Three days later, Will stood at the grand gates of Aetheron Royal Arcane Academy, feeling painfully out of place.
The academy was everything the border town of Spicehaven was not. Towering white spires floated gently above crystal-clear mana lakes, their surfaces shimmering with reflected light. Students in pristine robes glided between buildings on small wind platforms, the soft whoosh of air accompanying their movements. The constant hum of magical energy filled the air, a low, vibrating buzz that seemed to resonate in his bones. Everything smelled like expensive incense and polished marble — clean, sharp, and distant. Nothing smelled like food. Nothing felt warm or familiar.
Will adjusted the Simple Apron tied around his waist, the fabric slightly stiff from repeated washing, its edges brushing against his hips with each small movement. He tightened his grip on the handle of the Inherited Kitchen Knife, which he had wrapped carefully in cloth to look slightly less ridiculous. The rough cloth felt coarse against his palm. The Mother's Worn Pot was strapped to his back like an oversized backpack, its weight pressing steadily against his spine, still faintly carrying the lingering scent of last night's experimental soup — a subtle, spicy warmth that cut through the sterile academy air.
Around him, hundreds of examinees chatted confidently, their voices rising and falling in excited waves. Most were noble-born mages in their late teens, already casting small demonstration spells to impress each other. Floating fireballs danced above palms with soft crackling sounds, swirling water orbs shimmered with cool blue light, and crackling lightning sparked between fingertips with sharp, electric snaps.
A tall boy with golden hair and an arrogant smirk walked past Will, giving him a slow, deliberate once-over. His eyes lingered on the apron, the wrapped knife, and the pot on Will's back.
"A cook?" he laughed loudly enough for nearby students to hear, his voice carrying sharp and mocking across the open grounds. "Did you get lost on the way to the servants' entrance? This is the combat entrance exam, not a kitchen tryout."
His friends burst into laughter, the sound sharp and echoing, cutting through the hum of magic like a blade.
Will kept his head down, cheeks burning with a hot flush that spread across his face and neck. He knew he looked ridiculous. No staff, no grimoire, no fancy robe — just an apron, a knife, and an old pot. The weight of their stares pressed against him, heavy and unrelenting.
But he had made a promise. The memory of Einsfel's whisper at the door — "Don't take too long" — echoed in his mind, warm and steady, giving him something to hold onto.
A soft voice suddenly cut through the mockery, calm and clear.
"He's not lost."
Einsfel appeared from the crowd of spectators, her silver-gray hair shining under the academy's magical sunlight, each strand catching the light with a soft, luminous quality. She wore the standard first-year mage robe, but it looked elegant on her, the fabric flowing smoothly with her movements. Her blue eyes were steady as she walked straight to Will's side, her footsteps light on the polished stone.
The laughing boy raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Oh? You know this… kitchen boy, Einsfel?"
"He's my childhood friend," she said calmly, her voice carrying a quiet strength that made the air around her feel slightly warmer. "And he has every right to be here."
The boy sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. "Right to embarrass himself, maybe."
Einsfel's expression didn't change, but Will noticed the faint flicker of magic around her fingers — a subtle tension in her posture that he knew all too well. She had always been sensitive to people insulting him, her power reacting instinctively to protect what mattered.
Will gently touched her arm, feeling the warmth of her skin through the robe fabric, his fingers lingering for just a moment.
"It's okay," he whispered, his voice low and meant only for her. "I can handle it."
She looked at him, worry clear in her blue eyes — a deep, genuine concern that made his chest tighten. But she nodded and stepped back to the spectator area, her gaze never leaving him.
A loud bell rang across the testing grounds, its deep tone vibrating through the air and cutting through all conversation.
"Examinees, line up!" an examiner shouted from a raised platform, his voice booming with authority. "The practical combat test will now begin. You will each face a summoned low-to-mid level magical beast. Display your combat capability using magic. Those without sufficient power will be disqualified."
Will's stomach twisted into a tight knot, a cold wave of anxiety spreading through his gut.
He was in the last group.
One by one, candidates stepped forward into the circular testing arena. Fireballs exploded with bright orange bursts and roaring heat. Ice spears pierced through summoned Flamefang Wolves with sharp, crystalline cracks. Wind blades sliced through armored boars with whistling cuts. Each performance was met with applause and impressed murmurs from the examiners, the sounds blending into a constant wave of approval.
Then it was Will's turn.
He walked into the circular testing arena, heart pounding heavily against his ribs, each beat loud in his ears. The Simple Apron felt suddenly very thin, offering almost no protection against the stares. The Mother's Worn Pot on his back felt heavier than ever, its straps digging slightly into his shoulders.
The examiner looked at him with obvious confusion, eyebrows raised high.
"Candidate… Will Harlan. You… brought cooking equipment?"
A wave of laughter rippled through the crowd, loud and mocking, washing over him like cold water.
Will swallowed hard, his throat dry, and nodded.
"Yes, sir."
The examiner sighed, a long, weary sound. "Very well. Releasing the beast."
A magic circle lit up on the ground with a soft glow. With a deep roar, a mid-sized Flamefang Beast materialized — larger than the pup from town, with glowing red eyes and flames constantly licking at its fur in restless tongues. It was the same type of creature Will had accidentally defeated three days ago.
The beast locked onto Will and charged with a furious snarl, its paws thundering against the arena floor, sending small vibrations through the ground.
Will didn't run. Instead, he dropped to one knee, the stone cool and hard beneath him, pulled the Mother's Worn Pot off his back with a heavy thud, and frantically began cooking right there in the middle of the arena.
He dumped in the chili peppers and spices he had prepared in advance, their bright colors vivid against the pot's dark interior. The Inherited Kitchen Knife flashed as he sliced meat into the pot with quick, precise strokes, the blade making clean, rhythmic cuts. The Simple Apron protected him from the splashing hot oil, its fabric absorbing small droplets with faint sizzles.
The spicy aroma exploded outward, thick and pungent, cutting through the clean magical scent of the academy like a bold declaration — layers of intense heat, earthy garlic, and sharp chili blending into one overwhelming wave that filled the entire testing ground.
The Flamefang Beast skidded to a halt mid-charge, its claws scraping loudly against the stone. Its nose twitched violently, nostrils flaring wide as it inhaled the powerful scent.
It sniffed once.
Twice.
Then its savage expression slowly melted into something almost… blissful, its red eyes softening with unexpected pleasure.
The beast ignored Will completely and lunged straight for the pot, its movements suddenly eager rather than aggressive.
Will didn't hesitate. He scooped a massive ladleful of the bubbling Hellfire Hotpot Base, the liquid hot and heavy in the ladle, and flung it directly into the beast's open mouth. The broth arced through the air, steam trailing behind it.
The effect was instantaneous.
The Flamefang Beast's eyes bulged wide. Its entire body began to shake as the overwhelming spiciness triggered a catastrophic fire element overload. Flames erupted uncontrollably from every pore, hot and wild. Its own protective fire shield turned against it, the intense heat roasting the beast from the inside with relentless force.
"GRAAAAAHHH— TOO SPICY!!! MY FIRE— IT'S BURNING ME!!!"
The beast spun in wild circles, shooting flames in every direction in chaotic bursts, its body twisting and jerking uncontrollably. The air filled with the sharp, chili-scented smoke that drifted heavily across the arena.
Will stood there, pot still in hand, Simple Apron covered in oil splatters, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
The beast finally collapsed in a dramatic explosion of chili-scented smoke and sparks, the ground trembling slightly with the impact.
Silence fell over the entire testing ground, thick and heavy, broken only by the faint crackle of dying flames.
Examiners stared with open mouths, their expressions frozen in disbelief.
Students who had been laughing earlier now looked completely stunned, their eyes wide and mouths slightly agape.
From the spectator area, Einsfel's clear voice rang out first, cutting through the quiet.
She was smiling — bright, proud, and just a little teary, her blue eyes shining with unmistakable emotion.
"Will… you did it."
Will stood there, pot still in hand, Simple Apron covered in oil splatters, breathing hard. He looked at the smoking remains of the beast, then down at the Mother's Worn Pot, which felt warm and steady in his grip.
A small, determined smile finally broke across his face, slow and genuine.
"Maybe… soup really can be a weapon."
The examiner cleared his throat, still clearly in shock, his voice slightly unsteady.
"Candidate Will Harlan… you pass. By the narrowest and strangest margin I have ever seen. Welcome to Aetheron Academy… as a Special Auxiliary Chef."
Laughter and confused whispers spread through the crowd, mixing with a few scattered claps.
But Will didn't care.
He had taken the first step.
Now he just had to survive the rest of the academy — preferably without burning down the entire campus.