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Chapter 13 - THE SECOND DAY — STEEL AND SILENCE

AUTHOR'S NOTE.

Hello guys, your author is here. I know it was a short hiatus but we are back as promised and Thank you for waiting and for continuing this journey with us. The future chapters are all discussed and set.

Without further ado, read our chapter 13 and enjoy

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Steel rang across the training grounds.

The sound was sharp, clean, and unforgiving, echoing off the stone walls that enclosed the Royal Academy's outer field. Dust lifted from the packed earth as two wooden blades collided, the impact vibrating through the air with a dull crack.

A young man staggered back, boots scraping hard as he barely kept his footing. His grip tightened instinctively, shoulders stiff, breathing uneven.

The instructor did not advance.

He lowered his blade.

"That will be enough," the man said, voice calm and level.

The candidate froze mid-breath.

"You relied on force," the instructor continued. "When it failed, your stance collapsed."

The young man swallowed, eyes darting once toward the watching crowd before dropping to the ground.

"Dismissed."

A short bell rang.

The candidate bowed quickly and left the field, face tight, shoulders drawn inward. No laughter followed him. No ridicule. Failure here was quiet—and absolute.

Cain stood among the remaining applicants, robe shifting lightly in the morning wind. His gaze never lingered on the dismissed man. It returned instead to the instructors, to the rhythm of the test, to the shape of what was being judged.

This was the second day of the Royal Academy entrance examination.

And unlike the previous day's mana stability test, this one made no attempt to be gentle.

The wide training grounds had been divided into several lanes, each overseen by an academy examiner. The instructors moved with measured confidence, their expressions unchanged whether they faced hesitation or aggression. Applicants stepped forward one by one, wooden blades in hand, their futures decided in seconds.

Cain adjusted his stance subtly, weight settling evenly across his feet.

Most failed the same way.

They rushed.

They overcommitted.

They tried to prove something.

Steel clashed again.

Another candidate lunged forward with a shout, blade swinging in a wide arc meant to overwhelm. The instructor stepped inside the strike without effort, tapped the man's wrist, and twisted. The wooden sword slipped free and struck the ground.

"Dismissed."

No anger.

No explanation.

Only fact.

Cain felt no tension rise in his chest. Only clarity.

This was not a duel.

It was a measure.

The applicants were called at random

A ripple moved through the applicants as the next name was called.

"Next applicant. Liora Valcreast."

The effect was immediate.

Whispers sparked low and fast across the stands, careful but charged.

Liora stepped forward without haste.

Her posture was straight, her movements controlled, every step measured. She bowed once to the examiner—not stiffly, not casually—then raised her blade.

They moved.

Not fast.

Clean.

The instructor tested her with a probing strike. She deflected smoothly, redirecting the force instead of resisting it. A second exchange followed, then a third. Her footwork was precise, her breathing steady.

She didn't rush.

She didn't hesitate.

When the instructor feinted high, she didn't bite. She adjusted her stance, slipped just inside his range, and tapped his shoulder cleanly with the flat of her blade.

The bell rang.

The instructor stepped back and nodded once.

"Passed."

That was all.

The murmurs swelled briefly, then settled. Liora bowed again and left the field, expression unchanged, eyes forward. She did not look at the remaining applicants.

Cain watched her only as long as the test required.

Then his attention returned to the field.

The evaluation continued.

Some applicants scraped by with effort, barely maintaining balance under pressure. Others broke almost immediately, nerves unraveling before steel even met. The instructors never raised their voices. Correction came in silence, dismissal in a bell.

Cain waited.

When his number was finally called, there was no fanfare.

"Next applicant . Cain Arkwright."

He stepped forward.

The ground felt firm beneath his boots. The practice sword rested naturally in his hand—balanced, familiar. He bowed once to the instructor and took his stance.

The examiner studied him for a moment longer than most.

Then they began.

The instructor struck first—not with aggression, but intent. Cain met the blow with a clean deflection, blade angle precise, wrists loose. He did not counter.

Pressure followed.

Cain yielded ground without retreating, adjusting step by step, maintaining distance. Their blades met again and again—controlled taps, measured force, no wasted motion.

The field grew quieter.

Cain's expression remained unchanged.

The instructor increased speed. Cain adapted.

The angle shifted. Cain shifted with it.

He did not chase openings.

He waited.

Then—an instant.

The instructor overextended by a fraction.

Cain moved.

One step in.

A short rotation of the wrist.

A controlled strike that slipped past defense and stopped a breath from the instructor's chest.

The bell rang.

For a moment, no one spoke.

The instructor looked down at the halted blade, then back at Cain. His eyes narrowed slightly—not in suspicion, but assessment.

"Passed," he said.

Cain lowered his sword, bowed once, and left the field.

No applause followed him.

No cheers.

But something had changed.

Applicants stood a little straighter. A few instructors watched him longer than necessary. Conversations didn't resume immediately.

It wasn't excitement.

It was attention.

Cain returned to his place in line, gaze forward, breathing steady. He neither sought nor avoided the looks that followed.

Beyond the training grounds, banners stirred lightly in the breeze. The academy stood as it always had—silent, imposing, unmoved.

The test was over.

But the stillness that followed felt heavier than noise.

And somewhere within that silence, a question lingered—unspoken, but shared.

Who is he?

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JOIN THE PACK

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Discord: the link is in the author's note

guys this is the author speaking, we are looking for artists to draw our manwah after the end of season 1 if you know, anyone please recommend them this novel or if you are one, pls join our official discord server to talk to me.

thankyou

Nikhilraj

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