Drobar slowly stopped laughing, glancing around the arena.
Why was it so quiet?
The roaring crowd had fallen into complete silence.
Confused, he lifted his gaze—then slowly looked down at his right arm.
The sword that was still in his grasp was glowing brightly.
His eyes widened.
He gasped, his mind unable to catch up with what had just happened.
"W-wait… wait! What in the world… I—I… this can't be. I'm chosen?! But I hate studying—"
Before he could finish, a large-built teacher stepped forward and smacked the back of his head, causing him to bite his tongue.
"Argh—sir, I bi' my ton—!" he mumbled, unable to form proper words.
"Quiet, you fool!" the teacher snapped. "I don't know why the sword would choose you of all people, but sit down quietly. And put the sword back!"
Still wincing in pain, Drobar obeyed without protest. He carefully returned the sword into the stone—where it settled back in place—and walked over to the designated seats.
As he sat beside the other chosen student, he remained completely dumbfounded.
The other chosen student glanced at him, equally stunned.
Why would the sword choose… this idiot?
The situation made him question why he was chosen as well. Is he equally an idiot?
The teacher then clearing his throat and stepped forward to regain control of the situation.
"Everyone, another has been chosen. Let us continue the selection process."
His tone was firm—almost irritated—as he called the next student forward, urging him to proceed.
One by one, the remaining nine stepped up.
One by one, they failed.
By the end of it, only two had been chosen.
Just two judges for the year. And one of them…seemed to require further examination.
From above, Visil leaned slightly back in his seat, a faint smile forming.
"Well… I was beginning to question why I needed to be here," he said lightly. "But this is quite entertaining."
He turned his gaze toward the nobles.
"Lord Elbus, congratulations on your son's result."
There was no response.
To others, the silence might have seemed disrespectful.
But Visil knew better.
"Someone bring a glass of water for Lord Elbus," Visil added calmly. "I believe his heart is having trouble keeping up."
Indeed, the aged lord looked as though he might collapse at any moment, his face drained of color. The shock had clearly overwhelmed him.
Attendants quickly moved in, assisting him away. Among them were brown magis, known for their expertise in medicine and herbal arts.
Beside Visil, Kaiser finally spoke.
"I believe that man should be retested."
"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Kaiser," Visil replied, still amused.
A voice cut in.
"Are you suggesting that our mechanism is faulty, Lord Kaiser?"
It was the head of the Charoite tribe.
A woman with long lilac hair, half braided, wearing glasses that framed her sharp gaze. Intricate tattoos ran along the left side of her face and down her neck, faintly glowing with restrained magic.
Lady Jadeite.
Kaiser met her gaze without hesitation.
"For someone like that to be selected," he said flatly, "it is worth reconsidering."
Her expression tightened, clearly offended.
The air between them grew tense.
Visil raised a hand, stepping in before it could escalate.
"Now, now… let's not create problems where we don't need them," he said calmly. "We'll leave the matter of re-evaluation to the teachers. Their opinions will be needed for matters to be fair."
The tension eased—but not entirely.
Below, the arena still buzzed with confusion.
Because no one, not even those who understood the sword best...could explain what had just happened.
----------
Now it was time for the magis examination.
The event everyone had truly been waiting for.
For the past three years, this segment of the examination had become more than just a test. It was a spectacle.
The most talented young magis would step forward to display not only their mastery of magic, but also the strength of their spirits. Each clash was a performance as much as it was a battle—raw power, control, and creativity all laid bare before the empire.
For the audience, especially the non-magis, it was nothing short of mesmerizing.
Anticipation hung thick in the air.
And it began with a show worthy of it.
Members of the Charoite tribe stepped forward, raising their hands as small glowing orbs formed above their palms. With a flick of their wrists, the orbs shot into the sky and burst.
Brilliant explosions of color painted the air—violets, blues, and golds cascading like falling stars. The light reflected across the arena walls, drawing gasps from the crowd.
The audience was captivated.
Across the arena, the teachers of the knights' department watched with visible annoyance, some folding their arms as if the display was nothing more than unnecessary showmanship.
The battle is about to begin.
A representative of the magis teachers stepped forward.
She was a middle-aged woman of the Charoite tribe, her dark purple hair tied neatly behind her. A single line tattoo marked her chin, faintly glowing as she spoke. Her voice sounded loud as it was amplified by magic.
"This year, there are twenty students of age who will participate," she announced, her voice clear across the arena. "They will face one another in various categories and be ranked based on their victories."
"Three will be selected to ascend into the higher ranks of the magis order. They will be evaluated on wins and points." She continued,
"The rules will differ in each rounds—some will test pure combat, others magic alone, and others the summoning of spirits."
She paused.
"Good luck to all participants."
The crowd roared.
The first round begun.
There would be five battles for this round. From each group of four, only one would emerge victorious and proceed onward.
The first four groups battle were typically a mix—Blue, Brown, and Charoite magis. Dark magis, however, were treated differently. Born and trained for combat, they were made to duel among themselves for fairness in this round.
Out of the twenty, four were dark magis. Hence, they are the fifth and last group for this round and they are to face each other directly.
The first four students stepped forward into the arena. Then, clashes erupted.
The arena transformed into chaos.
From the ground, thick vines burst forth, twisting and snapping toward opponents like living whips. A surge of water followed—crashing across the stone floor in a roaring wave, forcing combatants to leap or be swept away.
Chunks of metal tore free from the arena edges, bending and reshaping mid-air into monstrous forms—beasts of iron that roared soundlessly as they charged.
The crowd gasped and cheered in unison.
Each battle felt alive. Unpredictable and even dangerous.
After the four group battles were concluded, it was time for the dark magis group.
The arena sank into a silence that felt… wrong.
Not the eager hush of spectators, but something heavier—like the air itself was waiting.
A young woman stepped forward.
Medea.
She moved with unnerving calm, her expression unreadable as slender fingers brushed against the faintly glowing vials strapped along her waist. At her feet, a thin veil of mist began to coil outward—slow at first, then spreading in deliberate, creeping tendrils.
For the other students, one was a necromancer who remained at the center. His cloaked in tattered black, his presence cold and hollow. With a lazy lift of his hand, shadows pooled beneath him like liquid night.
Beside him stood another.
A tall man draped in layered obsidian robes, and he carries along straw dolls. Dark sigils crawled across his skin, shifting and writhing as if alive. Every breath he took seemed to drag misfortune into the world around him.
And the third—A silent figure wrapped in chains.
His body was bound in black iron links that rattled softly with every movement, yet no sound echoed beyond a few steps—as though even noise feared him.
Four black magis and the battle began without a signal.
The necromancer's hand dropped.
The ground answered.
It split open with a sickening crack as skeletal hands burst forth, clawing, grasping—dragging themselves free in jerking, unnatural motions. Half-formed corpses followed, stitched together by magic and malice.
Medea did not move, but the mist surrounding her thickened.
A rolling tide of poison swept forward, swallowing the undead in a pale, suffocating haze. Flesh hissed. Bone blackened. But the corpses kept moving.
The others joined in the battle as well and it was an intense fight.
Witnessing the match from above, Kaiser leaned slightly toward Visil, eyes narrowing.
"The female dark magis—Medea, if I recall correctly," he murmured. "She could serve well as your royal advisor."
Visil didn't look away from the battlefield.
"And have her slowly poison me in my sleep?" he replied dryly. "I'll pass."
Below— soon the match ended. The necromancer had won.
The second round began.
This time—
Spirit summoning.
Five remaining magis stepped forward.
The air shifted as each called upon their bonded spirit.
A brown magis raised her hands—and a small, glowing rabbit appeared, its form gentle yet brimming with latent energy.
Beside her, a blue magis summoned a seahorse spirit, its body made of flowing water, hovering and rippling in mid-air.
Two Charoite magis called forth a crow and a Salamander.
And finally, the dark magis summoned a black wolf. Its eyes glowing faintly red, exuding a quiet, predatory dominance.
The spirits clashed.
The rabbit darted with blinding speed, the seahorse surged in waves, the crow struck from above with piercing precision and the salamander used its agile body to swerve attacks.
But the wolf tore through them.
In the end, only two remained.
The black wolf and the seahorse.
Now came the final round.
The third round.
One against one.
A dark magis and a blue magis.
The arena fell silent once more. Because this would decide the winner.
Their duel had already stretched on for quite some time.
This final stage of the magis examination was a pure combat match. Each participant was allowed only a single blunt weapon—wooden swords, reinforced poles, training whips—anything that could test skill without lethal intent.
The two men clashed in the center of the arena.
Blows echoed across the stone floor as they kicked, struck, and parried with raw physical intensity. The dark magis fought with cold precision, every movement efficient, controlled, and overwhelming.
The blue magis resisted, but it was clear from the start—he was being outmatched.
In the end, it came swiftly.
A sharp kick to his legs broke his balance. Before he could recover, the dark magis stepped in and brought his weapon down across his back.
A heavy, brutal strike.
The blue magis collapsed.
It was over.
A few members of the crowd cheered, but others let out disapproving boos at what felt like an unnecessarily harsh finish for a "controlled" examination.
Still—the victor stood.
The dark magis straightened, rolling his shoulders before lifting his weapon slightly. A smug, arrogant smile formed on his face as he looked out over the arena.
He was number one. And he was savoring the moment of victory.
The crowds continued to cheer and chant for the winner.
But then—something changed in the sky.
A shadow swept across the arena.
At first, it was mistaken for a cloud by the audience. Being covered by the shadow, students, teachers and audiences all looked above them.
The shadow grew and grew, until the light itself was swallowed.
A massive silhouette descended from above—so large it blanketed nearly half the Grand Arena in darkness.
The crowd froze, then screamed.
Panic erupted as the shape dove lower, the wind howling in its wake. Teachers immediately moved to shield the remaining students, shouting orders as the center of the arena cleared.
And then—Impact.
A thunderous BOOM shook the entire structure as the creature landed.
Stone cracked beneath its weight.
Dust and wind exploded outward in a violent shockwave.
When the air finally settled—It was revealed.
A phoenix.
But not one of flame.
This one was vast—its feathers a radiant gold-white, shimmering as though woven from sunlight itself. Each feather seemed to glow faintly, as if alive with divine energy.
A legendary spirit.
Only one type of magis was said to be capable of summoning such a being.
White magis.
The arena fell into stunned silence.
Even the most seasoned teachers were frozen.
And above them all—Visil's expression shifted.
For the first time, his calm composure cracked.
Beside him, Kaiser's eyes widened slightly. Not in fear—but in disbelief.
The phoenix lowered its massive head gently, and from the feathers along its back—something moved.
A small figure.
Then—
Poof.
A girl popped out from its plumage and then dropped lightly to the ground, as if she had simply stepped out of the wind itself. A soft gray robe wrapped around her frame, slightly disheveled, as though she had been traveling for some time.
She landed with a small stumble—
Then let out a light, awkward giggle.
The phoenix lowered its beak and nudged her gently, almost playfully. She giggled again, brushing against it as it seemed to "tickle" her before she finally steadied herself and descended fully to the ground.
All eyes were on her.
The girl froze for a moment under the weight of the silence.
Then she turned toward the crowd—and more specifically, toward the emperor's podium.
"I-I apologise for causing such a scene," she said quickly, bowing slightly. "I was late, you see—"
Silence.
The crowd did not respond.
Her confidence faltered instantly.
"Ah—no, I mean… introductions!" she added hurriedly.
With a small, flustered motion, she pulled back her hood.
White hair spilled out like soft silver thread.
Golden eyes, bright and unsteady, scanned the arena.
Gasps erupted across the crowd.
It was her.
Ayumu Velmiar.
Daughter of Eomer Velmiar—the late royal advisor.
The last known heir of the White Magis lineage.
"I—umm—my name is Ayumu Velmiar," she said, with a slightly shy voice but forcing it to be steady. "I am here to take on the role of royal advisor."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then—
"Ayumu…"
Visil rose from his seat.
"…sister…"
His voice was quieter than usual.
Uncertain.
Disbelieving.
The girl before him was no longer the small child he once remembered—no longer the one he had seen running in the forest, laughing without fear while playing with him when they were kids.
Now she stood as a young woman.
White hair with golden eyes.
The unmistakable mark of the Vesta lineage.
The legacy of her father.
And in that moment—The entire arena understood.
Something long thought lost…had finally returned.