The combat arena was a massive circular pit surrounded by observation decks packed with examiners and spectators. King counted at least two thousand people watching from above.
They're all staring, King thought. Is this what being observed feels like? It's... itchy.
"Candidates will be divided into groups of fifty," an examiner announced through a voice amplification spell. "Each group will face a series of combat scenarios. Survive, and you pass. Fail to meet minimum performance standards, and you're eliminated."
Marcus shifted nervously beside him. "Combat scenarios usually means monsters or combat golems. They're tough. Really tough."
"How tough?" King asked.
"Last year, they used D-Rank stone golems. Took me thirty seconds to get knocked out." Marcus rubbed his shoulder like the memory still hurt. "Most F-Ranks don't last longer than that."
King watched as the first group descended into the arena. Fifty candidates, most looking confident, a few looking terrified. Gates opened on opposite sides of the pit, and three massive stone golems lumbered out.
The golems were at least twelve feet tall, moving with surprising speed for something made of rock.
"Begin!" the examiner shouted.
Chaos erupted. Candidates scattered, some casting spells, others drawing weapons. Fire, ice, lightning—magic flew in every direction. The golems weathered it all, their stone bodies barely chipped.
A golem's fist came down on a candidate who'd been too slow. The impact created a crater. The candidate was teleported out in a flash of light before the fist connected—some kind of safety measure.
"At least they don't let people die," King observed.
"Small comfort when you fail," Marcus muttered.
The battle lasted five minutes. By the end, thirty-seven candidates remained standing. Thirteen had been eliminated.
"Acceptable," the examiner said. "Next group, prepare."
---
King and Marcus were in the seventh group. They had thirty minutes to wait.
"You nervous?" someone asked.
King turned. A young man about his age—or apparent age—was leaning against the wall nearby. Dark hair, sharp eyes, and an expression that suggested he found everything mildly amusing.
"Should I be?" King asked.
"Most people are." The young man extended his hand. "Nero. Nero Black."
King shook it. "King Von Deluxh."
"The guy who exploded three assessment crystals?" Nero grinned. "Word travels fast. Half the candidates think you're dangerous, the other half think you're a joke."
"What do you think?"
"I think you're interesting." Nero's eyes flicked to Marcus. "And you're the Labor Class kid who tried again. Gutsy. Stupid, but gutsy."
Marcus bristled. "You got a problem with that?"
"Nope. I respect it, actually." Nero pulled out an apple from somewhere and bit into it. "Me? I'm here because my family name is dirt and this is my only shot at not ending up in a debtor's prison. We all got our reasons."
"What did your family do?" King asked.
"Got accused of embezzling from a merchant lord. Couldn't prove innocence, so now we're blacklisted." Nero's casual tone didn't quite hide the bitterness underneath. "So here I am, trying to make a new name for myself. Literally."
Everyone here is carrying something, King realized. Weight I can't see but they feel every moment.
"Group seven, prepare!" the examiner called.
Nero pushed off the wall. "Well, this should be fun. Try not to die, you two."
"You too," Marcus said.
---
They descended into the arena. Fifty candidates total. King recognized a few faces from the courtyard earlier—none of the nobles who'd surrounded Marcus, thankfully. Those ones had probably passed with flying colors.
The arena floor was scorched and cracked from previous battles. King could feel the residual magic in the air, taste it on his tongue.
So much energy, he thought. They throw around power like it's nothing. Don't they know how precious that is?
The gates opened.
This time, five golems emerged. Each one was larger than the previous batch, easily fifteen feet tall, with runes glowing across their stone bodies.
"Enhanced models," someone whispered. "They're using enhanced models for our group!"
"Probably because of the F-Ranks," another candidate said, not quietly enough. "They want to weed us out fast."
Marcus's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Just gripped his sword tighter.
King looked at the golems. They were well-made—the enchantments were elegant, the structural integrity impressive. Someone had put real craft into these.
It would be a shame to destroy them, King thought. I should be careful.
"Begin! "
The candidates exploded into motion. Spells filled the air. Three candidates immediately went for the nearest golem, coordinating their attacks with practiced efficiency.
Must be from the same academy prep school, King noted.
Marcus charged forward, sword raised. "Stay behind me, King! I'll—"
A golem's fist came down.
Marcus rolled to the side, barely avoiding it. The impact cratered the ground where he'd been standing.
King watched the battle unfold around him. Candidates were fighting hard, using teamwork, strategy, everything they'd been taught. It was impressive, really. All this effort, all this skill.
But the golems were winning.
One by one, candidates were being teleported out. The safety wards were working overtime.
Marcus swung his sword at a golem's leg. The blade bounced off, not even scratching the surface. The golem's backhand sent him flying.
King moved without thinking.
He caught Marcus mid-air with one hand, stopping his momentum instantly. Marcus weighed maybe a hundred and seventy pounds, moving at roughly forty miles per hour.
King held him like he weighed nothing.
"Thanks," Marcus gasped. "I think I—wait, how are you so strong?"
"Am I?" King set him down gently. "I was just trying to help."
A golem turned toward them, fist already swinging.
King raised his hand.
Gently, he reminded himself. Very gently. Just enough to stop it, not enough to break anything.
He caught the golem's fist with his palm.
The golem's entire body stopped. Fifteen feet of enchanted stone, weighing several tons, moving with enough force to crush steel—stopped completely.
King's feet didn't slide backward. His arm didn't shake. He just... stood there.
"Huh," King said. "That worked."
The golem tried to pull back its fist. Couldn't. Tried to swing with its other arm. King caught that too.
Now he was holding a golem by both fists, keeping it completely immobilized.
This is actually kind of fun, King thought.
"King," Marcus said slowly. "What are you doing?"
"Stopping it?"
"HOW?! "
"I'm just holding it." King looked at the struggling golem. "Should I let go?"
"NO! I mean—yes? I don't—what is even happening right now?!"
The arena had gone quiet. Everyone—candidates, golems, examiners—was staring at King.
Even the other golems had stopped fighting, as if confused by what they were seeing.
An examiner's voice crackled over the arena. "Candidate 847, release the golem."
"Okay," King said, and let go.
The golem stumbled backward, off-balance. King had been holding it so completely that it had forgotten how to support its own weight.
"Now demonstrate how you immobilized it," the examiner demanded. "Use the same technique on another golem."
Oh, King realized. They think I used a technique. Not just... grabbed it.
"Sure," King said.
He walked up to the nearest golem. It was still fighting three candidates, who scattered when King approached.
"Excuse me," King said to the golem politely. Then he grabbed it by the arm.
The golem froze.
King gently—so gently—pulled. The golem's feet dragged across the arena floor, leaving furrows in the stone.
"Like this?" King called up to the examiners.
Silence.
Then: "What... what is his strength rating?!"
"There is no strength rating! He's F-Rank!"
"That's impossible! No F-Rank should be able to—"
King tuned out the arguing voices. He looked at the golem in his grip. "Sorry about this. You're just trying to do your job."
The golem's runes flickered, as if responding.
Can they understand me? King wondered. I should ask whoever made them. The craftsmanship really is excellent.
---
A blast of fire magic exploded nearby. One of the candidates had gotten desperate, using what looked like their ultimate attack. The heat was intense enough to melt the sand beneath their feet.
King turned to look.
The fire was spreading, about to engulf three candidates who'd been knocked down.
That's dangerous, King thought.
He moved.
To everyone else, he vanished. One moment standing thirty feet away, the next moment in front of the three fallen candidates, hand raised.
The fire hit his palm and stopped.
Not dispersed. Not redirected. Just... stopped. Like it had encountered a wall made of absolute denial.
King held the fire back with one hand while it raged against his palm. He could feel the heat—it was warm, like standing near a pleasant fireplace.
Fire is interesting, King thought. It moves like it's alive. Dancing.
"You three should move," King said to the candidates behind him.
They scrambled away, eyes wide with terror.
The fire mage who'd cast the spell was staring at King. "How are you... that's an A-Rank spell! You should be ash!"
"It's very warm," King acknowledged. "You're skilled."
"I'm SKILLED?! You're blocking it with your bare hand!"
King looked at his hand. The fire was still pushing against it, achieving nothing. "Should I not be?"
The examiner's voice boomed across the arena. "CEASE COMBAT! All candidates, stand down! All golems, return to standby!"
The golems immediately stopped fighting and lumbered back toward their gates. The fire mage canceled their spell, hands shaking.
King lowered his hand. There wasn't even a scorch mark on his palm.
Fifty candidates stood in the arena, most of them staring at King like he'd just sprouted wings.
Marcus appeared at his side. "I take back what I said earlier. You're not insane. You're something way beyond that."
"Did I do something wrong?" King asked.
"Wrong? You just manhandled a combat golem and blocked an A-Rank fire spell with your hand! That's not wrong, that's impossible!"
Nero walked over, still somehow eating his apple. "Well, this got interesting fast. Hey King, what exactly are you?"
"Just someone taking an exam," King said.
"Right. And I'm the Emperor of Devas." Nero grinned. "But sure, let's go with that."
---
The examiners were descending into the arena now, all of them looking varying degrees of confused and concerned. The head examiner—a stern woman with silver hair—approached King directly.
"Candidate 847," she said. "King Von Deluxh."
"Yes?"
"You're F-Rank."
"That's what the crystal said. Or didn't say. I'm not sure which."
"F-Rank candidates do not casually overpower enhanced combat golems designed to challenge B-Rank students."
"Oh," King said. "Was that what rank they were? I thought they were just regular golems."
"Regular golems are E-Rank. These are B-Rank. Enhanced. Enchanted. Capable of defeating trained knights." The examiner's eye twitched. "And you stopped one with your bare hands."
"I was being gentle," King protested. "I didn't even damage it. See? It's fine."
The examiner looked at the golem, which was indeed undamaged. Then at King. Then at the golem again.
"I need," she said slowly, "to file a report about this. Possibly several reports. Maybe a formal investigation." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "For now, you pass. Obviously. All of you pass. This trial is concluded."
Cheers erupted from the surviving candidates.
"Wait," someone shouted. "That's not fair! We barely did anything! He did everything!"
"Do you want to continue fighting the golems?" the examiner asked sharply.
Silence.
"That's what I thought. Dismissed. Report to the strategy evaluation hall."
The candidates filed out, most of them giving King a wide berth. A few looked at him with awe, others with suspicion, and several with outright fear.
Marcus stuck close. "You know everyone's going to be talking about you, right?"
"Is that bad?" King asked.
"Depends. Makes you a target. Makes you interesting. Makes you someone people want to either befriend or destroy." Marcus shrugged. "Welcome to academy life, I guess."
Nero fell into step on King's other side. "I'm definitely befriending you, for the record. Anyone who can make examiners look that confused is someone I want to know."
"I wasn't trying to confuse anyone," King said.
"That makes it even better." Nero laughed. "Oh man, the strategy evaluation is going to be hilarious. They're going to have no idea what to do with you."
King looked back at the arena one last time. The golems were being led away by their handlers, runes dimming.
I hope I didn't scare them, King thought. They were just doing their jobs.
Ahead, the strategy evaluation hall waited. Behind him, the combat arena buzzed with confused examiners trying to write reports about something that shouldn't have been possible.
And somewhere in the observation deck, Yuki Winters watched him go, her sharp green eyes narrowed in thought.
What are you really? she wondered.
But King didn't notice. He was too busy wondering what "strategy evaluation" meant and whether it involved more things he might accidentally break.
Marcus and Nero flanked him as they walked, two other "failures" who'd somehow ended up befriending the strangest person in the entire exam.
This is nice, King thought. Walking with people. Talking. Being part of a group.
He smiled slightly.
Yes. This is what I came here for.