Entrance exam
Dungeon center
First floor, Lower level
16th May 385 Post Global Unification
Eren sat in the orphanage backyard beneath the dull, overcast sun of Pele City, legs crossed, hands resting on his knees. The city air was heavy and warm, carrying the distant noise of traffic and voices he barely registered. Mother Ruth stood a few steps away, arms folded, watching him closely.
"It's not a spell," she said for what felt like the tenth time. "So stop trying to cast it."
Eren opened his eyes with a frustrated sigh. "Then what am I supposed to do?"
Mother Ruth crouched in front of him and tapped two fingers against his chest, right over his sternum.
"Simple Magic," she said calmly, "is the most basic form of magical usage there is. No incantations. No arrays. No spell formulas. You're not shaping anima into an external effect."
She straightened slightly.
"You're circulating it."
Eren frowned. "That's it?"
"That's everything," she corrected. "Simple Magic is the direct circulation of anima through your spirit circuits. You guide it through your body the same way blood flows through your veins."
She gestured to his arms and legs. "It relies on instinct, flow control, and physical conditioning. Not thought-based spell shaping."
Eren closed his eyes again, replaying her words.
Instinct.
Flow.
Body first—mind second.
"Most mages skip mastering it," Mother Ruth continued. "Learning only the basic flow control. They rush straight into spells because they're flashy and measurable. But spells are scaffolding. Simple Magic is the foundation."
She placed a hand lightly on his shoulder.
"If your flow is unstable, every spell you cast will be unstable. If your circulation is inefficient, you'll waste anima every time you move. And if your body can't handle the strain, you'll burn out before you ever reach real power."
That part, at least, made sense. Eren focused inward—not trying to force anything out, not imagining light or symbols. He followed the faint warmth within his core, tracing how it naturally moved through his chest, his arms, his legs. At first, nothing changed. Then—subtly—the sensation shifted. The anima responded, loosening slightly, like a muscle relaxing under the right pressure. It flowed—not outward, but around him, threading through his spirit circuits in slow, uneven pulses. Eren's breathing steadied.
"There," Mother Ruth said quietly. "Don't grab it. Don't squeeze it. Let it move."
Sweat beaded on Eren's forehead as the circulation continued. His muscles grew warm, his heartbeat heavy but controlled. It wasn't power—at least, not the explosive kind he'd felt before. It was endurance. Control. Understanding dawned. Through this training with Mother Ruth, Eren had realized something deeply unsettling. His martial arts—once a source of pride—were flawed.
Now that he could consciously circulate anima through his spirit circuits, his perception of combat had sharpened in ways he hadn't expected. Every movement felt exposed under scrutiny. He could see inefficiencies everywhere: wasted steps, excess force, poor transitions between strikes. His power output was erratic, spiking when it shouldn't and draining his stamina far faster than necessary.
He had been strong. But he hadn't been efficient. Even his Fa Jin—the explosive martial method he had developed on his own—was incomplete. He could feel it now, a missing layer he hadn't been able to articulate before. Fa Jin wasn't just about releasing power at the moment of impact. It was about how that power was built. And that missing layer was tied directly to his innate ability.
Physical Enhancement.
The name sounded simple. Almost insulting. But Eren knew better. It wasn't merely about hitting harder or running faster. His ability allowed him to stack reinforcement—to strengthen every aspect of himself simultaneously. Strength. Speed. Durability. Reaction time. Even the efficiency with which anima moved through his body. Used correctly, it allowed him to temporarily elevate himself beyond his actual cultivation rank. That alone made it terrifying.
But potential without structure was useless. Eren lacked formal training in advanced magic theory, refined battle styles, and orthodox cultivation paths. He didn't know the frameworks others relied on to grow safely and consistently. That was why Mother Ruth had started him here.
With Simple Magic. It was the foundation—nothing more, nothing less. By mastering direct anima circulation, he could learn how power truly flowed through his body. Where it leaked. Where it stagnated. Where it surged uncontrollably. Only then could he rebuild.
He wouldn't simply refine his fighting style. He would dismantle it and reconstruct it from the ground up—reworking every stance, every strike, every burst of movement to align with his anima flow and his Ability Factor. Martial technique and magic wouldn't be separate disciplines anymore. They would become one. As for his grimoire, it would come later. Spells, personalized techniques, and structured anima arts would develop in time, shaped by the foundation he was laying now.
"That's your first step. Do that every day. Walking. Training. Fighting. Until your body does it without you thinking." Mother Ruth said as she smiled faintly. "Once Simple Magic becomes instinct, everything else—your martial arts, your abilities, even spells—will finally have something solid to stand on."
Eren looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers as residual warmth lingered beneath his skin. For the first time since waking from the coma, he didn't feel rushed. He felt grounded. And that, somehow, felt far more dangerous than raw power.
~
"Ahh… that's it."
Eren exhaled softly, eyes alight as he felt his Ability Factor respond once more. A familiar warmth bloomed in his chest—steady, contained—like a hearth igniting within him. Not a flare. Not an explosion. A controlled engine, circulating heat and strength through his body in a smooth, deliberate rhythm. He held onto that sensation, guiding it instead of forcing it.
"Eren, are you okay?"
Ina stepped out through the back door, a tray of lemonade balanced in her hands. The sound of her voice pulled Eren back to the surface. He smiled and accepted the glass she offered. During the chaos of the roach Maleficiant's attack, the sisters had managed to usher everyone into the basement—an old, warded shelter reinforced against external threats. Knowing they'd been safe still eased the tightness in his chest. He didn't want to think about what might have happened otherwise.
"How's the training going?" Ina asked.
Since that day, the truth of Eren's awakening had spread through the orphanage. His foster siblings looked at him with open admiration now—something he still wasn't used to.
"It's good," Eren said, taking a long drink. "It's… coming together."
Ina smiled, satisfied, and headed back inside.
Eren returned to the yard and settled into position. He planted his feet firmly against the ground, stretching his right arm forward while drawing his left back. His shoulders loosened. His posture aligned. He inhaled slowly, expanding his lungs until his chest felt full, then held the breath for a count of seven.
Then he released it. Again. And again. Until his breathing became the only thing he was aware of. As his focus deepened, Eren's internal senses awakened. He felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat synchronize with his breath. His awareness traced his muscles, tendons, and bones—not as concepts, but as living structures responding to the flow within him.
Then deeper.
He perceived his circulatory system, blood moving in measured pulses—and woven alongside it, the faint but growing network of spirit circuits. They clung to his vessels like luminous threads, channels designed to carry anima throughout his body. They were still incomplete, still forming—but alive. Eren understood instinctively.
The more he cultivated, the more spirit circuits his body would develop. The stronger and denser those circuits became, the more power he could circulate—safely, efficiently, and without waste. He steadied his breathing and guided the warmth forward once more. Not rushing. Not forcing. Just letting it flow. And for the first time, it listened. Eren shifted his attention to his right hand.
The obsidian ring rested there, inert and unassuming—no different from a mundane accessory to anyone else. But Eren knew better. He could feel it now, faintly resonating with the anima circulating through his spirit circuits, responding not to command but to alignment. Mother Ruth's words echoed in his mind.
Don't cast. Don't force. Let the flow reach it.
Eren inhaled. He guided the warmth from his core down his shoulder, along his arm, threading anima through the forming spirit circuits with care. He didn't rush it. He didn't imagine shapes or armor or power. He simply let the flow arrive. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the ring answered. A subtle vibration pulsed against his finger, followed by a cool, heavy sensation spreading across the back of his hand. Blue light bled outward, not exploding, but unfolding, like liquid shadow hardening into form.
Plates of obsidian-blue energy slid over his knuckles and forearm, locking together with muted clicks. The gauntlet manifested in layers of spectral energy—dense, angular, with the flow of anima that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Eren's breath caught.
"Yes…!"
The weight was immense—but balanced. Not dragging him down, not tearing at his circuits. The gauntlet felt like an extension of his arm, not a foreign object imposed upon it. He flexed his fingers. The air distorted slightly around his fist.
Then—
The flow stuttered. A sharp jolt of feedback surged up his arm, and the gauntlet flickered violently before shattering into fragments of light that dissolved into nothing. Eren stumbled back a step, hissing as residual heat burned through his muscles.
"Tch—damn it."
He shook his arm, breathing hard. So that was the problem. He could manifest it—but he couldn't sustain it. Eren closed his eyes again and replayed the sensation. The gauntlet hadn't failed because of a lack of power. If anything, he'd fed it too much, too quickly. The anima density had spiked beyond what his circuits could stabilize. He had overdone it.
Dump power. Force result.
Simple Magic didn't work that way. He reset his stance and slowed his breathing. This time, when he guided anima into his arm, he throttled it—reducing the flow, smoothing it, keeping the circulation even. He focused on maintaining rhythm rather than output. The ring stirred again. Blue light spread more slowly this time, forming the gauntlet in deliberate stages. It stopped halfway up his forearm, thinner, less ornate—but just then, the flow increased again, the amount of world energy entering his spirit core and converting and channeling anima into his circuit was more than he could handle. Another sharp jolt of pain surged through his arm as the gauntlet exploded into a sharpnel of blue shards, the force sending Eren flying across the yard.
~
You showed up again.
What exactly are you?
I would devour you, little trinket, but for now, it seems the boy needs you. But bear this in mind—that body is not yours. Keep it warm for me while I sleep for a while. And when the time comes… hehehe!
Eren opened his eyes, expecting to see the pearly gates of heaven, but instead he was staring at the rotating ceiling fan of what appeared to be a hospital room. He immediately checked his chest to see if there was a hole there, but it was intact. He was still dressed in the uniform he had worn for the exam.
Fuck. The exam.
He got up from the bed and looked around. The Hunter had gotten in his way, and now there was no telling if he was out of time. He checked his wrist—but the wristband was gone.
"The exam is over," someone said from one of the nearby hospital beds.
Eren turned toward the voice and was surprised to see another girl. This one was different. She wore combat gear, and her black hair was cut short, unlike the Hunter's silver hair. She looked about the same age as him. Her curved eyes weren't on him but on the device resting in her arms. It looked like a monitor screen with a keyboard attached.
Eren noticed her slightly pointed ears and the golden hue of her skin, signs of mixed blood. The shape of her ears told him she had Lightfolk blood, though they weren't as long or sharply pointed as the annoying ones he'd seen before.
"How can it be over?" Eren asked.
"It's been over for a while now," the girl replied.
Eren took in her gear again, and it dawned on him that she might be an Adventurer. He decided not to use his internal senses on her—doing so was considered rude among Mages.
"You talk in your sleep," she added.
"Are we still in the Dungeon?" Eren asked, ignoring her last comment.
"Pretty much," she said. "You were knocked out for quite a while. Some girl dropped you off, and a guy came to see you."
Fuck. He had missed it all. There was no doubt about it. He had failed.
"Damn it," Eren muttered as he lay back on the bed, the weight of it finally settling in.
"What's wrong?" the girl asked. Surely she wasn't having a worse day than him.
"I failed," Eren said. "I failed my exam."
"Is that so?" The girl stood up and walked over to him, putting away her tablet. Up close, Eren could tell she was quite pretty. "You look sick," she said.
Indeed, Eren felt sick to his stomach. His dreams—his goals—they were all gone. Gone because of some stupid bitch—
The door to the room opened. Walking in was none other than the Hunter.
"She's back," the Lightfolk girl muttered.
She didn't raise her voice, but her fingers tightened around her device before she walked off. She put several careful steps between herself and the Hunter, then gave a shallow bow—precise, practiced—before slipping out of the room and pulling the door shut behind her.
The click echoed. Silence settled. Eren's jaw clenched. Heat crawled up his spine, his heartbeat thudding harder with each second she remained standing there. The room felt smaller. Tighter. His fingers twitched against the sheets, muscles coiling on instinct.
"That's some killing intent you've got there," Rey said mildly.
Eren's head snapped up. "If it wasn't for you, I would've passed the test."
Her brow lifted a fraction. "Who said you failed?"
Eren hesitated. The words caught in his throat. "I—I obviously didn't meet the requirements."
Rey studied him for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly. "You don't remember," she said. It wasn't a question. "Of course you don't."
"Remember what?" Eren snapped. He shifted, anger sharpening his voice. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but trying to kill a civilian for no reason—"
"Kill you?" Rey interrupted.
Eren's hand pressed flat against his chest. The phantom sensation made his stomach turn. "You shoved your fist through my chest."
Lightning. Cold. Pressure. The certainty of death.
Rey's gaze didn't waver. "If I wanted you dead," she said evenly, "you wouldn't be here."
Eren swallowed. "…Then what happened?"
She took a step closer.
"I confirmed my suspicion," Rey said.
"About what?"
"You," she replied. "I watched your fight with the Basilisk."
Eren stiffened.
"You didn't just kill it," she continued. "You devoured it." Her eyes sharpened. "The way its essence vanished. The way your anima swallowed it whole."
She tilted her head. "It resembled a curse technique."
Eren's breath caught.
"That kind of complexity," Rey went on, "isn't something a normal Mage possesses. Only an Asetian should be capable of it."
The word hit like a blade.
"Are you saying I'm an Asetian?" Eren demanded. His pulse roared in his ears. Devils. Enemies of magekind. The reason cities had burned centuries ago. An accusation like that didn't end in trials—it ended in executions.
Rey shook her head. "No."
The tension didn't ease.
"If you were," she added calmly, "I would've tried harder to kill you."
Eren stared at her.
"This is insane," he muttered. He swung his legs off the bed and planted his feet on the floor, fully facing her now. "I don't care what you think you saw. I want out of here."
He didn't want answers from her. He wanted distance.
"I don't know what Alastor was doing," Rey said, "undoing the seal on you."
Eren froze. She said it casually—like stating the weather. Like she already knew. Mother Ruth's warning echoed in his mind. Hide it. Never let Hunters know. Yet this one stood in front of him, eyes sharp, voice steady—speaking as though the truth had been obvious all along. An Irregular. And whatever Alastor had done to him… Rey knew.
"He did what a Hunter was supposed to do," Eren said flatly. His jaw set as he spoke, unwilling to let even the slightest doubt touch Alastor's actions. "He saved lives."
The Hunter's lips curved into a faint smile. She had been thinking the same thing. She knew Alastor, after all. He had been her Master.
"After I finished scanning you," Rey said, "I brought you to the Guild building gate once you fainted." She paused, watching his reaction. " No one saw me drop you off. So who knows—maybe the Basilisk anima core and the kobolds' anima cores will be enough to earn you a passing score."
Eren's mouth opened.
"But—"
"What's the but for?" Rey cut in. "You got what you wanted, didn't you?"
Eren looked away. Not like this. If she was telling the truth, then he had spent most of the exam unconscious. He hadn't fought. Hadn't struggled. Hadn't pushed himself to the limit. All he remembered clearly was being overwhelmed—how effortlessly the Hunter in front of him had crushed him. Confusion churned in his chest. Why had she attacked him? Why had she interfered? And how exactly was she connected to Alastor?
"You knew my Master," Rey said quietly. "Alastor Kinsway."
"Not for long," Eren replied, bitterness edging into his voice. "I met him for one night." He hesitated, then continued. "He was protecting me from a Maleficant. That was the same night I fully awakened."
Rey's gaze sharpened.
"What happened to him after he undid the seal on you?"
Eren's eyes dropped to the obsidian ring on his finger. Somehow, it had returned to him—even after she had stopped his attack as though it were nothing. The reminder of the gap between them made his chest feel tight. He looked back up at her, finally acknowledging what he'd avoided since waking. She was far stronger than him. So strong that he hadn't even been able to sense her rank—proof that she stood well above him in the cultivation hierarchy.
"I don't know," Eren said quietly. "I was out for weeks."
The question lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken.
Then he voiced it anyway.
"Do you think he's… dead?"
"Tsk. Of course not," she snapped.
The glare she leveled at him was sharp enough to cut. There was nothing restrained about it, and the way she said it—like the idea itself offended her—set Eren's teeth on edge.
"I've answered your question," Eren shot back, pushing himself off the bed. "So answer mine. Who are you, and why did you try to scan me?"
His body still felt sore, but the questions burning in his head pushed past it. That night, there were still too many holes. Too many things he didn't understand. And whether he liked it or not, this Hunter clearly knew more than she was letting on.
"I'm Reyna Greyron," she said.
She pulled out an identification card and held it up just long enough for him to read it.
Hunter Division Five.
Vice-Captain, Squad One.
Eren blinked.
"That's… impressive," he admitted. She looked barely older than him, yet she was already a Hunter—and a vice-captain. Division Five, no less. The very division he'd dreamed of joining someday.
"And Alastor was a Kinsway—"
"What about it?" Rey cut in.
"That means he was part of the Six Great Families," Eren said. The weight of it settled in all at once. Two members of the Great Families—back to back—crashing into his life. That single night had overturned everything. "I've never met anyone from a Great Family before. But he was… noble."
"We don't know if he's dead," Rey said flatly. "That's why I'm here. I'm looking for him." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "So stop talking about him in the past."
Eren scoffed. "Then maybe look for him somewhere else instead of attacking innocent civilians. I don't know what kind of Hunter you are, but—"
"Innocent?" Rey echoed, a dry laugh slipping out. "You're not exactly innocent of everything, are you?"
Eren stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"You're an Irregular," she said without hesitation. "And I'm certain that Maleficant was after you." Her gaze didn't waver. "So technically, you're responsible for what happened."
The words landed cold and heavy.
Eren winced.
This bitch really has no manners, he thought bitterly.
"What does me being an Irregular have to do with it?" he snapped. "Do you even know why it was after me? Did Mr. Kinsway leave anything behind—any clue?"
"All you need to know," Rey said calmly, "is that your weakness nearly got the people close to you killed."
Eren's fist clenched. Images of the orphanage flashed through his mind—warm meals, laughter, familiar voices. It was the only home he had ever known. A place that had shielded him from the worst of the world. And in return, all he had ever wanted was to protect it. That was why he had chased strength so desperately. Why he had trained his body to the brink of collapse over and over again.
And still—
It hadn't been enough. Yes, he had awakened something powerful. Something dangerous. But standing here now, facing this Hunter, Eren understood the truth with painful clarity. He was still at the bottom. And this encounter had made sure he wouldn't forget it.
"You're right," Eren said quietly. "I am weak."
The admission tasted bitter, but he didn't look away.
"That means it's my fault my family nearly died. If Mr. Kinsway hadn't shown up when he did… I don't know what would've happened to them. Or to me." His voice steadied, resolve slipping in beneath the anger. "That's why I have to become strong. Why I have to go to Namer University."
The words left him before he fully realized he was saying them. Eren stopped, surprised at himself. He didn't know why he was laying his heart bare in front of this Hunter—someone who had nearly killed him. Rey turned away without answering. She faced the wide windows overlooking the courtyard. A bright light hung in the sky—too perfect to tell whether it was a real sun or an artificial one. Below, patients and visitors filled the open space. Some sat at tables playing cards and laughing. Others gathered in a small reading circle off to the side.
Safe. Calm. Ordinary.
Eren felt none of it. His thoughts were a storm, crashing into one another with no clear direction. He stepped away from her, needing distance. His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. Not much time had passed. Still the same day. Good. He reached the door, paused, then turned back.
"Thank you," Eren said. "For bringing me back."
He didn't wait for a response.
The door closed behind him.
Rey remained where she was.
Her thoughts drifted back to the moment her fist had pierced his chest—back to the instant the world itself had reacted.
The air had screamed.
World energy had surged, not away from the boy, but toward him. A presence had unfurled from Eren in that instant—cold, vast, and dangerous in a way she had never felt before. Her hand trembled as she remembered it. That was the moment she knew.
He was an Irregular.
If Rey had followed her instincts, she would have killed him then and there. To her, Irregulars were aberrations—errors that defied the standards set by the World's Will itself. They weren't meant to exist.
And yet… he had. How had he survived this long without the Global Hunter Association discovering him? The answer was obvious now. The seal. Her breath tightened as she recalled the way energy had gathered around him. It hadn't been just ambient World energy he was absorbing. She had felt her own anima being pulled from her body.
The boy's core had been siphoning power at a rate that bordered on the impossible. Maleficants fed on dense spiritual energy. So did Asetians. Awakened mages refined World energy through their spirit cores—but every core had a limit. Exceed it, and it shattered. Only one person Rey had ever met possessed reserves that came close to being boundless.
The Sword King.
And Eren's spiritual presence—raw and explosive—had reminded her of the Sword king's presence. With that much power bleeding into the surroundings, it was no surprise a Basilisk had been drawn to him. High-grade magic beasts always sought out overwhelming spiritual concentrations. And Eren Walker was becoming one.
"This data you sent," her Captain said. "Is it true?"
Rey stood outside the Dungeon Center as the bright sun of Pele City dipped toward the horizon. The day's heat lingered in the air. A hologram projected from her transmission cell—Alexander Kinsway, seated calmly, eyes sharp even through the flickering light. Her vehicle pulled up to the curb. The driver stepped out, bowed, and opened the door for her. Rey slid inside as the car began moving, carrying her back toward the hotel.
"It's true, my Lady," Rey replied. "It confirms the existence of the Irregularity."
"A seventh Irregular," Alexander said thoughtfully. "And here I thought there could only be six of us, according to Lumerian doctrine."
"His power is nowhere close to yours," Rey said.
She hesitated, lips parting as if to say more—then stopped herself. Speaking out of turn to a superior was never wise. Alexander noticed the pause, the question lingering in Rey's eyes, and smiled.
"What is it?" she prompted.
"I… I still don't understand why you wanted me to attack him," Rey admitted. "I don't see the point of testing someone whose power has barely bloomed. I feel bad interfering—and not even giving him a proper chance to take the exam."
The projection of Alexander shifted slightly in her seat. The smile she wore made Rey uneasy; it was the kind that meant she was thinking several steps ahead. After a moment, Alexander spoke.
"Let's just say," she said, "I'm planting seeds."
Then her tone changed—decisive, final.
"How long before you return to headquarters?"
Rey understood the dismissal and didn't press further.
"I'll remain in Haumea for a while," she said. "There's still the matter of who broke into the Star King's palace. Master Alastor never identified the perpetrator."
"About that," Alexander replied. "I don't know if this Eren brat is responsible, but he was attacked by the same force that broke into the Zangrest library."
Rey's eyes narrowed. "Do you think it's them?"
"Unlikely," Alexander said. "There's been no significant movement on their end. For now, back off from further investigation and return home."
"Do you have a plan?" Rey asked.
"Not yet."
Alexander's smile deepened—sharp, knowing. Rey felt a chill. She silently prayed to her family god, Keraunos, that whatever her Captain was planning wouldn't be as outlandish as her usual ideas. Especially now. With Alastor gone, there was no one left to restrain her.