The night had been restless.
Not just for Alex or his team, but for many across the city. Some wrestled with grief. Some with guilt. Others with ambition, still hoping to claw their way into something greater. But no matter what anyone felt—rage, anxiety, or weariness—the world spun anyway.
And the sun rose.
Day 5. The final day of the entrance exams.
Arcana pulsed with that particular kind of energy that only came when something was about to end—but no one was sure how. Anxiety lingered in the air like fine dust. Eagerness, too. For some, this was a last chance to prove themselves. For others, the last obstacle before recognition or rejection.
The city had not stopped. In fact, it bloomed. Vendors doubled their stalls near the Academy's outer circles. Floating banners of the major Houses shimmered in the morning light. Magical reporters disguised as charm trinkets hummed just loud enough to be noticed but not kicked out.
Everyone wanted to know: who would rise from this chaos?
The Coliseum was already filled with chatter as candidates streamed in, some calm and prepared, others jittery and on the edge of panic. Friends clung to each other. Rivals glanced side-eyed across hallways. Observers from factions and families took their places quietly, watching every move.
Inside the Academy, the staff—some tired, some buzzed on questionable coffee potions—finalized their plans. The final trials were meant to test not just power, but consistency. Will. Focus under pressure.
And for a few? Survival.
Alex stood near the main overlook with a half-finished cup of bitter tea, watching the waves of examinees trickle in with expressions ranging from hopeful to traumatized.
"Last day," Pallen muttered beside him, squinting at a scroll. "Think they'll throw fireworks or bodies this time?"
Alex didn't answer. He was watching the candidates below, scanning for familiar faces, and preparing himself for whatever the end of this week had planned for them.
Because the sun may have risen—but nobody said it would set peacefully.
━━━
The Coliseum's interior buzzed with motion, but Section C in particular thrummed like a war drum. Unlike other sections focused on theory, precision, or artistry, Section C was pure grit—the domain of weapon mastery and body cultivators.
This section wasn't a test. It was a gauntlet.
Divided across sprawling arenas and tiered training halls, Section C was organized with ruthless efficiency. Weapon-based trials were grouped by type: sword, spear, bow, dagger, and specialty arms like chain weapons or dual-forms. Candidates sparred under surveillance, adapting to shifting terrain and surprise opponent rotations. The exams were part duel, part tactical demonstration.
But the body cultivators had their own brutal corner of the section. Unlike others, their trials were structured as a full-blown competition.
Strength, speed, agility, endurance, reflex, defense, reaction under pressure—every aspect was tested individually and then pushed together in match-style formats. Think tournament, but with less applause and more threat of injury.
It wasn't enough to lift heavy things or dodge fast. Candidates were scored on how they recovered, how they adapted, how they controlled the flow of their energy to avoid burning out halfway through a task. No mystic puzzles. No verbal theory. Just raw capability.
The section had a reputation. Brutal. Unforgiving. Respected.
And unlike some of the more arcane or obscure categories, there was no room to fake talent here. Your body either endured—or it didn't.
Alex briefly shifted his gaze toward the far arena where a wall-shattering sprint just ended with a half-collapsed obstacle tower. He exhaled quietly.
"Looks like endurance's up first."
It began mid-morning.
Twenty candidates stood shirtless or in light training gear inside a runed pit designed to suppress regenerative spells and external energy enhancement. The challenge was straightforward on paper: survive fifteen rounds of escalating physical trials. That was it.
Each round introduced a new torment—stone carrying, pressure fields, gravity shifts, heat chambers, and more. Candidates weren't eliminated unless they dropped or failed to complete a task. The longer they lasted, the higher their points.
It looked like a strength competition, but it wasn't. It was about willpower. Mental clarity. The ability to keep going even when the body begged to shut down.
Alex, watching from above, leaned over the rail slightly as the third round began. Sweat had already drenched most of the candidates. A heavy fog of heat and grit clung to the arena.
One kid—a thin, wiry-looking girl with no clan emblem—kept moving like a ghost. Her pace never wavered. She wasn't the strongest, but she never hesitated.
"She's going to outlast all of them," Alex murmured.
"That one?" Orin asked, joining him with a mouthful of bread.
"Watch her footing. She's not reacting—she's anticipating. She's memorized the pattern."
Sure enough, she dodged the next gravity shift before the panel even lit up.
Around her, one of the larger boys stumbled and hit the floor. The first elimination.
The trials continued. Bruises formed. Limbs shook. But the girl just kept going.
And from the viewing booths above, more than one guild representative leaned forward to scribble down her number.
Section C wasn't about who looked like a warrior.
It was about who acted like one when no one believed they could.
And today, the endurance trial was writing its own legend.
━━━
Later that day, Alex resumed his quiet stroll through the exam halls, trying to ignore the pressure that always seemed to follow him.
Eventually, he reached Section D.
Compared to the combat-heavy Section C, Section D was its own kind of chaos. It was a domain built for technomancers, engineers, binders, and creators—those who understood magic as a system to tinker with, rather than wield like a hammer.
Section D was divided into several subfields:
Technomancy & Constructs – Students built devices and interfaces that interacted with mana. Think drones, scanners, and semi-sentient constructs.
Alchemical Mechanics – Where chemistry and sorcery danced, with potion-based engines and mana-reactive alloys tested to failure.
Ritual Engineering – Focused on external bindings, symbols, and patterns that interfaced with spirits, ghosts, or magical entities—right at the edge of forbidden.
Magical Fabrication & Forge Artistry – Weapon crafting, armor refinement, and the integration of enchantment into raw materials.
Environmental Simulation and Terraform Control – Creation of mini ecosystems, adjusting weather pockets, land shaping.
Mixed Biological Integration – Projects that pushed the line between medicine, magical mutation, and ethical question marks. Mostly overseen with heavy supervision.
Field Utility Systems – Gear made for real-world usage: survival kits, scout packs, portable defense systems, communicators.
Adaptive Problem-Solving Arena – Students given a box of weird junk and a problem to solve. No instructions. No help. Just prove you can make something that works.
As Alex walked the floors of Section D, he passed an array of absurd and oddly brilliant designs.
One team was trying to weld a plasma dagger using lightning-infused mercury. Another was arguing over whether a portable fog wall should be scent-based. In a corner, someone's enchanted boots exploded—not from pressure, but out of sheer existential rejection.
In the Ritual Engineering chamber, things took a darker turn. One student had attempted a summoning tether far beyond the acceptable tier for the exam. When the creature manifested—part wraith, part construct—it immediately snapped the circle bindings and lashed out.
If not for the emergency mana clamps and two very fast instructors, the kid would've lost more than just points.
He was escorted out, pale and shaken.
A chalk outline shimmered briefly on the floor before being scrubbed clean by cleansing glyphs.
The inventors and madfolk of Section D weren't trying to win beauty contests. They were trying to rewrite reality with duct tape, chalk, and sheer spite.
Alex couldn't help but grin.
Compared to the heaviness of everything else—they were ridiculous.
And ridiculously impressive.
Alex moved from table to table like a casual observer, but his eyes caught every detail.
In the Field Utility Systems zone, a lanky boy was proudly demonstrating a foldable bridge charm. It was compact, efficient… and entirely forgot to stabilize under weight. The instructor stopped the test just before the candidate could plummet into a mana-filled ravine simulation.
Not far from that, a girl with a sleeved arm covered in burnt glyphs was arguing with her project partner about the "soul tuning fork" they'd made—which, unfortunately, wouldn't stop screaming when activated. "It's not defective," she insisted. "It's honest."
In the Magical Fabrication bay, a trio of candidates was hammering out what they claimed was a "vibration blade" that could cut through dimensional overlaps. What it did instead was hum so aggressively that a nearby bench collapsed and one observer's nose started bleeding.
A group in Environmental Simulation had conjured a tiny desert, then left it unsupervised for too long. By the time Alex wandered past, a dust elemental had formed and was demanding taxes from nearby flora.
Even in the Adaptive Arena, one student took their "junk kit" assignment very seriously and built what was essentially a high-powered pastry launcher using a modified stasis core and rubbery enchanted bread. It was stupid. It worked. They passed.
Alex finally stopped by the Mixed Biological Integration wing—he didn't stay long. Someone had designed a "mana-efficient salamander leech" hybrid, and it winked at him.
"Nope," Alex muttered, backing away.
By the time he reached the edge of Section D, his shoulders had finally eased. For all the death, schemes, and hidden agendas threading the last few days, this… this part of the world still had room for absurdity, for invention, and for reckless passion dressed in lab gear and overconfident enchantments.
He leaned against the outer wall, sipping from his emergency flask of hot chocolate, quietly chuckling to himself as another trial exploded in a poof of cinnamon-scented gas.
Today might still go downhill.
But at least the geniuses in Section D were going to make it entertaining.