Candidate number 23 stood stiffly, staring at the demonic beast as it emerged from the cage, so shocked that he forgot to draw his sword altogether.

  The creature was not frenzied, yet it was brimming with hostility toward the armed human standing before it. It circled slowly, testing the distance, before suddenly springing forward.

  The candidate, startled and terrified, scrambled to the edge of the arena. The awkward sight of him half-running, half-crawling elicited bursts of laughter from the tense crowd. But all he could think about was getting as far away from the terrifying predator as possible.

  His attempt at escape proved futile. The demonic beast reacted almost instantly, changing direction in a flash. Its claws sliced through the air as it lunged again.

  Candidate number 23 was fortunate that the strike only grazed his waist. Still, the young man panicked and stumbled over his own feet, rolled clumsily across the ground twice and ended up sprawled flat on the arena floor.

  The demonic beast did not hesitate. It lunged forward, jaws yawning wide to reveal rows of jagged fangs.

  At the very instant before it could reach the man sprawled on the ground, the four staff-wielders positioned around the arena moved in unison.

  The stone floor beneath the arena suddenly flared with light, revealing an intricate formation etched across its surface. From the heart of the formation, something like living vines shot forth, coiling around the demonic beast and slamming it hard against the ground, pinning it in place.

  The gong rang out once more. The hourglass stopped. The battle ended in less than a minute.

  Candidate number twenty-three was carried off on a stretcher, his legs completely useless from terror.

  Ferir stared, mouth hanging open in silent despair, already imagining his own equally miserable fate. Beside him, Arvil clicked his tongue, muttering some low commentary under his breath.

  The crowd erupted into murmurs as the judges raised a red flag, signaling failure. Yet the discussion was not about whether the result was fair. It was about how brutally difficult the trial was.

  With more than two hundred candidates still waiting to be tested, the arena was swiftly cleared, making way for the next challenger to step onto the stage.

  The next candidates fared slightly better than number 23, all managing to last for more than three minutes. The unharmed or unaggressive monsters were left to challenge the next few candidates before being replaced.

  Aside from ensuring that no candidate suffered life-threatening injuries, the four staff-wieldings were tasked with activating a barrier that prevented the monsters from crossing the arena's boundaries. This barrier only affected the monsters. Candidates could still jump off the arena if they failed to dodge or wanted to withdraw.

  Gradually, the excitement in the stands began to sag. Nearly ten candidates had already stepped onto the field, yet none had truly stood out, until candidate number 368 made his appearance.

  He was a nobleman, evident in his attire and demeanor. His sword alone was worth more than all the other candidates' swords combined.

  He was the first to remain standing after the hourglass ran out, not easily, but not too badly injured either.

  After the first green flag was raised, the remaining candidates seemed to regain their motivation and competed more enthusiastically.

  There were more successes after that, but most of the successful candidates were nobles or from well-off families.

  Gradually, people began to notice the gap of class. No matter how fair the competition claimed to be, the advantage still lay with the nobility, those who had the privilege of receiving proper training from a very young age.

  After more than thirty bouts, with the sun climbing close to its zenith and the audience’s excitement dulled somewhat by the oppressive summer heat, something truly noteworthy finally happened.

  “Please step onto the arena. Candidate number 990, Kevin Samuel K. Alaskark.”

  Number 990 was strikingly young.

  He had pale skin, glossy black hair kept immaculately in place, and sharp, discerning eyes. He entered the arena without armor, wearing only a neat, fitted training outfit and carrying a slender, flexible blade.

  The young candidate looked like a finely carved statue, standing out against the chaotic backdrop of the arena, yet at the same time giving off an impression of fragility.

  Ferir realized who he was. Wasn’t that the same noble youth who had visited the library a month ago, the one who had dragged Ferir into that whole disastrous trip to the palace?

  But what name had they announced just now?

  “Kevin Samuel K. Alaskark. The sole Prince of the Realm of Light.” Arvil whispered beside him.

  The nobles who had been largely indifferent until now suddenly stirred, rising from their seats and pointing excitedly. Even the parasol shading the Monarch was lifted higher so she could observe the arena more clearly.

  That alone explained why the Monarch herself had come to attend, and why the crowd was so unusually large.

  Ferir sucked in a sharp breath.

  “He’s… a prince? But… isn’t he guaranteed to ascend as Monarch once he turns eighteen? The law doesn’t allow someone to be both the Ruler and a Monarch at the same time. Then why is he even competing?”

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  Arvil shrugged:

  “People have been talking about it ever since his name showed up on the results board after the first round. Even I didn’t see this coming. Maybe he just wants more experience?”

  Aidst the cacophony of voices pouring in from all sides, Ferir heard many conflicting opinions.

  Most believed the prince was merely showing off, polishing his image by taking part in something utterly unnecessary.

  Another group, mostly young girls, did nothing but scream about the young prince’s dazzling looks.

  Ferir even heard more far-fetched theories, claiming the prince was plotting to dominate the entire continent by expanding his power step by step.

  There were also a few mocking laughs aimed at his somewhat “frail” appearance. With that slender body, pampered since birth, how many minutes could he possibly last before a demonic beast scared him out of his wits?

  In the end, a harsh blast of horns was needed to force the crowd into silence. The match began at once, cutting off any further debate before it could ignite again.

  The demonic beast, released from the magical bindings pinning it to the ground, looked thoroughly irritated. It had already been forced to fight two candidates before this, and its patience was clearly worn thin.

  Candidate number 990 rested a hand on the hilt of his sword but did not draw it, his gaze fixed on every subtle movement of the creature before him.

  The beast had no intention of circling any longer. It wanted nothing more than to tear apart the humans who had been lingering around it for so long. With a snarl, it lunged straight at the black-haired youth.

  Kevin evaded the charge with ease, his movements swift and precise, almost effortless. The beast pursued him relentlessly, and he continued to dodge, step after measured step. He did not counterattack, yet he did not look like someone fleeing in panic either.

  It was as if he were calmly studying the creature, unhurried, patiently.

  After circling the arena once, Kevin came to an abrupt stop. His left hand, which had been resting still on the sword, suddenly moved. With a light shift of his weight, he launched his first and only attack.

  It was something Ferir had never seen before.

  The blade in the young prince’s hand moved like flowing water, no flourish, no wasted motion. Each movement seemed to stretch time itself, as though the world had slowed to follow the path of his sword.

  Even when the monster fell to the floor and lay motionless, the entire arena seem to remain captivated by the sword strike, utterly silent.

  Then the horns sounded. The spectators snapped awake as though roused from a dream, erupting into frantic, exhilarated discussion.

  They were still talking about Prince Kevin, but not a trace of mockery or doubt remained in the stands.

  It was a battle that ended early, before the fourth minute had passed. And it was the first match in which a candidate had outright slain the demonic beast set before them.

  Ferir quietly turned his head, looking up at the faces around him that had yet to calm from their excitement. In the span of a few minutes, that young prince had completely overturned the thoughts of so many people. Every shred of doubt had been swept away by undeniable strength.

  If there was anyone who deserved to become the Ruler, Ferir thought, then surely it was someone capable of doing this.

  After Kevin’s match ended, more than half the audience began to leave the stands. In the nobles’ section, the Monarch had disappeared at some point without anyone noticing, followed by her courtiers who also left one by one.

  They had come solely to witness a member of the royal family in battle, and they had seen enough.

  Ferir too, could no longer focus on any of the matches that followed. His thoughts drifted endlessly, caught between the elegant, flawless swordplay of the young prince and the clumsy swings of his own blade.

  Noticing his distraction, Arvil dragged him back toward the library, then disappeared somewhere on his own for quite a while.

  About an hour later, Arvil returned with a heavy chest in his arms.

  Inside was a basic set of leather armor, consisting only of a torso piece, shoulder guards, and elbow protection. It looked compact and practical, yet sturdy enough to inspire confidence.

  The armor itself seemed expensive, but what truly drew the eye was the sword hanging at the side. It was a fairly large blade, its entire length gleaming with a striking crimson sheen. Set into the hilt was a deep red gemstone, surrounded by countless intricate patterns that resembled flames frozen in motion.

  “This is…?” Ferir asked.

  Arvil cheerfully drew the sword from its sheath.

  “It’s your equipment for the your combat trial, of course.”

  “Where did you get all of this? It looks really expensive…”

  “The armor was bought with the subsidy the Monarch gave you. They’re all good pieces. Not cheap, but the quality is well worth the price.”

  Ferir was stunned. He had never planned to touch that money at all and had temporarily left it in Arvil’s room at the library, thinking that if he failed, he could simply return it.

  “You didn’t even ask for my opinion!”

  Arvil completely ignored his protest and held the sword out toward him.

  “Try it.”

  The moment Ferir’s fingers closed around the hilt, a warm current surged straight into his palm. It spread along his veins, flooding his entire body in an instant. Every corner of him felt awakened, his senses snapping sharply into focus

  For a brief moment, it felt as though there was nothing in the world he could not do.

  This sword…?” Ferir murmured.

  Arvil stood there with a faint smile, looking not the least bit surprised.

  “It suits you better than I expected. Its name is Flame. The finest sword I own, so take good care of it.”

  With that, he tossed the armor toward Ferir as well.

  “Come on. Let’s head to the garden and get you acquainted with your new partner.”

  *******************

  Over the next two days, Ferir was not the only one tense about the trial awaiting him. Captain Rambeck had been frowning so much that his subordinates began to suspect the crease between his brows would never smooth out again.

  Rambeck was usually strict to begin with, but these past few days he had become downright severe. He drove his soldiers to train at nearly twice their usual intensity and snapped at the smallest mistakes. No one knew the reason, and no one dared to ask.

  At that moment, the Captain was seated alone in his private chamber, ignoring the lunch that had been carefully prepared for him. A soldier’s voice came from outside the door.

  “Sir, the person you asked to see has arrived.”

  “Let him in.”

  Rambeck glanced at the man whose hooded cloak concealed most of his face and asked in a low, heavy voice:

  “How did the matter I entrusted to you go?”

  The man replied:

  “Basically, it goes against established principles. However, if it’s handled with enough finesse, it won’t be considered a violation of the rules.”

  Rambeck nodded:

  “I don’t want things to get serious. Make sure it’s only a slight increase in difficulty. All safety measures must still be guaranteed.”

  As soon as the door closed behind the visitor, Rambeck muttered in a voice only he could hear.

  “Ferir Hakken… you shouldn’t go any further. For my sake, and for your own.”