The testing chamber felt different from inside.
What had looked like a simple rectangular space from the waiting area revealed itself as something far more sophisticated. The floor wasn't just marked with measurement circles—I could feel enchantments woven into every surface, designed to monitor and record everything that happened within these walls.
The walls themselves were reinforced with layered defensive magic that shimmered faintly in my peripheral vision. Protective enchantments strong enough to contain Sage-level attacks, probably. Whatever happened during these assessments, the Academy had ensured the structure could handle it.
Three Council members watched from their elevated platform. Director Silveresta sat in the center, white hair catching the magical lighting, ice-blue eyes already evaluating me with an intensity that suggested she missed nothing. To her left, Instructor Gavin—the weapon combat specialist—leaned forward slightly, arms crossed, expression neutral but attentive. To her right, Instructor Theron adjusted his glasses and prepared to take notes on a floating parchment that hung in the air beside him.
All three had recognized the name House Stellis. I'd seen it in their faces when I'd introduced myself. Recognition, wariness, and perhaps a hint of prejudice that came with my family's reputation.
Fair enough. I'd prove myself through demonstration, not words.
"You may begin your affinity demonstration," Director Silveresta said, her voice carrying perfect clarity despite the distance. "Show us your capabilities with Sword affinity. Take your time and demonstrate your full range."
I drew my military-grade sword—leaving Blackheart sheathed for now—and moved to the center circle.
The smart approach was to start simple and build. Show fundamentals first, then progress to more advanced techniques. Let them see a clear progression of skill rather than immediately jumping to my highest capabilities.
I began with basic forms.
First position—standard guard stance, weight balanced, blade held at middle height. I flowed through the traditional progression: rising slash, horizontal cut, diagonal descent, thrust, parry positions one through five. Each movement precise, each transition clean.
Textbook perfect execution of foundational sword work.
I glanced at the Council platform. Gavin was watching with professional interest, but nothing in his expression suggested he was impressed. Good fundamentals were expected. Every candidate with Sword affinity would demonstrate at least this level of competence.
Time to escalate.
I began incorporating mana enhancement—not through Blackheart's corruption, just through my own Master-tier Circulation. Drew mana through my pathways, distributed it into my muscles, felt the enhancement take hold.
My movements accelerated. The practice forms I'd been demonstrating at normal speed suddenly became faster, sharper, each strike carrying more force. The blade whistled through air with each pass, and when I struck one of the designated training dummies, the impact was solid enough to crack its wooden surface.
Better. Gavin's posture shifted slightly—more attention now, recognizing that I wasn't just another candidate with adequate fundamentals.
I continued the enhanced forms for another minute, demonstrating sustained mana circulation during continuous movement. Most candidates could manage brief bursts of enhancement, but maintaining it required control and stamina that came from serious training.
Then I shifted into Nightfall Strike.
The overhead slash began normally—blade raised, weight transferred forward, momentum building. But at the moment of maximum speed, I compressed mana into a dense burst and released it all at once.
The blade accelerated mid-swing, becoming a blur. The impact when it struck the training dummy was explosive—wood splintering, the entire construct breaking apart from the force.
All three Council members sat up straighter.
"Interesting," Gavin said, his voice carrying to where I stood. "That's a compression-and-release technique. Advanced level execution at minimum."
"Note the timing," Theron added, his quill scratching notes on the floating parchment. "The mana release was perfectly synchronized with maximum kinetic energy. That requires exceptional control."
Director Silveresta said nothing, but her ice-blue eyes had sharpened with genuine interest.
I reset my position and demonstrated Phantom Step.
Mana flooded my entire body—not just legs, but everything. Core, arms, mind, all enhanced simultaneously in the pattern Father had drilled into me. The world seemed to slow as I accelerated, blurring across fifteen feet of space in less than a heartbeat.
I stopped perfectly balanced, not a hint of the disorientation that usually came with such rapid movement.
"Total body enhancement," Gavin said, and now his tone held unmistakable approval. "Full circulation during acceleration. That's significantly more difficult than standard speed techniques."
"His mana distribution was flawless," Theron observed, making more notes. "No wasted energy, no overload in any single system. Textbook perfect execution of an Advanced-tier movement technique."
Director Silveresta leaned forward slightly. "Candidate De Stellis, how long have you been training in those techniques?"
"Four days for active combat application," I said honestly. "The theoretical foundation was taught earlier."
A pause. All three Council members exchanged glances.
"You learned Advanced-tier techniques to that level of proficiency in four days?" Theron's voice held skepticism.
"I had good instruction," I said simply.
"House Stellis instruction," Gavin noted. "Those are Stellis combat arts. Nightfall Strike and Phantom Step specifically. The Seven Shadow Arts are notorious for being difficult to master."
"I was taught two of the seven," I confirmed. "The other five require higher rank than I currently possess."
"And yet you've already advanced the two you were taught to near-perfect execution," Director Silveresta said. Something in her expression suggested she was reassessing her initial evaluation. "Impressive."
She made a gesture, and three magical constructs materialized in the chamber—humanoid shapes made of solidified mana, each holding weapons.
"Combat capability test," she announced. "Defeat the constructs. They're programmed to fight at middle Mortal rank with competent technique. Begin when ready."
I took a breath, centered myself, and engaged.
The constructs attacked simultaneously—coordinated but not overly sophisticated. Their movements were competent as promised, but predictable to my Combat Instinct.
Left construct thrust with a spear. I sidestepped, deflected the point with my blade, and riposted into its center mass. The construct shattered into dissipating mana.
Center construct swung a sword horizontally. I ducked under the swing and drove my blade through its torso. Another burst of mana dissolving.
Right construct tried to flank while I was engaged. Combat Instinct pinged the attack before I consciously registered it. I pivoted, brought my blade up in a rising slash that caught the construct from hip to shoulder, splitting it diagonally.
All three constructs defeated in under ten seconds.
"Increase difficulty," Director Silveresta ordered.
Five new constructs materialized, these ones moving with notably more sophistication. Their coordination was better, their attacks more varied.
I engaged without hesitation.
Used Phantom Step to blur behind the formation, disrupting their coordination. Struck down one construct while it was still turning to track me. Parried an incoming attack from another, used its own momentum against it to create an opening.
Combat Instinct read the battlefield constantly—tracking positions, predicting attacks, identifying openings before they fully formed. The constructs were competent, but they fought like training tools. Mechanical. Predictable.
I flowed through them systematically, using minimal wasted movement, striking with precision that came from combining my Intermediate Sword Affinity with Combat Instinct's threat recognition.
The final construct fell within thirty seconds of engagement.
I stood among dissipating mana, breathing only slightly harder, and looked up at the Council platform.
All three members were watching with undisguised interest now.
"His combat reading is exceptional," Gavin said to his colleagues, not bothering to lower his voice. "He predicted every attack before it completed. That's not just training—that's either extensive real combat experience or some kind of enhanced perception ability."
"Note the efficiency," Theron added. "Minimal wasted movement, no unnecessary flourishes, every strike targeting vital points. He fights like someone who's faced actual danger."
Director Silveresta studied me for a long moment before speaking. "Candidate De Stellis, you have more than just Sword affinity. I can feel something else emanating from you. What is it?"
Here was the question I'd been anticipating.
The Malevolent Aura was constant now—even with Blackheart sheathed, even without actively using its power, the cursed blade's presence created that subtle wrongness that anyone with sensitivity could detect.
I could lie. Claim it was just an artifact I carried, nothing to do with my actual capabilities.
But they'd see through it eventually. Better to control the revelation than have them discover it on their own terms.
"I carry a cursed weapon," I said plainly. "It's the source of the presence you're detecting."
The temperature in the chamber dropped several degrees. Not metaphorically—actual temperature, frost beginning to form on nearby surfaces as Director Silveresta's Cryos responded unconsciously to her reaction.
She noticed and pulled the cold back immediately, but the message was clear. Cursed weapons provoked strong reactions even from Sages.
"Show us," she said, her voice carefully controlled.
I hesitated. Drawing Blackheart would mean revealing its full power. Would mean increasing my corruption percentage just from using it during this assessment.
But refusing would suggest I couldn't control it. Would imply the weapon controlled me rather than the reverse.
And that would likely result in rejection, no matter how well I'd performed so far.
Decision made.
I sheathed my military-grade sword and drew Blackheart.
The obsidian blade slid free with that distinctive silk-over-stone sound, and immediately the Malevolent Aura exploded outward at full strength.
The chamber's atmosphere changed instantly. Air became heavy, oppressive. Shadows seemed to deepen despite the magical lighting remaining constant. Every surface the aura touched felt wrong—like reality itself was being rejected by the blade's presence.
All three Council members reacted viscerally.
Director Silveresta's eyes widened fractionally, and more frost formed around her chair despite her obvious efforts to control it. Gavin's hand moved instinctively toward where a weapon would normally hang, combat reflexes screaming danger. Theron actually stood up, taking a half-step backward before catching himself.
"By the old gods," Gavin breathed. "That's not just cursed. That's a legendary-class cursed artifact."
"The corruption radiating from it is immense," Theron added, his voice unsteady. "How are you even holding it without being consumed?"
I met Director Silveresta's ice-blue eyes directly. "Practice. And willpower."
She stood slowly, and I felt her power respond to Blackheart's presence. The temperature dropped further—not uncontrolled this time, but deliberate. Her Cryos manifesting as a counterbalance to the Malevolent Aura, cold so absolute it created its own pressure in the chamber.
Two legendary forces facing each other across fifty feet of space.
"Demonstrate it," she said quietly. "Show us what that weapon can do."
I turned toward the reinforced target dummy—a construct designed to withstand Sage-level attacks according to the enchantments I could feel woven through it.
Channeled mana through my pathways, felt it twist and corrupt as Blackheart's power took hold. The three hundred percent amplification hit, and my attributes shifted—strength jumping to twenty-seven, speed enhancing beyond my natural agility.
I performed a basic horizontal slash.
The blade cut through air and something else—reality itself seeming to part around the obsidian edge. Dark energy trailed from the strike, corruption made visible.
The slash connected with the training dummy's midsection.
The effect was immediate and terrible. The wound didn't just cut—it festered. Black veins spread from the impact point, and the dummy's material began to decay, to wither, to die in a way that inanimate objects shouldn't be capable of.
The corruption spread rapidly until the dummy's enchantments activated, containing the decay before it could spread further. But the damage was done—a wound that continued to smoke and deteriorate even after the strike had ended.
"Again," Director Silveresta ordered, her voice steady despite the display. "Use one of your techniques with it."
I reset my stance and prepared Nightfall Strike.
Drew the blade overhead, built momentum, compressed mana—but this time the mana was already corrupted by Blackheart's influence. Dark energy dense enough to be visible gathered around the obsidian blade.
Released.
The strike descended with explosive force enhanced threefold by the cursed weapon's power. The impact was devastating—the training dummy didn't just break, it was obliterated. Wood and reinforcement materials shattered, corruption flooding through the remains so thoroughly that within seconds nothing remained but blackened ash.
The corruption spread across the floor until the chamber's containment enchantments activated, creating a barrier of golden light that stopped the decay from reaching the walls.
Silence held the chamber.
I sheathed Blackheart, and the Malevolent Aura receded to its passive level. The pressure in the air lessened, though the wrongness didn't fully disappear.
[CORRUPTION LEVEL: 15.1% → 16.4%]
The price paid for demonstration. Over one percent increase from a few minutes of use.
Director Silveresta sat back down slowly, frost still clinging to her immediate vicinity. "That weapon is extraordinarily dangerous."
"Yes," I agreed simply.
"How long have you been bonded with it?"
"Eleven days."
Her eyebrows rose. "Only eleven days, and you maintain that level of control? Most wielders of cursed artifacts show signs of corruption within the first week."
"I have resistance," I said, which was true if incomplete. The System's tracking of corruption and my Paradox potential's resistance weren't things I could explain. "And discipline."
"Your stated affinity is Sword," Theron said, having recovered enough to resume his analytical tone. "But that weapon clearly channels dark energy. Do you have secondary affinity?"
Another revelation point. But they'd already seen the corruption, seen the dark energy. Denying it now would be pointless.
"Yes. Dark affinity, secondary to Sword affinity."
"That's an unusual combination," Gavin noted. "Weapon specialization with elemental manipulation. They don't usually manifest together."
"My situation is unusual," I said dryly.
Director Silveresta made a gesture. "Demonstrate your Dark affinity. Without the weapon this time. Show us what you can do with pure elemental manipulation."
I called on the abilities I'd developed over the past two weeks.
Created three shadow tendrils simultaneously—manifestations of solidified darkness that emerged from my back like additional limbs. Made them weave through the air in complex patterns, demonstrating independent control of each one.
Activated Silent Steps—channeled dark energy through my feet and moved across the chamber. My boots on stone should have produced clear sounds. Instead, complete silence. The darkness absorbed even the vibrations of my passage.
Finally, I created a Stasis Sphere around one of the remaining intact training dummies. The sphere of concentrated darkness formed quickly—three feet in diameter, containing the dummy completely.
I gestured for one of the Council members to throw something at it.
Gavin, understanding the demonstration, created a simple mana bolt and launched it at the sphere.
The bolt entered the darkness and immediately slowed. Not stopped, but its velocity reduced to perhaps one-tenth of normal speed. It crawled through the sphere like moving through molasses before finally impacting the dummy with barely any force.
I released the technique, and the sphere dissipated.
All three Council members were silent for several seconds.
"Dark element manipulation at that level of control," Theron said finally, making extensive notes, "combined with weapon specialization and those advanced combat techniques. And he's maintaining all of this while bonded to a legendary-class cursed artifact."
"The question," Gavin said slowly, "is whether this represents exceptional talent or simply the artifact's influence making him appear more capable than he actually is."
"The mana control test will clarify that," Director Silveresta said. She looked at me directly. "Final assessment component. Manipulate mana through the designated patterns."
The floor's measurement circles activated, creating a complex three-dimensional pattern of glowing lines that hung in the air like a maze.
"Thread your mana through the pattern without touching the boundaries," Theron instructed. "The pattern will increase in complexity as you progress. Maintain steady flow without disruption."
I'd done similar exercises countless times during my training. Mana control was foundational to everything—combat techniques, elemental manipulation, even basic enhancement.
And with Master-tier Circulation, this test was almost trivial.
I extended my awareness, felt the pattern's structure, and began threading mana through it.
The initial configuration was simple—a single path with a few curves. I completed it in seconds.
The pattern shifted, became more complex. Multiple branches now, requiring me to split my mana flow and maintain separate streams simultaneously.
Still manageable. I divided my circulation, creating three distinct flows that moved through the pattern independently.
The complexity increased again. Five paths now, each with tight curves and narrow tolerances. Most candidates would struggle to maintain even two or three streams at this level.
I maintained all five without visible effort, my Master-tier control making the multi-stream circulation feel natural.
"Increase to maximum complexity," Director Silveresta ordered, her voice sharp with interest.
The pattern exploded into a three-dimensional maze—seven distinct paths, each requiring precise control, several with sections that demanded mana compression or expansion to fit through varying widths.
I took a breath and engaged fully.
Seven circulation streams, each one responding to my control independently. Compress here to fit through a narrow section, expand there to fill a wider area, maintain steady flow throughout despite the constant adjustments required.
My Master-tier Circulation handled it smoothly. This was what days of brutal self-training had built—control so refined that complex manipulation felt intuitive.
I completed the pattern in under two minutes.
The glowing lines faded, and I pulled my mana back into my normal circulation patterns.
Theron was staring at his notes with an expression of disbelief. "He maintained seven independent streams through maximum complexity. That level of control is... exceptional. Master-tier minimum, possibly approaching Grandmaster-tier in specific applications."
"His mana efficiency was remarkable too," Gavin added. "No wasted energy, no disruption in flow. That suggests extensive training in circulation techniques beyond what most candidates receive."
Director Silveresta stood, and her ice-blue eyes held something that might have been approval.
"Candidate De Stellis, step back to the center circle."
I moved to the central position and waited.
The three Council members conferred quietly—I could hear fragments despite their attempt at privacy.
"...technique level is exceptional... Advanced rank minimum in both combat arts..."
"...mana control definitely Master-tier... circulation at that level is rare for his age..."
"...cursed weapon is concerning... but he demonstrates control over it, not the reverse..."
"...Dark affinity combined with weapon specialization creates interesting tactical options..."
"...House Stellis reputation aside, his capabilities are undeniable..."
Director Silveresta turned back to face me, her expression neutral but her eyes sharp.
"Candidate two-seventeen, Leon De Stellis. The Council has completed your assessment."
I waited, maintaining neutral composure despite the tension in my chest.
"Your technique execution is exceptional. Your mana control approaches Master-tier. Your combat capabilities significantly exceed average candidate performance." She paused. "However, you are bonded with a legendary-class cursed artifact that poses ongoing corruption risks."
Another pause.
"Despite those concerns, your demonstrated control over the weapon and your clearly superior capabilities merit advancement. You pass Stage One assessment."
Relief flooded through me, though I kept it from showing on my face.
"Report to the staging area tomorrow at dawn for Stage Two team assignments," she continued. "You will be monitored closely throughout the remaining stages. Any signs of corruption progression or loss of control will result in immediate evaluation and potential removal from the examination process."
"Understood," I said.
Director Silveresta's expression shifted slightly—something that might have been warning or possibly respect.
"Control that weapon carefully, Candidate De Stellis. Cursed artifacts consume their wielders eventually. All of them, without exception. The question is whether you're strong enough to delay that consumption long enough to achieve your goals."
I met her ice-blue eyes directly. "I'm aware of the price. I accept it."
She studied me for another moment. "We'll see if you're strong enough to maintain that control. Dismissed."
I bowed slightly—respect without subservience—and turned toward the exit door.
Behind me, I heard Theron say quietly, "That boy is either going to become something extraordinary or die trying."
"Perhaps both," Gavin replied.
I walked through the door into the results waiting area.
---
The results waiting area was larger than the initial holding space—designed to accommodate all candidates who'd completed their assessments while they waited for official results.
About thirty people occupied the space when I entered, and every single one of them reacted to my presence.
Conversations stopped mid-sentence. People shifted positions, creating space around me without consciously deciding to do so. The Malevolent Aura, even at passive level, made their instincts scream.
I found an empty corner and settled in, ignoring the stares and whispers.
"...did you feel that?..."
"...what is he carrying?..."
"...something's wrong with him..."
Let them whisper. I'd passed Stage One. That was what mattered.
Candidates continued trickling in through the exit door. Some looked relieved, others disappointed, a few completely neutral. The pass/fail wouldn't be announced until everyone had completed their assessments, but you could usually tell by reading body language.
Stark appeared about twenty minutes after me. His face lit up when he spotted me, and he crossed the room without hesitation—apparently four days of exposure to Blackheart had built enough tolerance that the Malevolent Aura didn't bother him anymore.
"You passed?" he asked.
"Yes. You?"
"Yeah. They seemed impressed with my axe work, though I'm definitely not at your level." He grinned. "You caused a stir with your assessment, didn't you? The instructors in my chamber kept looking toward your testing area like something interesting was happening."
"I demonstrated my full capabilities," I said neutrally.
"Including the scary sword?"
"Including Blackheart."
Stark's expression sobered. "How did they react?"
"Concerned but impressed enough to pass me anyway. They'll be monitoring me closely."
"Fair enough." He settled against the wall beside me. "At least we both made it to Stage Two."
Over the next hour, the waiting area filled steadily. Mira arrived looking satisfied with herself. Thomas came through looking nervous but relieved. Marcus entered with quiet confidence.
Other faces I recognized from the temporary housing appeared. The white-haired candidate with Lightning affinity markings—the one someone had identified as Aegon De Castor—emerged looking completely composed, as if the assessment had been a minor formality.
A red-haired girl with Fire affinity markings practically radiated competitive satisfaction. Aurora De Faust, probably, based on the whispers that followed her entry.
A tall, serious-looking candidate with a spear strapped to his back. Samael De Kaizer, if the ducal family crest on his clothing was accurate.
A young man with gauntlets on his belt who moved with the easy confidence of someone who genuinely enjoyed fighting. Jason Le Rowen, potentially.
A girl who moved through the room with unusual grace, creating small illusions that flickered around her fingers—showing off, probably. Renata De Briggs if the Viscount family colors were correct.
A quiet girl who seemed to be having a conversation with something no one else could see, her violet eyes tracking empty air. Spirit affinity user—had to be Eris De Langston.
And finally, as the afternoon stretched toward evening, a girl with golden-blonde hair and eyes that seemed to catch light strangely entered the waiting area.
She moved with confident grace, acknowledged a few people with friendly nods, and found a position near the center of the room.
Something about her made my Combat Instinct ping—not danger exactly, but significance. Power. Importance.
I studied her carefully, cataloging details.
Light affinity markings on her hands—gold and white patterns that suggested she'd already manifested her element to visible levels. Athletic build that spoke of serious physical training. The way she carried herself suggested combat experience, not just practice yard sparring.
And there, barely visible at her hip, the outline of a blade sheathed in leather dyed to match her clothing.
Silverbright.
Had to be. The legendary blessed weapon, counterpart to my cursed Blackheart.
Which meant this was Arielle De Luna.
The protagonist. The hero of the story. The person who was supposed to kill Leon De Stellis during the entrance exam.
I watched her interact with other candidates—friendly, approachable, the kind of person who drew others naturally. Several people gravitated toward her, starting conversations, laughing at something she said.
She had charisma. Natural leadership quality that made people want to follow her.
Everything a protagonist should be.
She glanced in my direction at one point, her gaze sweeping across the room and landing on me for just a moment.
Our eyes met.
Hers were amber, warm, filled with the kind of confidence that came from knowing you were destined for greatness.
Mine were violet—Leon's eyes—probably cold and assessing in a way that made people uncomfortable.
The moment lasted less than two seconds before she looked away, continuing her scan of the room.
But I'd seen enough. Felt enough through Combat Instinct's evaluation.
She was strong. Significantly stronger than most candidates here. Probably at the higher end of Mortal rank, approaching the Peak threshold.
But I'd grown too. Pushed myself to sixty percent through brutal training. Claimed Blackheart and learned to wield its corruption. Developed techniques and abilities that made me dangerous to anyone at my rank.
The gap between us existed, but it wasn't insurmountable.
Not anymore.
Eventually, an instructor entered with a clipboard and called for attention.
"Assessment results are now available. Names will be posted on the board outside this room. Those who passed will report to the staging area tomorrow at dawn for Stage Two assignments. Those who did not pass will be escorted to departure processing."
The room erupted into motion. Candidates rushed toward the door, eager to see their results.
I waited, letting the crowd thin before approaching.
The board was large, listing names alphabetically. I scanned quickly:
PASSED STAGE ONE:
Arielle De Luna
Aegon De Castor
Aurora De Faust
Eris De Langston
Jason Le Rowen
Leon De Stellis
Renata De Briggs
Samael De Kaizer
Sia De Demeria
Stark Dawner
And many more—approximately two hundred and forty names total out of the original three hundred and twenty-one.
Eighty candidates had failed Stage One. Nearly a quarter of the applicants eliminated in the first assessment.
But all the names I'd been watching for were present. All eight that Director Silveresta had flagged as notable, plus Arielle De Luna.
The competition for Stage Two would be legitimate.
"We made it," Stark said, appearing beside me. "Both of us through to Stage Two."
"And tomorrow we find out our team assignments," I replied. "Three days in the wilderness. Randomly assigned teams of three."
"Think we'll be on the same team?"
"Unlikely. True random assignment means the probability is low." I paused. "But even if we're separated, we know each other's capabilities. That knowledge might prove useful later."
Candidates began filtering out, some celebrating their success, others consoling friends who hadn't made it through.
I took one last look at the posted results, my eyes landing on Arielle De Luna's name near the top of the list.
Soon.
We'd meet soon. Maybe during Stage Two if our teams encountered each other in the wilderness. Definitely during Stage Three if we both advanced to the tournament.
Light versus Dark.
Silverbright versus Blackheart.
Hero versus Villain.
The story said she was supposed to win. That Leon De Stellis was supposed to die to make her stronger.
But I wasn't the original Leon anymore.
And I had no intention of playing my role as written.
"Come on," I said to Stark. "Let's get dinner and rest. Tomorrow the real challenge begins."
We left the administrative building and headed back toward temporary housing as the sun set over Astral Island.
Tomorrow, Stage Two would begin.
Three days in the wilderness. Team-based survival.
And somewhere in those three days, paths would cross.
Alliances would form. Rivalries would emerge.
And I would take another step toward proving I was strong enough to defy fate itself.
The entrance exam was only beginning.
And I intended to survive every stage of it.
No matter what it took.