As Isaac and Karma stepped into the grand auditorium, they quickly spotted two open seats near the front—unfortunately, right next to June and Mars.

  June glanced over, sighing with mock exasperation. “Oh great. You two again.”

  Karma grinned beneath his mask, sliding into the seat with easy charm. “What a delightful coincidence. I’m Karma, by the way. Nice to meet you—formally this time.”

  Isaac said nothing, his eyes already fixed on the stage ahead.

  Karma nudged him. “Don’t mind him. He’s been a moody bastard for all seven years I’ve known him.”

  Isaac shot him a cold glare. “Says the walking scam artist.”

  “You two are an odd pair,” Mars remarked, tilting his head curiously. “Are you siblings?”

  The question made Isaac visibly flinch, his expression momentarily darkening. Karma caught it and answered smoothly.

  “Thankfully, no. Just survivors of the same orphanage. He’s been my best friend since we were kids.”

  Isaac muttered, “I’m your only friend.”

  June gave a half-smile. “I’m June. This is Mars. We’re from Camelot, in the heart of álfheimr.”

  Karma raised an eyebrow. “Sounds fancy. Can’t say I know much about the world. Orphanage life wasn’t exactly big on geography, mainly just combat training.”

  They exchanged a few more remarks—barbed, teasing, but increasingly warm. The tension began to ease… until a sudden shift in the air silenced the room.

  A figure materialized on stage, clad in a tailored black suit and an extravagant top hat with two unsettling, eyeball-like ornaments perched on the brim. Isaac’s eyes narrowed in recognition—it was him. The man from the massacre. The man who saved him.

  “Ahem. Quiet down, everyone,” the figure said, voice smooth and rich.

  The students ignored him.

  Then, without warning, the atmosphere thickened. Mana surged through the auditorium like invisible gravity, crushing every word, every breath. In an instant, the crowd fell silent under the weight of sheer presence.

  “Much better,” the man said with a calm smile. “I am Ashe, headmaster of Aegis Academy.”

  He scanned the room with a piercing gaze that seemed to strip away every pretense, every mask.

  “You’re here to become heroes—or the tools that help shape one. That’s your choice. But before we begin, remember this academy’s creed.”

  His voice rose, deep with conviction.

  “Sharpen thy claws to the best of your ability.

  If your claws are weak, sharpen your mind.

  If your mind is weak, sharpen your fangs.

  Find your strength—hone it. Only then will you stand among legends.”

  A murmur swept the crowd as his words settled like stone.

  Ashe continued, tone shifting into cool command. “Now, the entrance exam. It’s simple: a battle royale. You’ll each be scattered across the forest surrounding the academy. Engage how you wish—combat, evasion, ambush. Should you suffer a fatal blow, an emergency teleport will extract you and heal you. No one will die… probably.”

  His smile sharpened.

  “The exam ends when only ten remain.”

  A wave of shock rippled through the crowd, but Ashe raised a hand, and his pressure silenced them again.

  “Survival isn’t the only way to pass,” he added. “I’ll be watching for more than victory. Tactics. Creativity. Resolve. Whether you go down in the first minute or last an hour, prove yourself—and you may earn a place here.”

  He paused… then grinned.

  “There is one final twist. Hidden somewhere in the forest is a sentinel—a professor. He’ll awaken if provoked, operating at only ten percent of his power… but in his soul-release state. If you see a knight in black armor, pray. No student has ever defeated him. But should you succeed… the exam ends, and everyone remaining will pass.”

  The silence afterward was thunderous.

  “Let the exam begin,” Ashe said, snapping his fingers.

  A burst of emerald light erupted beneath every student, swirling around them.

  As the light enveloped them, Karma turned to Isaac with a lazy salute. “Stay alive, ‘Fyodor’.”

  “I will,” Isaac replied, voice low, eyes smoldering. “I’m going after the sentinel.”

  Karma blinked, then laughed. “You crazy bastard.”

  June gave a wry smile as she vanished in the glow. “Let’s all meet at the top, yeah?”

  And then the world blinked.

  Isaac landed in a vast, shadow-drenched forest, the scent of earth heavy in the air. In the distance, something howled.

  The exam had begun.

  A moment of silence broke when a rustle behind Isaac revealed an unprepared student stumbling into his path. With deadly precision, Isaac extended his index finger. A small magic circle flared to life on its tip as he fired off a ghoul’s finger aimed at the student’s head. But just as it was about to connect, the student vanished in a burst of light, teleported back to the auditorium.

  A booming, disembodied voice echoed through the forest: “First blood has been claimed.”

  Isaac lowered himself onto a nearby tree stump, his gaze steely as he reached for the long zipper embedded in his arm. He unzipped it, and his blood spilled into the air. Instead of dripping down, the crimson liquid hovered, coalescing into a spinning arrow pointed westward. A rare smile broke Isaac’s stoic expression as he murmured, “Perfect. My blood link worked. Karma’s not far—once we regroup, this exam will be ours.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Elsewhere in the dense forest, Karma stood amid a wary circle of nine students. With casual nonchalance, he pulled a small vial from his pocket. Inside, a solitary droplet of Isaac’s blood shivered, as if yearning to return to its source.

  A tall, scarred student with a confident smirk stepped forward. “Hey, masked guy—we’re forming an alliance. Power in numbers and all that. Join us, and we’ll all make the final ten. What do you say?”

  Karma narrowed his eyes beneath his mask. After a brief pause, he laughed half-heartedly. “Sorry, but I’ve already got a partner—and he’s a bit possessive.”

  The student’s smile faded. “Then you’re a loose end we can’t afford.” He signaled his group, and they began closing in.

  With a low, playful chuckle, Karma raised his hand and whispered, “Awaken, high-class fire spirit, Salamander.” In an instant, a torrent of purple flames erupted around him, swirling outward with near-sentient fury. Within seconds, the encroaching students were engulfed and teleported back to the auditorium amid their startled screams.

  As the flames subsided, a small creature appeared, drifting lazily atop Karma’s head—a miniature dragon with ruby-red scales, tiny black horns, and wings too small to lift it. The creature purred softly, settling comfortably.

  “Welcome back, Sally,” Karma said, reaching up to scratch under its chin. “With you around, this exam’s a walk in the park. I doubt these amateurs even stand a chance.”

  Karma then rolled up his sleeve to reveal an intricate tattoo on his forearm—a series of concentric circles intersected by four lines and centered on a single, piercing eye that glowed faintly as he stroked the creature’s scales.

  With a mischievous grin, he commanded, “Awaken, low-class fire spirits, Embers! Scout the forest, and if you find anyone…” He paused, snapping his fingers, “explode on sight.”

  At his signal, dozens of tiny fireballs burst into existence around him. Each one sported a comical, wide-eyed grin as they bobbed through the air, flickering with mischievous energy—a chaotic but effective patrol against any approaching threat.

  Deeper in the forest, Isaac prowled through dense foliage, his eyes scanning for any sign of movement. Suddenly, he paused—a boy lay asleep beneath a tree, looking utterly out of place in this brutal arena. The boy’s messy green hair fell over his face, and he wore a worn black hoodie over pajama pants and slippers. Clutched in his arms was a small white kitten plush, tucked under a blanket.

  Isaac narrowed his eyes and formed a large ghoul’s fist using one of his magic circles. With lethal precision, he thrust the rotting fist downward—but it shattered against an invisible barrier with a resounding splat. The barrier shimmered briefly in the sunlight before fading away.

  “What the…? How strong is that?” Isaac muttered, his gaze hardening as he studied the sleeping stranger. Something about the boy seemed unsettlingly calm.

  The boy stirred. His purple eyes opened sleepily as he yawned. “Excuse me,” he mumbled, barely awake. “I’m trying to sleep here. Not really in the mood for a fight—so could you move along?”

  Isaac arched an eyebrow. “You do realize this is a battle royale, right? People are fighting for their lives, and you’re... napping?”

  The boy stretched, shifting his plush aside. “Yeah, but I’m the strongest one here,” he said casually, his voice barely above a murmur. “Why should I worry?”

  Isaac blinked, surprised by the boy’s nonchalance. “You’re an odd one,” he admitted, lowering his energy fist. “What’s your name?”

  “Kel,” the boy mumbled, eyelids drooping once more. “My dad… works here… as the…” And then, with a heavy sigh, Kel drifted back to sleep, leaving Isaac with a bemused frown.

  Resuming his sprint through the forest, Isaac navigated over gnarled roots and ducked under low-hanging branches. His foot suddenly splashed into a shallow puddle. As he stepped back, the water rippled and transformed into a shimmering, purplish hue. The liquid coalesced into the upper torso of a young woman, her flowing hair made of water, and a petulant expression briefly crossing her featureless face.

  “Ugh, how rude! Just because my disguise was flawless doesn’t mean you have to step on me,” she grumbled before melting back into an unremarkable puddle.

  Shaking his head at the absurdity, Isaac pressed onward until he spotted a figure bathed in soft shafts of light. Standing under the canopy was a girl with cascading light blue hair and elegant white draconic horns that arched gracefully upward—so different from the rugged horns of the Fafnir family. Tucked in one horn was a delicate crimson rose. She wore a flowing crimson dress that fluttered in the breeze, and her golden draconic eyes widened in shock and recognition as they met his.

  Isaac froze, breath catching as old memories surged forth. “Lyra?” he whispered, his voice unsteady and soft with nostalgia.

  “Do you know me?” Lyra asked, curiosity tinting her tone.

  “I’m sorry—I don’t know you at all” Isaac muttered, averting his gaze, his voice hollow.

  Lyra’s golden eyes narrowed in disbelief. “But you said my name. Care to explain?”

  Isaac offered a nervous laugh. “I muttered ‘liar’—a student told me this area was empty, but I guess they lied.”

  Lyra’s expression shifted to a calm resolve. “Well, I’m sorry, but I must eliminate you. No hard feelings.” With that, she raised her hands, channeling energy through her veins. “Ability—Heavenly Rain!”

  A crack split the sky as a bolt of lightning seared down, blinding Isaac for a split second. He barely sidestepped, feeling the charge zap past him and leave a smoking crater where he’d stood.

  Gasping for breath, Isaac blurted, “Wait—let’s team up. We could be allies.”

  Lyra smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief. “You don’t seem to have much stamina. If I’m picking an ally, I need someone who can handle close combat.”

  Isaac’s panic showed through his voice. “You need a healer, right? I’m pretty good at closing wounds and doing blood transfusions.”

  A slow smile crept over Lyra’s face. “Then you have a deal. Healers are always useful.”

  “Thank you, you’re scary,” Isaac chuckled, still catching his breath.

  “So, do you have a name?” Lyra asked, her tone gentle yet curious.

  “Fyodor. No last name—I grew up in an orphanage,” Isaac replied, his heart pounding.

  “Fyodor?” Lyra echoed with a soft laugh. “It’s funny—my fiancé’s favorite book featured a protagonist by that very name. It brings back memories.”

  Isaac’s brow furrowed. “I was also named after that character. So, what’s your fiancé’s name?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

  “Isaac Fafnir. We were never officially engaged, but it was a guaranteed outcome—until he died,” Lyra said, tears welling in her golden eyes.

  Isaac’s voice softened. “I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. Now, let’s get going—I’ll do my best to defend you, healer,” she replied, rubbing her eyes.

  “Do you think we could track down my friend? I’ve got a tracker on him, he’s incredibly skilled and will help us quite a lot,” Isaac inquired, his tone mixing urgency and hope.

  Lyra’s gaze warmed. “Sure, let’s go,” she agreed, inexplicably drawn to ‘Fyodor.’

  “Follow me—I’ll lead the way,” Isaac said, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he met her eyes.

  Meanwhile, deep in the forest, a massive stone castle loomed, its shadow stretching ominously over the tangled trees as if daring intruders to approach. Ancient walls, choked by thick vines and etched with pulsating, dark runes, whispered secrets of a forgotten age. A lone student, desperate to escape the chaos of the exam, slipped inside, believing he’d found sanctuary.

  “This place should be empty. No one will think to search here,” he whispered, relief easing his tense posture as he ventured deeper.

  His footsteps echoed in a grand, deserted hall that led to a vast throne room. At the room’s center, a solitary figure sat—a knight clad in armor as black as midnight. His presence swallowed the light, casting long, jagged shadows. The knight’s helmet was imposing, with twisted ram horns curving from its sides, lending him a monstrous air. His right arm was fused with a massive spear, its deadly blade gleaming faintly in the dim light.

  The student’s heart pounded in terror as he realized the gravity of his mistake. This was no ordinary knight—this was the Sentinel.

  “How… unfortunate,” the Sentinel drawled, his voice calm yet chilling. “Not even ten percent of the students have been eliminated, and yet here you are, awakening me.”

  Panic seized the boy. He stumbled back and spun around in a desperate bid to flee. But before he could cross the threshold, a spear of dark energy erupted from the ground, piercing him. In an instant, he vanished, teleported back to the auditorium, his scream echoing ghostlike in the empty castle halls.

  Slowly, the Sentinel rose from his throne. His spear-arm glinted as he stretched, as if emerging from a long, fitful slumber. With a low, almost hungry chuckle, he murmured, “Let the hunt begin.”