As the echoes of the last battle faded and the shimmering dome of the arena dissipated, the teacher's voice resonated through the field, clear and authoritative.
"The first round is over. We have seen your strongest believers. Now—show us your armies."
A low murmur spread through the crowd.
The teacher continued, "This will be a virtual test. Your entire fighting force will be copied into a simulated realm. They will face increasingly powerful waves of monsters. The more waves they survive, the more academy points you gain. Points scale by wave: 1st wave equals 1 point, 2nd wave 2 points, and so on."
A flicker of tension passed through the students.
"Call every combatant you have," the teacher advised. "This is not about preservation—it's about raw endurance. You lose nothing but data."
The first student stepped forward—nervous, barely focused. The simulation began.
His world's army—a ragtag band of tribal warriors with wooden spears—appeared. The first wave of beasts struck like a storm of fangs and muscle. He barely scraped by. The second wave? A bloodbath. Not one soldier stood.
"Result: 1 wave cleared. 1 Academy Point."
Students chuckled quietly.
The next student summoned his world. It was still in the early tribal age, his believers poorly armed and uncoordinated. Before the first wave ended, they were overrun.
"Result: 0 waves cleared. 0 points."
A wave of laughter spread. The boy lowered his head in shame.
Then came a girl with confident eyes and a polished terminal bracelet. Her world shimmered into existence—a city-state with walls, watchtowers, and legions of fighters, including civilians armed with enchanted farming tools.
"Looks like a rich 2nd-gen, who used time accelerator" someone muttered.
Her forces fought valiantly. Wave one? Cleared. Two? Barely. Three? Pushed through. Four? Too much.
"Result: 3 waves cleared. 6 Academy Points."
There was a slow nod of respect from some corners.
Several more went. One summoned a technological civilization with steam-powered cannons. Another had a mystic forest culture led by druids. Each scored between 1 and 4 waves.
Then Keshav's name appeared.
Students turned.
He walked forward silently, eyes calm, and initiated the simulation.
A vast plain of cosmic grass unfolded. His army appeared—disciplined, well-equipped believers in structured formations. Archers, warriors, gravity monks, space-blessed scouts, and mage squads formed into shifting tactical groups.
"Wait… what kind of army is that?" someone whispered.
"Didn't they say he was an orphan?"
"But… that kind of growth? Only time-accelerated worlds develop like that."
Yet no one dared ask.
The waves began.
— Wave One: Cleared with ease. Formations held. No losses.
— Wave Two: Minor casualties. Gravity manipulation and void traps disrupted the monsters.
— Wave Three: Taarak led a defensive break, Yali called a meteor from twisted space. Cleared.
— Wave Four: The beasts began evolving—faster, larger. The frontlines broke slightly, but Zhen's gravitational compression forced the creatures into choke points. Victory.
— Wave Five: Chaos. Monsters merged. Terrain warped. Morale broke. His forces fell—tactically, not sloppily.
"Result: 4 waves cleared. 10 Academy Points."
Silence.
Then murmurs.
"Did he really… beat the 4th-gen heiress?"
"His believers aren't just strong… they're trained. He's building an army, not a mob."
"No way he didn't speed up time. But how did he get the points?"
Keshav stood quietly as his army flickered out from the simulation. He ignored the glances. Inside, his heart pounded—but his expression stayed neutral.
> "Let them wonder," he thought.
"Soon, I won't need to explain anything. My world will speak for itself."
-----
Student after student stepped up. Some worlds shone with power, others crumbled at the first challenge. Magical civilizations with spell-slinging militias, beast-taming cultures riding titanic mounts, even a steampunk realm with clockwork soldiers—all faced the arena's trials.
Some cleared one wave. A few made it to the second or third. None passed the fourth—until she stepped forward.
A girl with calm, silver eyes and obsidian-black hair, dressed in a robe stitched with patterns that shimmered like constellations.
"Name: Ayla Winterborne," the teacher announced. "Begin."
The arena shifted. Her world appeared—a floating fortress city bathed in starlight, surrounded by spellforged towers and guarded by orderbound paladins and moon priests. Her believers weren't just soldiers—they were fanatics, unified by faith and precision.
Wave One? Cleared easily. Formations adjusted like clockwork.
Wave Two? Barely a challenge.
Wave Three? Their light magic flared, burning shadows from the monsters' forms.
Wave Four? Pressure built. But she had planned for this. Strategic use of divine formations and glowing sigils slowed the beasts. Her army rallied—victory.
Then came the fifth wave.
The monsters mutated—horned abominations, beasts wrapped in void-fire and acidic armor. Her frontlines collapsed under the weight. Her high priest detonated his core, taking down half a wave, but it wasn't enough. Her world was overwhelmed.
"Result: 4 waves cleared. 10 Academy Points."
Gasps rippled across the students.
"She's strong."
"Same as that Keshav guy…"
"Two dark horses, huh?"
Ayla walked back calmly. Her eyes met Keshav's for a moment.
No words. Just a nod. Not of challenge—of mutual acknowledgment.
Something unspoken passed between them.
Two students.
Two worlds.
Same score.
Same mystery.