Dawn painted Rivermill's buildings in gold as villagers abandoned their usual morning routines. The market square buzzed with activity—stalls closed early, farmers left fields unharvested, and even the tavern emptied as everyone prepared for the Academy recruiters.
Ethan woke before sunrise and slipped into the small clearing behind the forge. Dew soaked his worn boots as he gripped a wooden practice sword that Owen had reluctantly crafted for him years ago. The weight felt awkward compared to the Kingmaker Blade, but he couldn't risk using the real weapon.
"Talented but untrained," he reminded himself, deliberately widening his stance too much.
He practiced strikes that would showcase natural ability while concealing his true skill—powerful cuts with slightly off-balance footwork, quick movements with imperfect follow-through. Sweat dampened his shirt as the morning sun rose higher.
When he returned to the forge, Owen was already hammering at an anvil, sparks flying with each strike.
"Taking that recruitment seriously, I see," Owen said without looking up.
Ethan grabbed a water ladle. "It's worth a try."
The blacksmith paused, his hammer hovering mid-swing. "My old friend Garrett tried years ago. He had talent with a blade but no aura. Couldn't progress past basic swordsman. Still made a decent living as a guard captain."
"Aura?" Ethan asked, feigning ignorance, though he knew exactly what Owen meant.
"Some swordsmen develop it after years of training—an energy that enhances their blades and strengthens their bodies. You can't teach it or can't buy it. Either it awakens or it doesn't." Owen's hammer struck the metal with a definitive clang. "Without it, there's a limit to how far you can rise."
Ethan nodded, recalling his own aura awakening at twenty-three—unusually late, but powerful enough to help him rise through the ranks. By his execution, he had reached the fourth stage, just short of becoming a true Sword Master.
Three village boys strutted past the open forge door. Dallen, the miller's son, led them, his over-polished sword looking ridiculous against his simple clothes.
"Look who's playing soldier," Dallen called, noticing Ethan's practice sword leaning against the wall. "The orphan blacksmith boy actually thinks he has a chance."
His friends laughed. One of them, the butcher's son, mimicked swinging a sword with exaggerated clumsiness.
"Maybe they need someone to sharpen their real warriors' blades," another jeered.
Ethan kept his face neutral. In his first life, he had beaten Dallen bloody for similar taunts. This time, he simply continued organizing tools.
"Nothing to say?" Dallen stepped closer.
Owen's hammer struck the anvil with threatening force. "Unless you're here for business, move along."
The boys retreated, but not before Dallen called back, "See you at the square, forge boy. Try not to embarrass the village."
By midday, Rivermill's entire population crowded the village square. Children climbed trees for better views while adults jostled for positions. Ethan stood quietly near the back, watching the north road.
A murmur swept through the crowd as five riders appeared, their gray uniforms trimmed with silver—the Academy's colors. Four were clearly guards, but the fifth, a stern-faced woman with short black hair, carried herself with unmistakable authority.
The village elder welcomed them with nervous bows. The woman dismounted gracefully and climbed the steps of the town hall.
"I am Captain Risa Hartwood, recruitment officer for the Royal Academy of Knights," she announced, her voice carrying effortlessly. "I am currently Fourth-Stage Sword Master and head instructor for first-year combat training."
The crowd fell silent, impressed by her rank. Fourth-Stage was a position few achieved, requiring both natural talent and decades of dedicated training.
"I am not here to indulge childish fantasies," she continued. "The Academy seeks two types of candidates—those with the potential to develop an aura for combat roles and those with mana affinity for magical studies. Most of you possess neither."
Several eager boys shifted uncomfortably.
"Our training breaks the weak. Half of accepted students fail before the first year ends. Those who remain face challenges that would break ordinary soldiers." Her cold eyes swept the crowd. "We forge weapons for the kingdom, not children playing at war."
She nodded to her guards. "Any who wishes to be tested, step forward."
About twenty villagers moved forward—mostly young men like Dallen, but also a few girls. Ethan joined them, keeping his expression neutral.
"First test—endurance," Captain Hartwood announced. "Twenty laps around the square carrying these packs."
Guards handed each candidate a heavy sack. Ethan recognized the test—designed to quickly eliminate the unprepared. He paced himself carefully, finishing in the middle of the group. Dallen finished first, shooting Ethan a smug look.
Five candidates dropped out, unable to complete the run.
"Combat aptitude," the captain announced next. "Basic forms with practice swords."
The guards distributed wooden training swords. When instructed to demonstrate basic strikes, Ethan performed them with deliberate imperfection—powerful but slightly unrefined.
Captain Hartwood walked among them, occasionally correcting a stance or dismissing someone outright. When she reached Ethan, she paused.
"Your form is unusual," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Who trained you?"
"No one, ma'am," Ethan replied. "I practice sometimes behind the forge."
She studied him a moment longer before moving on.
"Mana sensitivity," she announced next, producing a small crystal that glowed faintly blue. "Hold this. If it brightens, you have magical potential."
Each candidate held the crystal briefly. For most, including Ethan, it remained unchanged. For two village girls, it glowed slightly brighter, earning them nods from the captain.
After eliminating half the remaining candidates, she announced, "Final test—practical application. Each of you will face our Academy guard in controlled combat."
A broad-shouldered man with a scarred face stepped forward, practice sword in hand.
Dallen went first, attacking aggressively. The guard disarmed him in seconds.
When it was Ethan's turn, he breathed deeply, centering himself. The guard attacked with a standard opening taught to Academy students—one Ethan had used thousands of times in his past life.
Instead of countering perfectly, Ethan stumbled back, barely parrying the strike. Then, inspired by desperation, he shifted his weight and counter-attacked with a move that looked improvised but was actually a simplified version of an advanced technique.
The guard, surprised, took a step back. Ethan pressed forward with two more strikes before the guard recovered and disarmed him—but not before Ethan had landed a light touch on the guard's arm.
Murmurs spread through the watching crowd. Captain Hartwood's expression remained unchanged, but her eyes lingered on Ethan as he stepped back.
After testing everyone, she conferred briefly with her guards before turning to the tired, sweating candidates.
"Four of you have shown potential worthy of further evaluation," she announced. "Lord Kellen Rayworth," she nodded towards the nobleman's son, who had arrived separately and participated without engaging with the villagers, "Mira and Lina, for their mana affinity," indicating the two village girls whose crystals had glowed, "and Ethan Cole."
Dallen's face darkened with anger.
"Report to the north road at dawn tomorrow with only what you can carry," she continued. "The journey to Crownshard takes seven days. There, you will face the true entrance examination alongside candidates from across the kingdom."
As the crowd dispersed, Captain Hartwood approached Ethan. "That move you used—where did you learn it?"
"Nowhere, ma'am," Ethan replied, his eyes downcast. "It just... felt right in the moment."
She studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Dawn. North road. Don't be late."
As she walked away, Owen appeared beside Ethan. "Looks like I need a new apprentice," he said gruffly, though Ethan could sense a hint of pride in his voice.
That night, as Ethan packed his few belongings, he felt the Kingmaker Blade's presence–a warm pulse against his palm. The first step of his journey back to the capital had begun. Tomorrow, he would leave Rivermill behind and embark on the path to the Academy, where his enemies awaited, still unaware of the betrayal that loomed ahead.