CHAPTER 87— First semester exam(8)
"The winner of the match is...
Repeaters Group 3!"
The announcements echoed across the vast combat hall one after another as the grueling first-semester evaluation and the supplementary trials pressed forward without pause.
"Wow, look at that. The loser trio pulled off another win," a senior repeater muttered.
"Not bad, losers. At least you managed to salvage some dignity for the repeaters," another called out from the stands in loose approval.
Down on the floor, the matches continued in rapid succession.
Freshmen and senior repeaters clashed across various simulation zone. Some bouts ended in swift, crushing victories for the first-year elites, while others saw the battle-tested repeaters turning the tables through sheer grit and tactical endurance.
"Ahh... Fuck." a freshman groaned, stumbling back.
"Yes another win for us." a repeater cheered.
The emotional spectrum across the arena was a chaotic blur of triumph, happiness, sadness, cheerfulness, frustration, disappointment and relief, but beneath the noise, every student was absorbing hard-earned lessons from the chaos.
Up on the observation platform, Instructor Valeria leaned heavily against the railing, watching the exhausted students shuffle back toward the spectator stands.
"Well, that wraps up the first wave of matches," Valeria sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "Honestly, watching some of these freshman team fights are really agonizing. Half of them don't even know the basics of field communication."
Vanika stood beside her, sipping a cup of warm herbal chai that a staff had brought over.
"Oh, calm down, Ria. It's their very first semester exam. Total chaos is to be expected. Besides, it weeds out the ones who relied purely on textbook theory from the ones who can actually adapt under pressure."
"True, true," Valeria conceded, though her eyes drifted toward a familiar group of repeaters resting near the pillars.
Down below, Rowan was sitting cross-legged on the floor, intently examining his newly forged shapeshifting axe.
The prismatic blade caught the ambient lighting of the hall, glowing with faint, shifting colors.
"Careful where you point that thing," Sarina warned casually, not bothering to look up as she leaned against a pillar nearby with her arms crossed. "You're going to accidentally carve a trench into the academy floor."
Rowan quickly lowered the weapon, offering a sheepish grin.
"Right, sorry. It's just... It's still hard to believe that I have a new axe and... No matter how much I look, it always amazes me."
"Well, Master Orven didn't earn his reputation as a smithing prodigy by accident,"
Ritvik chimed in, walking over and collapsing heavily onto an empty bench. He looked thoroughly exhausted, rubbing his sore ribs where the water bolt had clipped him earlier.
"Though, if you ask me, my energy was completely drained by a completely different kind of disaster today."
Sarina glanced down at him with a dry look.
"Let me guess. Your red-haired tyrantness didn't give you a medal for orchestrating their entire victory?"
"A medal?" Ritvik let out a hollow, sarcastic laugh. "She nearly incinerated me with a glare just because I gave a thumbs-up! I swear, working under Seraphine is a violation of Aetheris Civilian laws."
Rowan chuckled softly, finally feeling completely grounded.
The lingering dread and guilt that had weighed on his chest for days felt like a distant nightmare. Holding his new axe, he felt a quiet surge of confidence. He hadn't come to Aetheria to cower in fear or guilt; he was here to uncover the truth about his brother, no matter what obstacles stood in his way.
Suddenly, a loud, clear chime echoed through the hall, signaling the start of the next bracket phase.
"Attention, students!" A staff's amplified voice boomed across the chamber.
"The following groups, please report to the staging zones immediately!"
On the massive overhead display screens, names and group numbers began to flash brightly.
Rowan's eyes scanned the scrolling text. looking for his designation.
"Ah..." Rowan's breath hitched slightly.
"What is it?" Sarina asked, stepping closer to read the monitor.
Rowan pointed a finger up at the screen.
Right there, locked into Group 42, were three names:
Class B — Rowan vayne.
Class B — Sarina Welclover.
And directly beneath them...
Class S — Damon voss.
Silence fell over the three of them for a brief second.
Ritvik slowly stopped massaging his ribs, blinking up at the monitor. He looked at Rowan, then over at Sarina.
"Wait..." Ritvik whispered, his jaw dropping.
"Didn't Sarina calculate earlier that the probability of us getting pulled into the exact same randomized group was like... 0.000001 percent or something like that?"
Sarina stared at the screen with her usual cool and collected expression.
"And I was right, we didn't get assigned togather."
"Nooo! What kind of cosmic joke is this?!"
Ritvik shrieked, launching into a full-blown mental crash.
"You two actually got paired up togather but I got assigned to a different team and no less but with that Red haired tyrantness."
It was a miracle Seraphine had already packed up and left the viewing area after her match; had she heard Ritvik shouting about her from across the hall, there was a zero percent chance he would survive the next hour. Even so, Ritvik was thoroughly losing his mind.
"As I had thought. This is rigged. Someone has definitely rigged this line-up, which bastard is it—"
"Hello."
A low, calm, yet intensely sharp voice cut through Ritvik's ranting.
The trio turned to see Damon Voss stepping out from the shadows of the platform pillars, his dark uniform immaculate and his expression as unreadable as ever.
"Looks like we are a team for this round." Damon said his eyes locking onto Rowan and Sarina.
"Stop crashing out in public, Ritvik, and sit down," Sarina scolded, smoothly pushing herself off the pillar and straightening her jacket.
"Ah... Hey, Damon." Rowan greeted, offering a cautious nod.
Ritvik rose an eyebrow, looking at Damon. It was hard to tell what might be going through his mind. Afterall his stoic face was a hard one to read but Ritvik could feel the presence of a veteran, someone who has been through various battles from Damon.
'Well i guess he is a class S afterall.' Ritvik thought, Swallowing his complaints.
"Let's move," Damon muttered, casting a brief glance toward Rowan and Sarina before turning toward the staging zone.
"Good luck out there, you two," Ritvik called out from the bench, offering a lazy wave with his staff.
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CHAPTER ENDS