Chapter 87: The Exam Begins

“Bubble tea? It looks delicious! Why have I never heard of the Academy selling something like this before?”

“Honestly, Stacie is so beautiful… breathtaking, really, like a painting you could just gaze at forever.”

“You’re wrong. Young Master Merlin is even more stunning! He’s so handsome, I think I might faint just looking at him—I’m completely in love with him.”

“Handsome? Sure… but does Young Master Merlin’s physique really live up to the hype?”

“Ha! Shallow girls—do you really only look at a man’s face?” one boy muttered sourly, glaring at the cluster of giggling first-year girls who had gathered to discuss Merlin’s looks, their cheeks flushed pink like ripe apples. His words dripped with envy, but before the grumble had even left his lips, several of the girls whipped their heads around and fixed him with sharp, venomous stares.

“And what about you, huh? Merlin isn’t just handsome—he’s strong. Look at yourself in comparison! Do you even realize that Merlin is already a Junior Magus?”

“That’s a Third-Tier Magus, you know! Do you have any idea how many second-years still haven’t reached that level?”

“You’re just jealous, admit it!”

“Merlin isn’t only good-looking. He’s brilliant too. Didn’t you hear? He scored an A+ in Alchemy class for the final exams. What about you? What was your grade in your own core subjects?”

The boy’s face turned crimson under the barrage of accusations, his pride stung raw by their relentless words. He raised his voice in frustration, blurting out, “So what?! Grades don’t mean everything. Maybe Merlin will collapse the moment he faces real combat!”

“Ugh, please. Just because you’re weak doesn’t mean you get to insult Young Master Merlin!”

“Exactly! Look at yourself—you’re just a measly Second-Tier Apprentice Magus. Oh~ so impressive!” one girl mocked with exaggerated scorn, rolling her eyes. “I thought you were someone worth mentioning, but clearly I was mistaken.”

The boy’s retort was cut short.

The ancient bell tower at the edge of the Academy suddenly tolled, its deep, resonant chimes echoing across every courtyard, hallway, and chamber. The peals of the bell rolled like thunder through the sprawling campus, signaling to all that the long-awaited examinations were about to begin.

A hush fell over the first-year students, their chatter swallowed by the weight of the moment.

From the opposite end of the arena, the second-year students—those responsible for administering the exams—marched briskly into the battleground. Every first-year’s gaze was instantly drawn to them.

The upperclassmen wore their pride openly. Emblems denoting both their year and their affiliated academies gleamed on their chests, polished until they caught the sunlight. Some carried staffs that crackled faintly with arcane energy, while others strode in gleaming armor with longswords at their hips, exuding the steady confidence of those who had already endured the trials awaiting their juniors.

With the sound of a horn, the second-years moved in formation, their boots striking the stone floor in perfect unison. The procession was solemn yet awe-inspiring, their eyes sharp, their expressions firm. They radiated the authority of true seniors, seasoned and tested, and the younger students could not help but swallow hard as the weight of expectation pressed down upon them.

The second-years, in turn, swept their gazes over the wide-eyed first-years. Nostalgia flickered in their eyes—they too had once stood trembling and untested, staring into the unknown.

Above the arena, the clouded sky began to part. Wisps of gray peeled back like curtains unveiling a stage, revealing a canvas of pure, cerulean blue. Sunlight streamed down through the gaps, flooding the stone arena floor with a warm, golden brilliance. The light seemed almost divine, as though consecrating the coming examinations.

And then—

From the distant horizon, streaks of dazzling light arced across the heavens. More than a dozen figures dove gracefully from the skies, cloaks billowing in the wind as they swept past the Academy’s towering spires and high walls. The sight drew gasps and cries of awe from the students below. Professors. The Academy’s most formidable magi, descending to oversee the trials.

They floated high above the arena, robes rippling like banners caught in an invisible current. In the sunlight, their silhouettes radiated authority, their presence monumental and almost overwhelming. The air itself seemed to thrum with power.

The students tilted their heads back, eyes wide and glittering with reverence. Awe silenced even the rowdiest of them; more than a few clutched their robes tightly, their hearts racing. For many, this was the closest they had ever been to witnessing the full might of their mentors.

Flight magic. It was said that only a Third-Tier Magus with extraordinary mastery over the wind element could lift themselves into the skies—but only for brief, faltering moments, limited by their shallow reservoirs of mana. To fly with such grace, such effortless speed, required at least the strength of a Fourth-Tier Magus.

And yet these professors soared like eagles. Their movements spoke of nothing less than Fifth-Tier Mastery.

When they reached the arena’s center, they lifted their wands and traced intricate patterns through the air. Symbols shimmered into existence, lines of glowing runes weaving together until the entire arena was divided into hundreds of distinct testing zones.

At the forefront of this awe-inspiring assembly stood the chief examiner, Olin Rachel, the Academy’s most formidable wielder of lightning magic.

He was a man who looked to be in his forties, tall and dignified, clad in a robe of deep azure. Woven into the cloth were depictions of the sky itself—rolling clouds, arcs of white lightning frozen mid-strike, and the endless firmament stretching beyond. His brown hair, streaked faintly with gray, was tied neatly with a silver arcane clasp, and his gaze… his gaze was piercing. Bright, intelligent, yet so sharp it made students instinctively lower their heads, as though they might be scorched by his very eyes.

His voice, when it rang out across the arena, was cold, commanding, and utterly inescapable.

“The rules of this examination have already been explained to you by the Vice Principal. From this moment on, the Combat Academy’s faculty will supervise every duel. The arena has been divided into hundreds of testing zones. You will enter according to the number on your examination token. Numbers 1 through 100—step forward now. Proceed to your designated area.”

His words struck like thunderbolts. Not one dared to question. First-years scrambled to check their number plates, and within moments, the first hundred surged toward their arenas.

Merlin glanced down at his token. Number 666. A wry smile tugged at his lips. With over six thousand first-years enrolled, his number wasn’t too far behind the vanguard.

Beside him, Kris flicked her own token into view—98. Merlin and his friend Fitt exchanged glances, both unable to hide the flash of envy in their eyes.

“I’ll be heading in first, then,” Kris said calmly, tightening the straps of her light armor and letting her hand rest confidently on the hilt of her sword. A flame-born warrior, a Third-Tier Fire Magic Swordswoman—one of the Academy’s most celebrated talents. Naturally, the opponent assigned to her would be no ordinary second-year.

“Good luck,” Merlin and Fitt urged, though their voices were almost lost beneath the sudden roar of excitement that surged across the arena.

The enormous crystal sphere hanging above the battleground had flared to life, projecting live images of the duels about to unfold. And the first face it displayed was none other than—

Stacie.

Merlin’s secretary. The quiet, seemingly scatterbrained girl who always lingered near his side, soft-spoken and timid. Yet in this moment, she stood alone in the arena, her slender frame bathed in the spotlight of thousands of eyes.

A ripple of anticipation spread like wildfire. Students leaned forward, craning their necks. Everyone knew the Academy had deliberately chosen this broadcast. It was no coincidence. The faculty wanted to show the stark contrast between genius and mediocrity, to ignite both admiration and despair in equal measure.

Merlin’s heart stirred. He too wanted to know. Was the girl who trailed after him, shy and gentle, truly worthy of the title whispered across the Academy—the most gifted Fairy Mage of her generation?

Stacie pressed a hand to her chest, steadying her breath. Her usual softness melted away; her expression hardened into one of quiet resolve as her gaze locked onto the opponent before her.

The girl across from her was striking. Golden hair cascaded like molten sunlight, braided into a complex updo and fastened with jeweled pins that shimmered with every movement. She stood tall and proud, wrapped in a dark crimson cloak, her Academy uniform tailored perfectly to her elegant frame. Boys in the crowd practically drooled, unable to look away.

Her face was flawless—like marble shaped by the hand of a master sculptor. Skin as pale as porcelain, features refined and harmonious. Even Stacie, whose own beauty was widely admired, could only hold her ground as an equal.

But it was the woman’s eyes that seized attention most. Fiery red, rare and startling, smoldering with suppressed heat. Though her gaze was calm, the promise of a hidden inferno lurked beneath the surface, as though at any moment the flames might burst forth and consume all before her.

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