After the first exam, it was time for the second: The Combat Trial.

  The training grounds of Aquilonis stretched wide before them — an open field of pale stone engraved with ancient sigils that pulsed faintly with mana. The morning air was crisp, carrying the metallic echo of clashing weapons from distant soldiers in training.

  At the center stood Reid and Harven, facing each other with bladed nunchakus in hand.

  “You’re getting better, Reid. Good job,” Harven said, twirling his weapon lazily.

  “Thanks, Mr. Harven.” Reid’s breathing was ragged, sweat glistening on his forehead — but the moment he heard that compliment, his tired smile flared back to life.

  Harven smirked. “I said you’re getting better, Reid. Not good.”

  Reid grinned anyway. His confidence shone through; for the first time, his stance looked solid — proud, even.

  “Alright,” Harven said, tightening his gloves. “Again.”

  He raised his hand, murmuring a short incantation. A faint, shimmering dome appeared around them — a guardian bubble, glowing with soft blue light.

  “Just a precaution,” he said. “Don’t want to injure you before the exam.”

  Reid nodded, gripping his weapon tighter.

  The next instant, Harven vanished.

  A rush of wind — a blur of motion — and before Reid could react, Harven’s strike connected with his side, piercing through the bubble and sending him crashing to the ground.

  Reid winced, clutching his ribs, but there was no anger in his eyes — only awe. “You’re fast…”

  Harven offered a faint grin, lowering his stance. “Now do you understand what you’re dealing with? There will always be someone stronger, faster, or bigger — unless you become that someone.”

  Reid pushed himself up, wiping the sweat from his face. “Sorry. I’ll focus more.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  They clashed again — sparks flying with each collision of their weapons. The rhythm of their battle became clearer, cleaner. Harven attacked with unrelenting precision, forcing Reid to think, to move, to adapt. And he did.

  By the fifth bout, Reid’s movements had shifted entirely — fluid, sharp, instinctive. Even Harven’s usual grin had softened into something almost proud.

  The days that followed bled together in the rhythm of training.

  Morning to noon — drills and sparring.

  Afternoon — recovery and reflection.

  Evening — repeating every motion until perfection.

  Reid’s body ached constantly, but his strikes grew stronger. His dodges became cleaner. He began anticipating Harven’s attacks, feeling their intent before they landed.

  Every time he was thrown down, he stood again — faster, steadier.

  Harven didn’t hold back either. Sometimes his playful tone faded entirely, replaced by a serious edge that Reid hadn’t seen before. Those moments taught him the most.

  “Don’t just move your body, Reid. Move your will,” Harven told him once.

  “If you want to hit me, mean it.”

  Reid took that lesson to heart.

  By the end of the second day, the rhythm of their weapons sounded almost even. Harven still struck harder — but Reid no longer looked like a boy trying to keep up. He looked like a fighter learning to command his space.

  Between training sessions, Reid often noticed Emilia walking across the far edge of the grounds, always heading somewhere with a book or a stack of papers in hand. She passed by the same path every morning and every evening.

  Sometimes, she glanced their way — just for a moment — and Harven would nudge him jokingly,

  “Your little teacher’s checking up on you again.”

  Reid would roll his eyes and go back to practice.

  But secretly, seeing her walking calmly through the courtyard reminded him why he was here.

  She had passed this same trial once. And if she could do it — so could he.

  By the time the sun set on the second day, Reid’s body was bruised, his arms trembling from fatigue, but his heart was calm. The nervousness that once clouded him before every test was gone.

  He had faced pain, exhaustion, and doubt — and was still standing.

  Tomorrow would decide everything.

  Harven looked at him with proud eyes,

  “Go to your room, little knight. Every warrior needs sleep.”

  Reid nodded, his chest still heaving from the final bout. The air around them shimmered faintly where the guardian bubble had been moments before. He sheathed his training nunchakus and made his way toward the castle, each step echoing softly against the stone.

  Inside his chamber, the warmth of the fireplace greeted him. He threw himself onto the massive bed and stared up at the high ceiling. The faint patterns carved into the stone seemed to shift in the flickering light, as if alive.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He tried to relax, but his mind refused to quiet. Thoughts circled endlessly — the exam, Harven’s words, Emilia’s lessons, Arttu’s distant voice in his memories, and even stranger ideas he couldn’t quite name or understand. Yet amid all that noise, one thought stood out clear as a blade: Tomorrow is the Combat Trial.

  He pulled the sheets closer and shut his eyes. Somewhere between excitement and exhaustion, he fell asleep.

  The night was merciful. No dreams, no restlessness — only silence.

  When morning came, Reid woke before sunrise, feeling sharper than ever. He washed his face in the cool basin water and began to prepare, recalling every detail Harven had told him.

  The Combat Trial was not just a fight; it was a tournament. Each participant would face another candidate in live combat, their performance judged not by victory alone, but by technique, discipline, and control. Recklessness, arrogance, or intent to harm would mean immediate failure.

  He dressed slowly — his black shirt fitting snugly, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He fastened his Genusrosa to his belt, the weapon gleaming faintly in the early light.

  Harven’s words echoed in his mind:

  “Don’t fight to win, Reid. Fight to prove you belong.”

  Reid took a deep breath and exhaled, steadying himself.

  This was it — the step that separated dreamers from warriors.

  He turned toward the door, hand on the handle, as sunlight finally broke through the clouds and filled the room.

  And with that light, he stepped out — ready to face the arena.

  The Combat Trial was held in an arena northwest of the castle — a massive stone coliseum that seemed to breathe history with every echoing step. The cheers of distant crowds had long faded; now, the air buzzed with tension instead of noise.

  When Reid entered through the candidate gate, he stopped in awe. The arena stretched far and wide, lined with thousands of stone seats, each marked by banners of the Academy and the royal crest of Aquilonis — a golden lion wreathed in silver flame.

  Harven was already seated among the officials. Beside him sat a man whose presence was unmistakable.

  His head was smoothly shaven, his jaw strong, and his expression alight with a confident smile. His armor — brilliant red trimmed with gold — gleamed like sunlight on steel. Silver spirals curled across the chest plate, surrounding a roaring lion engraved in shining relief.

  Reid froze. His heart skipped a beat.

  It’s him…

  Baranor Klutz.

  The Unyielding.

  His idol. His inspiration. The man he had dreamed of meeting for as long as he could remember.

  Standing just behind Baranor was a woman — tall, poised, and silent. Her long, light-blue hair fell in waves down her back, her still eyes fixed not on the arena, but on the far-off line of trees beyond the walls.

  “She looks like Lady Mirvana…” Reid thought, his curiosity flickering.

  Her armor resembled Harven’s — crimson with silver shoulder plates instead of gold, the spiral emblem replaced by a single black arc arching above the lion insignia. Both she and Harven wore the same style: disciplined, yet proud, a mark of their shared rank beneath Baranor himself.

  The three sat together at the head of the arena, right above the dueling grounds — silent judges of fate.

  Reid tore his gaze away and found a seat among the other candidates. Nervous whispers filled the stands — everyone had recognized the same figure.

  After a moment, a familiar voice echoed across the arena. It was the same official from the written exam — the man with the enchanted binoculars. His amplified tone carried clearly through the space.

  “Attention, candidates!”

  A hush fell over the crowd.

  “This exam will be held in the traditional tournament format,” he announced. “You are one hundred and thirty-two in total — all of you who have passed the first exam. First of all, congratulations for making it this far.”

  Reid felt a flicker of pride, even as his stomach twisted.

  “The structure of this test will be as follows: the first stage consists of one-on-one duels. Think of it not as a tournament of winners, but a trial of worth. Your performance will determine whether you are deemed fit to enter the Academy.”

  He paused, scanning the faces around him.

  “Killing or injuring your opponent deliberately is strictly forbidden. The purpose of this test is to measure skill, control, and discipline — not recklessness.”

  He raised one hand, and several glowing orbs floated above the arena, each carrying lines of names that rearranged themselves in shifting runes.

  “The duels will be selected at random. The first round will take the entire day. After that, those who advance will receive instructions for the second stage.”

  A ripple of excitement spread through the crowd.

  “The match list will be displayed in ten minutes. Until then, all candidates, please take your seats in the upper stands.”

  Reid exhaled slowly, feeling his heart hammer against his chest. He looked toward Harven’s seat high above, but Harven didn’t meet his eyes — he was talking to Baranor, laughing about something.

  For the first time, Reid realized how small he looked compared to them.

  And yet, he felt the spark of something stronger: resolve.

  Reid climbed up to the upper stands and took a seat among the other candidates. The murmurs around him were sharp — some curious, some mocking, and some even impressed.

  “Isn’t he too young?”

  “Maybe he’s some noble’s son.”

  “Look at him — probably here to fail spectacularly.”

  The whispers stung, but Reid forced himself to look straight ahead. Let them talk. Today would be the day he proved that he could stand on the same level as the knights who watched from above — Baranor, Harven, and others.

  He would not be forgotten.

  As he sat there in silence, a boy about the age of fourteen — dropped into the seat beside him. He had short, ash-brown hair and a friendly, open face.

  “Hey,” the boy said, smiling. “Don’t mind them. I think it’s cool that you’re taking the exam this young. Honestly, you’ve got guts — maybe even genius.”

  Reid scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. “I’m not really a genius,” he said quietly, trying to sound humble.

  “I’m Maxim,” the boy said, offering his hand.

  Reid shook it. “Reid. Nice to meet you.”

  They exchanged a small smile — one of those rare, comfortable moments that cut through the tension of the day.

  But before they could talk more, the voice of the examiner echoed through the arena again.

  “Attention, candidates!”

  The man with the enchanted binoculars stood at the center platform, his voice amplified across the entire arena.

  “We will now announce the names of those participating in today’s matches.”

  The list began — a rhythmic stream of names rolling through the crowd.

  “Melvin Poctus. Forin Tocna. Nico Gibson. Atria Venn. Keiron Hale…”

  Reid’s hands tightened around his knees as the names continued. Then—

  “Reid Corvane.”

  His heart leapt. He looked up instinctively, finding Harven’s seat among the officials. Harven was grinning proudly, giving him a small nod — the kind that said, Go show them.

  Reid’s chest swelled with both nerves and excitement.

  The examiner finished reading and raised a hand. “Those whose names have been called — please proceed to the lower level to view your matchups.”

  Reid stood and descended the spiral stairs along with dozens of other candidates. The air was thick with anticipation and adrenaline. When they reached the notice board at the base of the arena, the glowing runes began to rearrange, forming pairs of names.

  One by one, the matchups appeared. The crowd murmured as they read their fates.

  Reid pushed through the line, scanning the list until his eyes landed on his own name.

  And there it was — glowing faintly in silver light:

  Reid Corvane vs. Maxim Zodiak