. So I have my field of influence within their shield—with little effort, just navigating a forest between its trunks.
I announce my conditions: do not attack. The rest we can discuss. We can achieve coexistence. We must let societies develop without needing to resort to offensive magic or impose their deities. They ignore me; they try to attack me. I see arrows, a couple of spears, and two things I am sure are what they call Divine Hammer. Dust rises with the activation of my own shield. I do not waste time making complete protections. It is easy to build the runes—they are small but nothing complex. Each receives part of the impact. If that is not enough, a second activates, bringing another fragment of earth to receive the next impact. If the attack is magical, the magical defense runes activate. They only seek a property of the enchantment—upon finding it, they merge with it and eliminate the harmful property. Those hammers are solid light damage, but without light density, it only illuminates me and does no harm on the path leading to my city.
While they argue about my heresy, I prepare my own magic. Some dust particles have been tracing the runes in the center of their camp. Now I am filling them with the necessary magic—less than a fireball. I can make fifteen of them—enough to face these thousands of enemies without real magical knowledge. I warn them that no one should attack me, that I will be forced to defend myself. But they ignore me. Fire without heat is just light; the poison is trapped in my shield and leaves a puddle at my feet. An attacker breaks from their forces and charges at me directly. My staff is enough. The impact carries a bit of the Explosion rune—that throws him a few meters and leaves him breathless. By that time, my own magic is finished. I explained the concept to the Overlord and Lilith long ago; neither could create such delicate magical constructions. But it is easy if you think about it—each sphere the size of a fist, charged with an enchantment that has no proper name. The Overlord named it Judgment. When activated with my field, they unfold like threads of light—an egg tortilla that thins until it is as thick as a silk cloth. It launches in threads, with many runes on each. That is the secret—being able to write, to trace on the thickness of a thread of light all the necessary runes. They do not require as much power as those damaging enchantments, and you can do practically everything.
My light attacks all who attacked me—that is why I placed the spheres in the center of the invasion. Each can make up to five hundred contacts, depending on the attacker's intention—if the attack was lethal, they position themselves on the stomach, chest, and head; if restrictive or incapacitating, on arms and legs. They are there as a warning not to try to harm me again. I appeal to everyone, tell them coexistence is necessary, that they should not try to eliminate those who do not believe in their gods. But they ignore me—I can almost hear their famous 'personification' of god mocking me. They reinforce their shield, but the gaps are already made. They launch several hundred attacks, but they do not understand—the dust around me is much greater than their weapons. Moreover, their attacks are one-dimensional, forged only for physical, magical, or mental damage—but one at a time. My shield is more resistant than that. Controlling and filtering so many influences in my magical field surrounding Stormhammer made me very capable of separating attacks and rendering them harmless. Though it hurts, I must act. The second magic is a consequence of not having retreated—my enchantment disappears if they move a kilometer from the source. But they were all there, determined to mock me. So my attack retracted—in a spiral, with the hardness of a metal cable. I hear their screams, their pain, their death. Again, it is a sphere. My fifteen spheres surround complete gaps in the forest, a few meters from the elven camp. I do not know how many of them survive, but if they try another attack, those spheres will open again. The Redcap saw them once, long ago, when I could only use three—he called them Bloody Sunflowers. I hope they see the horrors of war, that their young understand this is not an option—but that I had no other. I hope my own young understand it. In the tower, they await me in two hours for their own exam—no matter how much it hurts, they will have to watch the battle of the continent's most aggressive mages. Poor things."
The hall was silent. All my young had seen the fight from various angles. Only I knew what that sanctimonious man was thinking. My blood boiled—he had grown beyond my reach... For now. Yet I still had to evaluate my people.
Many stupid questions—most about the impossibility of what they saw. Those automatically stayed at level nine. One said I was lying and that this did not happen; he considered apparent power above all. To him, Jhyce, what a shame—I signaled. I lost nothing if he left. So other level-tens entered and took him away. I would erase all his memory and send him to the Blackcaps. He would be happy there.
Thriron and Pergan were among the few who made approximate assumptions. Especially the latter, who asked if the Whitecap leader's brain understood and appreciated what surrounded us. I told him no—he has a disease that isolates him from many things, many emotions, and that allows him greater control over other abilities. I finished the exam. Everyone went to their cells; no one wanted to talk to anyone else. They knew they had seen something beyond them. Those who went to the libraries to try to understand what they saw through books were also disqualified. Those I saw in their cells or corners of the tower, immersed in their desire to be more powerful while reviewing the battle in their heads, would serve me. They could not sleep yet—we had to fight. The spies of the goddess Fiery's nation were twelve hours away; their bodies were the signal I expected to go down to attack. Their explosion would be the start of the practical exam. If they did not survive, they were not ready yet—but I did not see a fight from my rival without wanting to put on a good show myself.