Chapter 3 — The Mock Battle Exam
The next morning arrived with the sound of armor clanking and boots pounding the dirt courtyard. The academy had no mercy for new students. The moment their rankings were posted, the instructors moved them straight into combat assessment — a test meant to expose weak nerves and real talent.
Kael stood at the edge of the practice field, watching the mist rise from the stone floor. Rows of students lined up in combat gear, their crests glowing faintly as they prepared.
Across the field, Lucen Valeor tightened his gloves, eyes locked on Kael. The grin on his face wasn't friendly.
Ryn leaned beside Kael, whispering, "You might want to avoid eye contact. He looks like he wants to murder you for breathing."
Kael didn't look away. "Then I'll make sure I breathe louder."
She stifled a laugh. "Suicidal confidence. Nice touch."
---
Instructor Calen arrived soon after, cloak brushing the ground as he walked. "Welcome to your first combat evaluation. Each of you will fight under controlled conditions. Losing is fine. Running away is not. Show us what your crest can do."
The arena's barriers shimmered to life — invisible walls humming with mana, keeping spectators safe from stray attacks.
Calen's eyes scanned the list. "First match… Lucen Valeor versus Kael Draven."
The laughter from the crowd was immediate. Someone whistled. Another shouted, "Rest in peace, Blank!"
Kael exhaled slowly, stepping forward. Ryn muttered, "You just had to pick a fight with the golden prince."
He shrugged. "Wasn't me. The universe has a sense of humor."
---
Inside the barrier, Lucen was already rolling his shoulders, golden light swirling around him. "You shouldn't have been ranked Silver, Blank. That was charity."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "You talk a lot for someone who hasn't won yet."
Lucen's grin sharpened. "I will."
The instructor's hand lifted. "Begin."
Lucen moved first — fast, almost blindingly. The golden glow around his hands solidified into sharp lines of force. He thrust his palm forward, and a blast of compressed air cracked across the floor.
Kael rolled aside, the impact blowing dust into his face.
Lucen didn't pause. He followed up with another strike, then another, the air between them bursting like invisible explosions.
Kael's thoughts stayed calm. Observe. Watch the pattern.
Every movement, every shift of Lucen's shoulders — the rhythm of power followed breath, not motion.
> Observed ability detected.
Skill: Air Surge (Intermediate)
Replication possible.
Kael steadied himself and let Lucen come again. The next blast came low. He stepped into it instead of away, copying the stance mid-motion.
For a split second, their palms mirrored each other. Kael's ring flared silver.
A shockwave erupted from both sides. Dust and wind tore through the barrier, shaking the arena. When it cleared, both stood several feet apart, neither down.
The crowd went silent.
Lucen blinked. "You—copied me?"
Kael tilted his head. "Must've been coincidence."
Lucen's jaw tightened. "Coincidence doesn't make this much wind."
Kael didn't answer. He'd barely managed to stabilize that move, and his arm felt numb, but the effect was worth it.
Lucen's attacks grew faster, angrier. He tried to overwhelm with pure strength. Kael countered with borrowed rhythm, dodging just enough to stay alive. Each deflection, each parry — slightly different, slightly better.
Then, Kael noticed something else. The energy he copied didn't fade; it lingered, mixing with his own mana. It was unstable, but alive, like his crest was learning.
> Skill evolution triggered.
Air Surge + Wind Thread = Hybrid Technique: Gale Line.
A whisper pulsed in his mind. His palm moved instinctively, slicing the air sideways.
A clean arc of wind shot across the arena — silent, thin, and sharp. It grazed Lucen's sleeve and cut a clean line through it before vanishing.
Lucen froze.
The crowd gasped.
Instructor Calen's eyes narrowed with interest.
Kael dropped his arm, feigning exhaustion. "Guess my luck's still holding."
Lucen's teeth clenched. "You're dead after class."
Calen raised his hand. "Match concluded. Kael Draven — winner."
The field erupted. Some shouted disbelief, others laughed in shock. A Blank beating a Gold in a direct duel? That never happened.
Kael stepped out of the barrier, every muscle screaming, but his expression calm. Ryn met him halfway.
"You absolute lunatic," she whispered. "You just made yourself the most hated man in this academy."
He gave a weak grin. "At least they'll remember my name."
---
Later that evening, Dorm C was louder than ever. Taro slapped Kael's back hard enough to rattle his ribs. "Didn't think you had that in you!"
Kael winced. "Neither did I."
Ryn leaned against the window frame. "You're going to have a target on your back now. The nobles don't take humiliation well."
"I noticed."
"So what's your plan?"
Kael looked at the faint silver glow returning to his palm. "Keep pretending I'm useless."
Ryn blinked. "That's your plan?"
"It's been working so far."
She shook her head. "You're either a genius or an idiot."
He smiled slightly. "Why not both?"
---
As the noise faded and the others fell asleep, Kael sat alone again, his mind replaying the fight.
He'd felt it — that merging of techniques, the instant his crest combined two skills into something new. The mimicry wasn't just copying; it was creation through imitation.
> Mimic Soul — Growth Condition Met.
Evolution Path: Adaptive Resonance (Locked).
He frowned at the message burning faintly in his thoughts. Adaptive Resonance. He didn't know what it meant, but he could feel it — like another door waiting behind the one he'd just opened.
For now, he closed his eyes, letting the hum of the mana stones fill the silence. The academy would come at
him harder now. Lucen wouldn't let this loss go.
But beneath the fatigue, something in him almost welcomed it.
The fun was just beginning.