Chapter 22

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  The morning air was crisp, tinged with the hum of anticipation that filled the Academy’s open training fields. Ren stood amidst a sea of students, each one murmuring nervously or stretching in preparation. The practical exams were finally here.

  Leo clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You ready?” His usual cocky smile was a bit more subdued today.

  Ren exhaled slowly. “As I’ll ever be.”

  Davian joined them, rolling his shoulders. “Control, endurance, combat…they’re going to push us.” He glanced at Ren. “I’ve seen the way you focus. You’re going to do fine.”

  Ren smiled faintly, but his stomach twisted. He couldn’t afford to slip up. Not after everything.

  Instructors began calling out names, splitting students into groups. The first challenge was the Sigil Casting Trial — a timed assessment where each student would have to form a series of sigils from memory, stabilize them, and release them in sequence.

  Ren’s group was ushered to a row of stone pedestals, each marked with a target rune. A bell chimed.

  He shut out the noise around him. The first sigil: a simple ignition rune. His hand moved with mechanical smoothness, lines and curves drawn perfectly from memory. The sigil glowed a clean, steady red. Release.

  Second sigil: a minor shielding formation. His mana flared, and he forced himself to stay measured, slow but precise. The barrier flickered, then held steady.

  By the fourth sigil — a complex compound sigil with branching sub-runes — Ren could feel his mana strain. He gritted his teeth and pressed on, fingers forming the final loops. It activated, albeit a little weaker than the others.

  “Time!”

  Ren dropped his hand and exhaled hard. Around him, several students’ sigils had failed to even stabilize. He wasn’t perfect…but he had completed them all.

  Leo grinned at him from across the field and gave a thumbs-up.

  The next challenge was the Control and Endurance Test. Students were directed toward a long, open range with floating orbs that moved erratically. The task: use a single chosen magic type to either keep the orbs aloft in perfect formation or strike them with pinpoint accuracy for three continuous minutes.

  Ren chose to control them. He couldn’t afford to waste mana on flashy displays. His smaller pool made this choice obvious.

  The instructor blew a whistle.

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  Ren closed his eyes, reaching out with his mana. He felt each orb’s position, gently weaving thin threads of force magic around them. He didn’t yank or push — just steady guidance, subtle adjustments. They bobbed, twisted, wobbled…but he kept them in line. The final seconds dragged on, sweat beading on his forehead. When the whistle blew again, he let go all at once, trembling slightly.

  Applause rippled from the instructors’ platform. Not many had chosen control over offense. Even fewer had succeeded.

  And finally, the part Ren dreaded: the combat simulation.

  The students were called one by one into sparring rings. Instructors and evaluators watched silently.

  Ren’s name was called. He stepped into the ring, his short sword at his hip.

  His opponent was exactly the type of noble he expected — tall, smug, wearing polished academy gear and carrying a rapier that practically shimmered with enchantments.

  The instructor raised his hand. “Begin.”

  The noble lunged immediately, swift and confident. Ren dodged to the side, drawing his sword in the same motion. His footwork — the product of weeks of practice with Instructor Varian — saved him from taking a clean hit.

  He couldn’t overpower him. But he could out-think him.

  The noble struck again, thrusting with mechanical precision. Ren parried, absorbing the blow and redirecting it with minimal force, then pivoted, aiming for a low slash. The noble barely avoided it.

  For the next minute, it was a dance of feints and counters. Ren’s breaths came sharp and fast, but he kept his footing light, his mind focused.

  Then — an opening.

  The noble overcommitted on a lunge. Ren twisted, slammed his shoulder into the noble’s side, and brought the flat of his sword up under the noble’s chin, stopping just short of contact.

  The ring went silent.

  The instructor raised his hand. “Match over. Ren wins.”

  Ren stepped back, heart pounding.

  By the end of the day, after all three challenges, Ren met up with Leo and Davian near the fountains outside the training grounds.

  “You crushed it,” Leo said, grinning. “You looked like you actually knew what you were doing.”

  Davian nudged Ren’s arm. “Seriously. That noble kid looked like he was about to cry.”

  Ren chuckled softly. The tension was finally easing.

  They sat there for a while, watching the sun dip toward the horizon. For the first time in a long while, Ren allowed himself to breathe.

  Tomorrow…that was another problem.

  But for today, he had won.

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  As the evening deepened, the three of them sat beneath the lanterns near the courtyard, finishing off bowls of steaming stew from the nearby vendor. Laughter came easily — relief washing away weeks of tension.

  Leo was already rambling about the tournament, making grand predictions of how far each of them would go. Ren smiled and nodded along, though his thoughts drifted.

  At some point, Davian stood and stretched.

  “I’m heading back early,” he said casually. “Need to write home.”

  “Tell your folks you passed with flying colors,” Leo called after him.

  Davian just grinned, but as he turned to leave, his eyes briefly met Ren’s.

  Something flickered there. A glimmer of knowing… or purpose.

  Ren blinked, but before he could think much of it, Davian was already walking down the lantern-lit path, whistling softly.

  Ren shook his head, chalking it up to exhaustion.

  But somewhere, in the back of his mind, a seed of curiosity was quietly planted.

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