Elder Lioren is something of a legend among the admission circles. People who work the intake exams speak about him with a wary sort of respect because his standards run high and his temper runs hotter. He does not, at least usually, go to wild lengths or stir needless trouble, and he almost always builds a fair environment for students.

Yet the junior instructors who trail in his wake know that he can be a bit much when pride gets involved.

He is still an Elf, and blood pulls harder than policy for most people when loyalty meets pressure. A few resist that pull, and those few usually sit at the very top. The Deans hold firm, and their closest allies hold firm with them, and the Headmaster and his seconds hold firm as well, and the academy's spine stays straight because of that.

Now the junior instructors stare at the arena floor where the elder has opened the test.

They watch the Dungeon scroll and shock tightens their faces. Elder Lioren calls it a simulation, yet the scene does not behave like a mere projection. It behaves like a mirrored space.

A dimensional pocket unfolds there, a small one, with a handful of Platinum-ranked traps scattered through it like teeth in a hidden maw.

Teachers normally use this space with a student while they both step inside because the place turns into an ideal crucible for demonstrations and teaching.

They use these simulation because you want to avoid leaving such traps on campus unless you stand over it, since more than one forgetful elder has doomed a reckless student with stray leftovers. The academy learned that lesson the hard way and wrote the policy in ugly ink.

But to ask Jacob Cloud, who stands as a simple Gold Ranker and, by the look of his aura, an Early Gold Ranker, to go through such a trial alone?

"Call the Dean of Admission," one of the junior instructors whispers to another man. "This has gone too far."

There are rules at Ytrial. This is not an upstart noble court. Elder Lioren might make their lives harder for a while, and the juniors accept that risk, yet they intend to uphold the process.

One of them bolts out of the arena and sprints for the stair. His boots slap stone while the humming from the array rises like a swarm.

The old man notices nothing because he focuses on Jacob Cloud and nothing else. The glare he fixes on the candidate could cut plate steel.

Kid, please, do not kill yourself with this, the junior instructor thinks. Just wait. Or refuse. The Dean will take care of this. This farce has gone for long enough.

* * *

Elder Lioren looks like he is about to have a stroke. Color floods his cheeks and then climbs into his ears. His Academy crimson robes bear the sigils that mark an Elder, and the cloth flutters as if it drinks from his unruly Mana.

"So," Elder Lioren smiles. "Jacob Cloud? What will it be? Are you man enough to enter the simulation?"

"Platinum Ranked, right? That's the Rank you said before."

Elder Lioren smiles with a placid calm that rings false.

"Oh, yes. Indeed. Are you afraid? Someone with as much talent as you—"

"Elder!" the junior instructor calls him out. "I don't think this is appropriate! Cloud is not even an Apprentice yet! Would you let a normal Gold Ranker enter such a simulation by themselves? Not even someone taking Traps 202 would be allowed to enter such a place unsupervised."

Jacob looks back at the instructor with one eyebrow raised, and the crowd rustles with low murmurs that move like wind in straw.

Elder Lioren bristles at the interruption. His eyes sharpen, and the cords in his neck stand out.

"How dare you insinuate that I'm putting him at risk?!" the old Elf shouts, and spittle flicks from his mouth. "He's been passing every single challenge with flying colors! Hasn't he?!"

"Elder," Jacob Cloud clears his voice, and the old man turns on him like a hawk that sights a mouse from the sky. The hush grows heavier.

"Yes, Cloud? Have you decided to give up?"

"I was wondering—you might have seen potential in me, right?"

"Huh?" the Elder frowns.

"You blessed me with great challenges so that I could prove my valor, right?"

"Oh, yes. YES! That's EXACTLY what I've done!"

"So, let's say I enter this simulation, which might be just… a little too difficult. Wouldn't it warrant something more?"

"What?" Elder Lioren looks confused at the question. The lines at the corners of his eyes deepen.

"No, I'm saying, let's say I pass. I don't know much about the Academy. Not nearly as much as an esteemed Elder such as yourself. Are there cases where, based on exceptional merit, one gets… perks?"

This kid is stupid. He actually wants to enter the simulation thinking that he will survive it! This is wonderful, this will be a great justification to having killed the bastard.

"Of course, Cloud. You know what? I've been stingy, I'll admit. I shouldn't have offered nothing in return for such a feat, right?"

Jacob shrugs, and he keeps his tone mild.

"You're the Elder, sir. I wouldn't presume to dictate your actions."

"Perfect, perfect," Elder Lioren says, and the flattery loosens him. His chin lifts. "Then, shall we add… something. Do you have anything in mind that you crave?"

Let him state whatever absurd terms that he wants. I'll have him shine my bald head if he actually survives one trap.

"Sir, I fear I don't know much about the Academy as I was saying. Is there, perhaps, something standardized?"

"What do you mean, Cloud?" Elder Lioren slips back into professional mode for a moment. His voice steadies, and the lecture hall cadence returns.

"I mean, is there… let's say, an actual table that we could follow or do Elders dispense favors based on individual merit?"

"You don't know much, do you?" Elder Lioren seems almost pleased at that. He loves the Academy for all he hates the kid. "There's no such thing as special status in the Academy. Not recognized, at least. The best thing you could aspire to, let's say, is to skip classes. By the fifth year, when one graduates, you should have reached, at the very least, the Peak of Diamond Rank. That's the bare minimum we require of graduates. However, for those who climb higher and higher, you have to satisfy requirements upon requirements to enter higher-level Classes. That's what fast tracks someone onto the path to greatness. The higher you get, the stronger the teachers. And mind you, Cloud. Every single Knight who's graduated Ytrial has a blood oath to take students from the Academy if it's in their capacity. We've forced Kings and Queens to honor such oaths. Furthermore, one can also aspire to, one day, enter the Heartspire. The lower floors of that wondrous construction we don't even know the origin of, are perfect for Platinum Ranked Knights. But one has to earn points to gain access. Points are distributed by Elders who get a quota from the Academy, and through grades in courses, through Quests at the bulletin board and more."

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He speaks with the rhythm of doctrine, and the juniors glance at one another because the Elder's pride peeks through the words like sunlight through shutters. The mention of the Heartspire makes a few recruits on the upper benches sit straighter.

Jacob looks a bit confused and then schools his face, and the elder reads that small tell and misreads it at once.

"Tell you what, Cloud. You showed remarkable talent for Runic Notation, for combat, and, perhaps trap making. Since you were so talented, I would immediately promote you to Runic Notation 201, Monster Felling 201, and…"

The Elder stops for a breath, and his eyes flick sideways as if he weighs a boundary that matters more than the boy's life.

I can't tell the bastard that he'd make it to Traps and Cracks 301. He'd sniff out…

But the junior instructor intercedes.

"Traps and Cracks 301!"

A muscle jumps in Elder Lioren's jaw. He hisses through his teeth before he steadies his voice.

"Yes, Traps and Cracks 301."

Now that he's heard such an advanced class, he's going to piss himself. He's going to know that this will certainly kill him.

"Well… that sounds like it would be very hard," Jacob says, looking dejected. "I don't know, Elder Lioren. I think I can't accept. Maybe… I should just give up?"

The elder startles, and the calculation in his gaze sharpens like a blade.

"Well, wait, son!" Elder Lioren scrambles. "Huh, actually. The year just started and even though they give us relatively small amounts of points to distribute compared to the rest of the Elders, I do have, as an Elder myself, quite a number in reserve. Most of the students who had booked special trials have arrived. Virtually all of them. So, since we've cleared the nobles for entrance, I have a lot of points that will go to waste by the end of the year. I'd usually put them toward minor chores in our department, but we're mostly done. We'll just be looking for candidates, sending invitations, and doing scouting jobs for the year. So, let's say, Cloud, that I was to sweeten the pot with about sixty points. I know that might not sound like much, but most first year courses give barely a couple points per assignment. Sixty points would gain you a ticket for the first and the second floor of the Heartspire. The Heartspire is such a marvelous Dungeon that keeps regenerating. And everyone enters a different dimension of it. Sometimes, even the lower floors can drop wondrous items."

The word Heartspire lands, and Jacob's posture changes. His eyes brighten a fraction, and Elder Lioren clocks it.

The little idiot is enticed.

"That sounds… so great, Elder Lioren. Could I ask for one more thing?"

"Of course," Elder Lioren smirks.

He does not care about the request because he believes the boy stands on the lip of a grave. The elder wants victory more than he wants breath.

"I hear that there are many electives, some of which very unique. As an Elder here, I imagine your knowledge of those being quite… profound. Would you care to swear on blood that you'd help me pick the best courses for myself?"

Elder Lioren stiffens at that. The ask signals distrust. It should raise alarms, and it almost does, yet the need to regain face roars louder than prudence. He thinks about the sting of the previous trials and about the whispers that will spiral if he leaves this stage without a win. He does not even care that much about the Elf Jacob killed anymore. He cannot recall the name. The humiliation burns hotter than grief.

He pulls a dagger from his belt and draws it across his palm, and a thin line opens. Blood beads bright and then runs to his wrist. He lifts his chin and shows his teeth in something that looks like a smile.

"I swear I'd help you pick the best courses for you to the best of my abilities if you pass this trial."

Jacob Cloud exhales and smiles, content. He does not look away from the cut.

"That sounds very generous, Elder Lioren. Then, do I just step on the array?"

"Yes, Cloud. You do."

"How do I come back when I'm done?"

"We can monitor what you do. Once you're done, I'll pull you back with the keystone."

"Sure, that sounds great."

Poor fool. You really think—

Lioren does not finish the thought because Jacob Cloud steps into the Platinum-rank trap-filled simulation with steady feet and a level gaze. The activation hum deepens. Lines of light flare beneath his boots, and the mirrored space folds like glass in water.

A projection the size of two men opens in front of Elder Lioren, and everyone in the arena shifts toward it and clusters behind him on the bleachers to watch. The surface throws white glare and then settles into sharp color. Runes spool and knot. Metal plates glint. Lines of force reveal anchor points like stars in a night sky.

It's almost a pity. The kid is brash. He's shameless in some ways. But his talent.

"Well, here goes nothing," Elder Lioren says as he watches Jacob Cloud step toward the first array. Lightning crawls through that design with a serpent's grace. The elder saw Hell's Sword in the boy's hand before, and that blade points to a run of lucky encounters that let him max a Skill most recruits never tame, even though Ytrial sees a few each year who do it. It looks impossible to outsiders, yet Ytrial serves as the house of the best Knights. It is the factory and the forge and the crucible that takes raw ore and leaves hardened steel.

He waits for Jacob Cloud to plant a foot on a wrong plate and turn into ash. Jacob does not oblige. He summons Hell's Sword and flicks it with careful precision so that the blade jams under a plate and bites into a seam.

"Huh?"

A node pops like a bulb that blows, and the array drops to half power. The air in the projection loses half its crackle.

"What the—" Elder Lioren frowns. His eyes narrow, and his lips start to peel back from his teeth.

Ok, one more step and he's fried anyway. That might have been luck.

Jacob moves like he reads sheet music that only he can see. He pivots, and he pries up a second plate, and he knifes the sword's tip through a hairline gap. The second node flashes and dies. The whole array gutters and then goes dark.

Elder Lioren's face twists.

"That little rat-fucking bastard, piece of a motherfucking who—"

A few junior instructors slap hands over their ears and stare down at the floor. A couple of recruits on the high benches look like they want to laugh and do not dare.

Elder Lioren is not a foolish noble. He clawed his way into the Academy the old-fashioned way. The High Court did not sponsor him at the start. He earned his place first, and he mended that relationship later when they came to him because results leave no room for snobbery.

That is why, despite the itch to kill the boy, a thin smile tugs at his mouth.

"This rat-fucker played me like a fiddle. He must have a powerful, very powerful ocular Skill. Unbelievable. True Diamond, at the very least."

The projection shows Jacob Cloud working through the course with a ruthless calm that draws breath from the stands. He sees anchors. He sees stress lines. He sees false seams that hide cores. He treats each trap like a problem in a book and does not rush even when the room tilts and scrapes at him and tries to herd him into death. He breaks a compression weave by nudging a weight plate a quarter thumb-width. He lets a blade curtain fall where it cannot bite him. He threads a safe path through a bed of resonant tiles that howl when pressed in the wrong order.

As he smashes trap after trap, Elder Lioren starts to chuckle and then to shake his head. His shoulders loosen, and for a moment the pride of a teacher edges out the bile of a rival.

The difficulty rises. At the end, the arrays begin to brush an Intermediate Platinum level. The light grows harsher, and the hum acquires depth, and the heat in the projection ripples the air.

Elder Lioren leans forward and grips the rail.

"Come on, Cloud. You smashed the lightning array and the eternal blade waterfall. You can't see the plasma core? What are you doing?! Oh! There! YES! Goddammit. These kids will give me a heart attack one of these days."

"Lioren," a familiar voice says behind him, and Elder Lioren turns and sees Dean Amenotep step out from the tunnel. The dean wears purple robes lined with gold that drink the light, and his brown eyes look like chips of flint when they fix on a target.

"I hear that you are trying to kill a recruit."

"Sir," Elder Lioren says, and he points at the image. "The guy just cleared a Platinum Ranked Simulation. He's just taking apart the last array. A Heavenly Plasma Hell."

Dean Amenotep's face hardens. He pivots toward the moving picture, and the lines by his mouth flatten. The projection shows a dark-haired recruit with blue eyes and a blade like a coal that burns without smoke. The recruit takes apart the anchor points of a Heavenly Plasma Hell Array with movements that look like he trained on this exact design in a private simulation.

"So you were just testing new blood?" Dean Amenotep says.

A junior instructor behind them digs fingers into his hair and almost groans.

He was trying to kill him a moment ago! Why's the old geezer now cheering for the kid?! Has everyone here lost their mind?!

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