Chapter 1: Orientation

The sky was clear, perfect weather for the celebration in Colbrand. The streets were crowded with tourists and citizens, enjoying life to its fullest with merriment and drink. The peddlers and merchants put away their usual wares and brought out their festival goods, much of which traveled a great distance for this holiday.

Partakers wore masks that made them look like the monsters of the wild and the armored knights who slew them. They ate foods sweetened with honey and syrup or hashed with exotic spices, and amused themselves with small novelties and trinkets. Harps, horns, and other noisemakers were played for passing audiences, while street performers awed strangers with feats of physicality and magic.

Disturbing the traffic, small floats built on wagons and carriages roamed the city. Like the masks, most floats displayed effigies of fearsome beasts from the countryside and legend, such as wolves and dragons. Others resembled knights, warhorses, and naval vessels. Some depicted the six elemental gods. These floats, if not pulled by horses, were pushed by slaves.

Knights likewise paraded on horseback, smiling and waving to grateful and disgruntled citizens. Knights had a peculiar relationship with the public, being more individualistic and nameworthy than the faceless soldiers of the military, but more regulated than the opaque and neutral adventurers. Knights of exemplary caliber would earn names for themselves for the size and number of victories. Their stories would travel, and their names would be woven into myth and legend, remembered long after their death. For many other knights, failure and misdeeds would tarnish their reputation and their families, and the stigma of nasty rumors would stick to them like a foul odor.

At the moment, the public’s view could go either way, primarily due to the scenery around them. Colbrand, the capital of Uther, was in a state of recovery, bearing the fresh wounds received in the chaotic Red Revelry. It was a bloody tradition, nighttime festivals of violence taking place in the silent streets. Warriors with a perverse love of combat would go out and fight under cover of darkness. They’d slay each other simply for the rush, to test their skills and loot their kills.

On the final night before the holiday, there was a mass breakout at the royal dungeon, and all the incarcerated revelers escaped and caused pandemonium to avoid recapture. Fires were spread, threatening to destroy the city, and countless people were wounded and killed in the ensuing chaos. Colbrand narrowly survived, and three days of work got the city functioning to acceptable levels, stable enough to finally enjoy their postponed holiday.

During the chaos, the effectiveness of the knights was put on display for everyone to see. Many citizens had been saved by the knights or saw them fighting the revelers. Others lost their homes, loved ones, and livelihoods to the spreading flames and violence that the knights failed to prevent. Many of those same revelers were now joining the knight order, for today was the day of admittance for new applicants.

Among this crowd of young warriors was Noah, walking the streets towards the academy. It was an academy mostly in name, for those who managed to enroll wouldn’t be educated but trained. This was the military. Noah had joined several militias in past lives and knew the lifestyle, but he was more filled with excitement than nostalgia. Getting to experience the unknown was rare for him, and this world had something he had never encountered before: magic.

This foreign variable was shaping the destiny of this world in ways that fascinated him. It was a sociological interest, letting him enjoy this front-row seat to see how magic affected the lives of these strangers and the ripples it would create in the future. He could wield magic power, and here, he hoped to understand it, and hopefully understand his own existence. The knowledge he could acquire here was making his heart flutter.

As he walked, he surveyed the other applicants. They were all in their late teens and early twenties, commoners and adventurers. There was a male majority, but a surprising number of women. Juxtaposed to Uther’s regular soldiers, all of whom were men who couldn’t use magic and were equally expendable, women with the ability to launch great fireballs or heal fatal wounds were too valuable for the high echelon to ignore. Magic was a talent easy to display, helping women show their worth and overcome barriers.

The number of applicants continued to grow, tens becoming hundreds. It seemed many nobles handed out letters of recommendation like candy, and seeing all these faces, Noah was a bit irked that Lord Fault had been such a miser about the whole thing. Then again, he had killed the man’s brother.

He and the other adventurers were forced to crowd the sides of the street so that several carriages could roll by. Each was more ornately decorated than the last and displayed various coats of arms. They formed a long line in front of the wrought iron gates, like limos at an awards show, and the sons and daughters of high-ranking noble houses stepped out. Most of them were the second and third children, the spares, and having no prospects of their own, it was either this or the life of a commoner. The carriages were simply a way for the various families to show off.

If anything, their arrivals were meek. There were no loud announcements or fanfare, and no fancy outfits or lines of servants carrying luggage. Such gaudiness, like the carriages themselves, were forbidden on academy grounds. Here, wealth and names did not carry the same weight as in the outside world, though they managed to hold onto some influence. These young men and women were simply cadets and would be treated as such, for the most part. They were modestly dressed and carried the weapons they had been trained with.

As Noah approached the gates, he spotted a familiar face exiting one of the carriages: Alexis, garbed in her blue battle dress with her blonde hair wound in a bun, while two flanges framed her face. Noah had fought beside her on his way to Colbrand, and while most would look upon her and see only a stoic beauty, he had witnessed her killing skills. She spotted him but did not smile or speak out. Instead, she gave him a simple nod, as though they were still on the battlefield. He liked that about her, that professionalism.

Past the gates, staff were gathering applicants in the large training fields before the central building. Noah found his place and was left waiting with all the others for the stragglers to make their way onto the field. It was a sea of noise due to countless conversations between friends and acquaintances, and the staff organizing the applicants shouting over them. There looked to be over a thousand people gathered.

‘Fault, you really were a stingy asshole.’

The facility was an academy and a military base, so every building was designed like a fortress. The central building, already resembling a castle, had experienced several expansions to accommodate the growing number of cadets. A man stepped out of the main entrance, a large portcullis. His head was shaved, and he was dressed in a long leather coat, decorated with medals and the insignia of the knighthood. His arms were folded behind his back, and the way he walked made it look like he was on wheels.

“Attention!” He shouted the word long and loud enough for everyone to hear him and fall silent. He paused, making sure he had all eyes. “My name is Commandant Rupert Ford, and I am the headmaster at this academy, but not all of you need to remember my name. Only the applicants who have what it takes to get in, those who are still standing at the end of the day, need remember me. The letters from your benefactors do not grant you a seat of conscription, only the chance to fight for one.

Before we begin, any applicant specializing in weapons and physical combat shall move to the left field—my left. Any applicant specializing in elemental magic, move to the right. Each side will form three lines, and anyone who isn’t in line is rejected.”

The sea of faces churned as everyone hustled to fulfill the command. Groups of friends were forced to split up, and Noah ended up in the left field. As he moved, he noticed a trail of sand forming a ring within the field, just barely large enough to hold the combatants. Three winding lines formed, spiraling and bending to accommodate everyone into the marked space.

The commandant held out his hand to a row of six desks set up at the bottom of the stairs, each attended by one of the staff, with a ledger and a crystal ball. “You will present your letters of recommendation to the examiners. Once authenticity has been confirmed, your magic strength will be gauged on a scale of 1-100. A score of 50 or less will get you rejected. If you pass, you will turn over your weapons and bags and receive an armband.

While you wait in line, there will be no talking and no unnecessary movement. If you leave your place in line for any reason or cause a disturbance, you will be rejected. If you are caught eating or drinking, you will be rejected. Should you reach the examiner in a disgraceful state, you will be rejected. Those who lack patience and discipline have no place here.”

‘Just kill me now,’ thought everyone present, with those feelings growing stronger as the lines stretched farther and the sun bared down on them.

That was how Noah and the other applicants spent the morning, standing in the summer heat and shuffling forward. Having lived for thousands of years, patience was a skill that Noah had learned early on, but the same couldn’t be said for everyone around him. Several noble sons kicked up a fuss as time went on. Their complaints grew from soft grumbling to frustrated shouting, demanding exemptions or loudly flouting the rules. It didn’t take much for a patrolling staff member to yank them out of line and give them the boot.

The reaction was usually the same for those caught with false letters or who didn’t get a high enough score. They’d beg and plead for another chance, throwing up any kind of excuse they could think of, or many would resort to anger and become demanding. Over in the mage group, Noah saw yet another mid-level noble shouting that he deserved a second reading and was above such silly tests. People like him were forced out as roughly as needed.

Some fighters passed the first screening, only to risk being thrown out just a second later because they refused to hand over their weapons. All but a few came to their senses. Noah understood their hesitance and sympathized with them. Before coming here, almost all the applicants lived their lives with weapons always in reach. It was a painful lesson to learn and a difficult instinct to go against. For the more fanatical warriors, it was also a point of pride.

Overlooking the proceedings was the commandant, his posture and demeanor unhindered by the heat. It was like he was a living statue. He turned, only slightly, at the sound of an exclamation coming from one of the examiners. An applicant had scored 100 on the magic aptitude test, twenty points higher than anyone else had been able to achieve, and more surprising, they were in the combatant category.

‘Hmmm, as I’d expect from Prince Seraph.’

Time passed, and Noah inched closer to the examiner, standing behind a red-haired young man without any weapons. The examiner, a middle-aged and overweight clerk, sized him up. The young man handed him a sealed envelope, and he flicked it open with a letter opener.

“You are Gideon from the town of Irving, and it says that you specialize in knives. For magic, you can use monk enhancements. Is this correct?”

“Yes, that’s true, sir, but I’m best with barehanded combat.” There was a slight hesitation, but the man either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“Can you read and write? Then sign here.”

Gideon wrote his name in the ledger, and the examiner pointed to the crystal ball. “Place one hand on it and channel as much mana as you can.”

He did as instructed and sent his mana into the orb. Within its cloudy interior, a number appeared.

“64, good. Here is your armband.”

He put it on and walked over to where the other admitted cadets were waiting, though waiting in line and waiting outside the line didn’t have much of a difference under the sun.

“Your name is Noah, from the town of Clive. You specialize in swordplay. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t see anything about your magic.”

He didn’t want to reveal his real magic, and claiming he didn’t have any might mean rejection. “I have mana, but I’m finding it hard to turn into magic. I believe I’m starting to develop warrior magic, but it’s not much, and I’m hoping I can hone it with the help of a teacher.”

“Very well, then. Let’s see how much mana you have.”

This was something Noah had been waiting for. All he could cast were illusions, and without any other users to compare himself to, he was left with no idea where he was located in the magical hierarchy. He placed his hand on the orb and forced as much mana as he could into the cloudy confines.

“70, well done.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Considering the intensity of his training vs the short time he’d had magic, it was a fair assessment.

Next, the annoying process of removing all of his weapons. While his bow and most of his throwing knives were hidden in his ring, he still kept several blades, shivs, garrotes, and even bludgeon tools hidden throughout his body, all being moved to his bag before he handed them over. His gear was wrapped in a cloth tagged with a number, the same ID number next to his name in the ledger.

The armband he received was also numbered. It looked like regular cheap fabric, but when he put it on, he felt it tighten around his arm and stick to his skin like duct tape. Everyone had the same reaction of trying to pull it off, only to find it wouldn’t budge.

Finally, everyone was registered. “Now we move on to the next stage,” said the commandant. “The armbands you’re wearing are enchanted and glow bright when you use mana. Those of you on the right, raise your hands and show us. Do not stop until I tell you.”

All the mages raised their hands, showing the armbands. They began to glow with a blue radiance, clearly visible even in full sunlight. “They can only be made to glow once, and as soon as that glow fades, those armbands will disintegrate, and you will be rejected. The last one hundred mages with their armbands intact will be accepted.”

Noah saw it, the tremor of misery moving through the magic crowd. There were around five hundred mages present, and to outlast 80% would be a painful trial. How long could they hold out? Minutes? Hours? All the participants were either trying to brace themselves and commit, or realizing they would fail and already losing strength to their gluttonous doubts.

“For the combat specialists, it’s the same basic principle: the last one hundred standing get to enroll, but it is your physical stamina we will be testing. You shall fight each other hand-to-hand in a battle royale. Should you attempt to use any magic, your armband will disintegrate, and you will be rejected, same with if you step beyond the border.”

For Noah and the combatants, the words ‘oh shit’ began to repeat through their minds. He hadn’t given the mages any time to prepare for the second stage, so they all knew what the following words out of his mouth would be.

“You may commence the thinning of the herd ... now.”

He gave a loud whistle, and at that moment, everyone within the field was either hesitant, stunned by the commandant’s words and gripped by uncertainty, or acted immediately, forming their strategy before they even took a breath. A switch was flipped as several dozen fighters began throwing punches and kicks at everyone nearby. The heavy-hitters, the ones who needed no hesitation, preyed on all those who had yet to even raise their guard, and caused the mob the churn within the enclosed borders. Among them was Gideon, knocking people through the air with devastating kicks or dropping them with powerful jabs.

Noah took the third option and disappeared into the crowd. He couldn’t use his magic, but he still knew how to blend in with the hesitant. His goal was to survive, not build a body count, so he first stepped back to observe the scene. Many others thought like him, using the cowardly as camouflage while collecting information and waiting for the mess to clean itself up.

Only a few moments had passed, but the crowd was metamorphizing without pause. The fiercest fighters were opening up space in the center, and the ripples of violence were moving through the other applicants. Hundreds of young men and several women were soon brawling like they had taken bath salts in a mosh pit.

All the mages, at least, those with attention to spare, watched the sea of fists and feet and listened to the chorus of grunts and battle cries. Noah avoided detection through the beginning of the fight, letting the crowd thin itself out as the weakest either lost consciousness or were forced off the field. Countless applicants had to flee so as not to be trampled on. Those who were beaten until unconsciousness had to be dragged out by the staff, but were then tended to by women in white vestments, using healing magic.

There was often a flash of blue as someone used magic. Perhaps they thought they could hide it, or did it without realizing. Whether they meant to or not, it caused their armband to turn into ash, and they had no choice but to leave. The mages still had a few hundred left in their ranks and would continue their endurance test. When their strength gave out, applicants in both fields would be forcefully handed their gear and escorted off the premises.

In time, the crowd shrank, and there was more room to fight, but fewer places to hide. The middle and high-level fighters had cleared out the weak, and everyone remaining had switched into battle mode. Anyone without a raised guard was now considered an easy target to force out.

Noah, observing from the sidelines at the edge of the ring, was noticed. The timing was perfect, as watching the fight had given him a bit of bloodlust. He usually abstained from violence for pleasure, but amusement was half the reason he was here, so he might as well enjoy himself. He approached the mob and was likewise approached by his fellow applicants.

“Come on, give me a challenge.”

The first came at him, and a wide haymaker was sent his way. Noah caught the young man’s fist and struck his elbow, snapping his arm. A kick to the back of the leg got him down on one knee, and Noah knocked him out with a blow to the temple. Noah turned to his next opponent and blocked an incoming kick, then a second. When the third came, Noah grabbed his leg and twisted him into a lock that brought the two of them to the ground. Two snaps were heard, one from the knee and the other from the ankle, followed by a cry of pain. A brawl like this wouldn’t usually be the best place for locks and grapples, but Noah knew how to inflict them without leaving himself vulnerable even a second longer than needed.

Noah got up and left him to lick his wounds, but the next opponent was already charging and pulling his fist back. Noah interrupted with a sharp jab to the Adam’s Apple, and robbed of his breath, he couldn’t block the knee to the gut that came afterward, making him buckle. He was even more helpless when Noah wrapped his arms around his hunched-over body and suplexed him into the ground.

Another contender came, and this one was faster than the others. He attacked as Noah righted his posture, unleashing a flurry of punches. Noah deflected them away as if avoiding a lashing blade. A sweep of the feet knocked his opponent off balance, and Noah knocked him out of bounds with a kick square to the center of his chest.

Noah was tackled from the side and knocked to the ground with someone on top of him. The punches came, and Noah wasn’t able to block them all. Pinned down with fists raining, he was in a desperate situation. A hard strike to the kidneys made his attacker pause, and Noah sat up and grabbed him by the back of his head.

Pulling him back down, he unleashed several elbow strikes to the side of the neck until the man finally gave in. He tried to get away, but Noah grabbed him in an armbar and snapped his elbow with an added shoulder dislocation. While the young man cried in pain, Noah got to his feet and dusted himself off. He was hot, thirsty, and sweaty, but it didn’t seem like that would change soon.