Chapter 5
The air inside the Grand Sorcerer Council Chamber felt heavy — not with tension, but with power. The room itself was a masterpiece of sorcery: a circular hall with seven seats, each carved from enchanted stone taken from their home continent, arranged around a colossal table in the shape of the world map. At the center, a glowing sphere hovered — shifting, bending, and splitting into seven large rectangular projections, each showing the same scene from different angles.
The participants were still in the forest simulation, fighting the incoming waves of magical beasts. The images floated in the air, sharp enough to see every bead of sweat, every flare of magic.
Aurelius Kaine, President of Antarctica, sat in the central seat — a placement not by random chance but by dominance. His biker-style sorcerer helmet rested on his head, the faint glow of the visor reflecting the light of the screen. He leaned back, one hand casually resting against his chin, saying nothing yet, letting the others speak first.
Asia's president, Paradox Loom, was the first to break the silence. She wore layered silk robes patterned with shifting yin-yang symbols that seemed to rotate in impossible ways. Her voice was calm, but carried the weight of someone who measured every word like a blade.
"The girl with the transforming body," she said, her gaze fixed on one screen. "She has… precision. No wasted movement. Her belief is clear — that her body is the ultimate weapon. Flexible when needed, unbreakable when required."
On the screen, the girl spun through the air, her arm reshaping into a gleaming spear that pierced a beast's chest. Before the creature even fell, her other arm curved into a sharp-edged axe, swinging into another attacker.
Europe's Socerery president , the Historian of Power, smiled faintly. His robe was embroidered with miniature battle scenes from centuries past.
"She was born into weaponry," he said. "I've studied her family's history — her ancestors were legendary blacksmiths. She believes not just that her body can be a weapon… but that it always has been. It's why she adapts instantly. No hesitation."
From across the table, North America's president, Freedom's Architect, chuckled — the kind of easy laugh that still felt calculated. His suit was crisp, his tie slightly loose, like he could walk into a battlefield or a party without changing clothes.
> "I like her," he said. "She's got creativity in her strikes. But…" — he tilted his head toward Aurelius — "she's too rigid in her transitions. Against a truly unpredictable opponent, she'll falter. Needs a bit of chaos training."
Aurelius didn't answer. Not yet. His visor hid his expression.
The screens shifted to another fighter — a boy with wild white hair who seemed to blur as he moved. He darted through the battlefield, each step bending the air like ripples on water. Beasts lunged, but he was never where they thought he'd be.
Australia's president, the Shapeshift Sage, leaned forward, eyes glinting with interest. His tunic shimmered, changing patterns like it couldn't decide what it wanted to be.
"Speed like that isn't just training," he said. "It's rooted in his belief — he sees the battlefield as an ocean, and he's the current. Always moving, always flowing around danger. That kind of perspective changes how magic works for him."
"True," Africa's sorcerers president, the Leader, added with a deep, rumbling voice. "But speed is useless if it leaves you isolated. He's not covering his allies. He sees them as rocks to avoid, not currents to merge with. That's a flaw."
The screen shifted again — this time to the insect conjurer. A girl in dark green armor stood still as a wave of beasts charged. With a single whisper, a swarm erupted from her hands — tiny at first, then swelling into monstrous insect forms the size of horses. They shredded through the beasts, acid dripping from their jaws, wings slicing through flesh. It was vicious, almost grotesque… but brutally effective.
South America's president, the Life Cycle Keeper, smiled knowingly. Her cloak was made of woven vines and flower petals, blooming and wilting in seconds.
"She understands life's duality — creation and decay. Her insects are not just weapons; they are born in the moment and die in the moment. That's power rooted in acceptance of the cycle."
"It's also a nightmare for supply lines," North America's president remarked dryly. "That many giant bugs on the field? Good luck keeping morale intact for the rest of the troops."
"Fear can be a weapon too," Paradox Loom countered.
The conversation was interrupted when one of the African observers — a tall, silent man with gold tattoos running down his arms — leaned toward the Existence Force Leader and whispered. The leader nodded, then spoke.
"Aurelius… you've been quiet. Do none of them interest you?"
The room's focus shifted. Aurelius tapped his fingers once on the table.
"They're good," he said finally, his voice low, controlled. "But I'm not looking for 'good'. I'm looking for inevitability. Someone whose belief is so ingrained that the world bends around them without them even trying. None of them are there yet."
Europe's president raised an eyebrow.
"Even the weapon-body girl? I thought precision was something you valued."
Aurelius tilted his head.
"Precision without inevitability is just skill. And skill can be broken."
The tension between them thickened. North America's president smirked, clearly enjoying the exchange.
"Careful, Historian. You'll lose if you play word games with him."
Before the argument could deepen, Paradox Loom — still serene — raised her hand slightly.
"We should watch the rest. The test is far from over. A storm is coming in the simulation — literally. Let's see who adapts."
The others fell silent.
The screens expanded, showing the wider battlefield. The forest simulation had shifted — clouds boiling above, winds howling, lightning splitting the sky. Beasts grew more frenzied, their bodies twisting as if feeding off the storm's energy.
In one corner of the screen, the weapon-body girl switched her form into a massive shield, holding back a group of smaller fighters. In another, the speedstar blurred between lightning strikes, redirecting them into the beasts. The insect conjurer called forth a final wave — her swarm exploding in acidic bursts that tore through the enemy ranks.
And somewhere, almost overlooked in the chaos, was David… struggling, dodging, watching.
Aurelius's visor tilted slightly toward that screen — just enough for anyone watching him closely to notice.
South America's president caught it.
"Hmm. The hired ones? Third class?"
"Interesting choice to watch," Australia's president added.
Aurelius didn't answer.
The storm raged on in the simulation, the battle intensifying. More candidates revealed their beliefs — one shaping light into blinding spears, another twisting the ground beneath the beasts into jagged spikes. The presidents continued to comment, debate, and speculate.
But under it all, the unspoken reality remained:
This wasn't just about passing a test.
This was about deciding who would shape the future of sorcery itself.
And Aurelius… was waiting.
The storm in the simulation did not ease. Lightning flashed in chaotic intervals, rain began to fall in sheets, and the forest terrain became a treacherous mire. The observers' eyes didn't flinch from the floating screens, each one showing a different perspective of the candidates.
Paradox Loom tapped her finger lightly against the table, eyes narrowing.
"Shift to the second-class roster. I want to see how the middle tier handles this escalation."
The Historian of Power gestured, and the image in the air shimmered. The high-intensity battle faded into new frames — this time focusing on a young man in a red and blue combat suit. He darted through the chaos with startling variety: one moment he soared into the air with graceful flight, the next he vanished entirely into thin air. When a beast lunged at where he had been, a beam of pure energy cut through it from behind, melting the creature's armor-like hide.
The Shapeshift Sage gave a low whistle.
"Flight. Invisibility. Energy projection. Speed bursts and lasers. He's using a dozen skill sets like he was born with them."
North America's president smirked.
"I know what that is… check his belief file."
Europe's president slid a hand over the glowing surface of his seat's console. A holographic tablet sprang to life, displaying the boy's record.
"Belief: 'Superheroes are real, and I can be one.'"
Freedom's Architect let out a short laugh.
"Of course. That explains it. His magic mimics the comic-book archetype. He's pulling from the shared concept of hero powers, one after another."
The Africa's president folded his massive arms.
"It's dangerous. Not because of the powers… but because such a belief can be shallow. What happens when he gains their weaknesses ? What happens when he doesn't understand the character from the stories?"
Paradox Loom tilted her head, watching as the boy — grinning beneath the downpour — grabbed a beast mid-leap, hurled it skyward, and struck it with a focused beam that exploded in midair.
"He adapts well. But… yes. Beliefs rooted in fiction can crack under a real-world weight."
The image shifted again. Another second-class candidate appeared — a stocky young man with soot-streaked cheeks, palms glowing bright orange. His belief file read: Bombs and fireworks are the ultimate expression of beauty. Every swing of his arms ignited blasts that lit the sky in patterns, even as they tore through the beasts.
"That one is a crowd-pleaser," the Life Cycle Keeper observed. "The kind soldiers rally behind… until the supply of powder runs low."
Next was a girl with long white feathers sprouting from her back. She fought midair, wings beating in slow, deliberate movements. She raised an arm and dozens of razor-sharp feathers hardened like metal before launching in a deadly spread, piercing through three beasts at once. Her belief was simple and written in flowing script on her record: Angels are real, and I am one.
"Angel," the Historian of Power said softly. "That's her name?"
"Indeed," Australia's president replied. "And her feathers regenerate instantly. That's no minor feat."
The presidents' conversation paused for a moment as the three second-class fighters dominated their sectors. But there was an unspoken rule in the room — and it was Paradox Loom who finally voiced it:
"We cannot claim them."
Freedom's Architect sighed, leaning back in his chair.
"Right. They're already disciples of other masters. Second-class candidates who've been claimed are off-limits."
The Historian of Power nodded.
"Then let us praise their teachers. The work is evident."
The screens shifted again, this time to the third-class sector — the unrefined group, raw potential mixed with desperation. Many were faltering in the storm. The beasts here were smaller but more numerous, swarming like a tide.
It was Africa's president who spotted her first.
> "Wait. That girl — pull her feed full-screen."
The image expanded to show a slim, frightened-looking teenager standing in the middle of a clearing. Dozens of beasts encircled her… yet none of them came close. A faint shimmer hung in the air around her, like heat rising from stone. The creatures roared, snapped, and lunged — but each time, they struck something invisible and were thrown back.
Her belief file appeared automatically: Magic isn't real.
Silence fell over the table.
The vice president of Africa — a woman in gold-embroidered battle robes — leaned forward.
"She's inherited the Existence Force… though she doesn't even know how to use it. My predecessor was meant to lead Africa before he fell in battle. His legacy manifests here."
The president of Africa's sorceres voice deepened.
"And because she rejects magic itself… magic cannot touch her."
The Shapeshift Sage exhaled slowly.
"That is… a paradox in itself. She's a fortress built on disbelief."
"Limits herself, though," North America's president pointed out. "That belief cuts both ways. If she doesn't believe in magic, she can't wield it either."
The African vice president's gaze didn't leave the screen.
"True. But her defense is absolute — unless her belief changes. That's the danger. If she starts believing… she will no longer be untouchable. But if she believes correctly…"
She didn't finish the thought. The implication was obvious — she could become unstoppable.
As the conversation lingered, another motion on the screens drew their eyes.
It was fast. Too fast.
One of the simulation's cameras caught a flicker of movement — a blur so quick it almost seemed like a glitch infact it was. A beast's head snapped sideways, its massive body folding into the mud as if struck by an invisible hammer. No roar, no warning… just silence after the impact.
The replay slowed down — and they saw him. A boy, plain in appearance, his clothes soaked through from the rain, lowering his fist.
Europe's president frowned.
"Who… was that?"
The Historian of Power's tablet identified him instantly: David — Third Class Sorcerer.
Freedom's Architect raised an eyebrow.
"That speed… no wind displacement, no sound barrier break. It's not pure speed. It's… something else."
Paradox Loom's gaze sharpened.
"Perhaps inevitability. The strike didn't travel. It was simply… there."
Aurelius Kaine had been silent again, visor angled toward the display. This time, when he spoke, it was almost imperceptibly lower.
"Interesting."
The Life Cycle Keeper glanced at him.
"You recognize it?"
"Not yet," Aurelius replied. "But I've seen something like it before."
The African vice president asked,
"Do you think he's aware of what he did?"
Aurelius didn't answer directly.
"No. Which makes it more dangerous. The most lethal moves are often the ones made without understanding."
The presidents kept watching David's feed. The boy didn't move again for a while — at least, not in that way. He was helping another fighter up, dodging attacks, still looking unsure in the chaos.
But for the first time that day, the Seven Presidents — and their vice counterparts — were all watching the same screen.
The storm continued to rage. Somewhere in the simulated forest, A beast Waiting.Awakening... and deadly