Bishop IV

Viktor, draped in the ceremonial robes befitting the occasion, stood before the intricate device designed to measure his flow level. The hushed anticipation in the air enveloped him like a cloak, and the cold atmosphere of the Academy seemed to intensify with each passing moment.

The device, a marvel of magical engineering, hummed softly as it prepared to assess the depth of Viktor's flow. The weight of the crown he was destined to wear pressed heavily upon him, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead, betraying the internal struggle beneath the composed exterior. The eyes of the gathered crowd bore into him, their collective gaze amplifying the pressure of the pivotal moment.

As Viktor raised his hand, ready to submit to the judgment of the device, he couldn't escape the awareness of the droplets of sweat trickling down his face. The cool ambiance of the Academy, known for its stoic grandeur, seemed to yield to the mounting tension, creating an atmosphere that was not only measured by magical gauges but also by the palpable energy of aspirations and expectations.

The silence held the weight of a thousand whispered hopes, and Viktor's every heartbeat echoed in the stillness. The device activated with a soft hum, its magical aura enveloping him. It was not just a measurement of flow; it was a ritual that would determine his readiness to bear the mantle of responsibility that awaited him as the king's son.

In this crucible of destiny, the temperature seemed to rise, and the Academy, an ancient witness to the ebb and flow of generations, bore witness to another chapter unfolding. Viktor, facing the ordeal with regal composure, sought to navigate the currents of pressure and expectation, knowing that his performance in this moment would echo through the annals of the Academy's history.

In the corner reserved for the esteemed heroes, a trio of them engaged in a playful banter that resonated with the camaraderie born of shared experiences and mutual jesting.

"Wanna bet?" one of the heroes chimed in, his tone carrying a hint of mischief. "I'm willing to wager that his flow isn't even that high."

A second hero, joining the banter with a wry smile, added, "Count me in. My bet is he's somewhere around the level of a common knight."

The third hero, shaking his head in mock disappointment, exclaimed, "Damn, that's cruel. Not even on the level of a king's knight, you think?"

Their laughter rippled through the corner, creating a lighthearted atmosphere that contrasted with the solemnity of the ongoing ceremony. Amidst the grandeur and formality, the heroes found solace in the shared amusement, forming a unique bond that transcended the boundaries of status and titles.

The trio's banter came to a sudden halt as a more serious voice cut through their laughter. A hero, with an air of authority, stood among them, his arm draped casually around his body.

"Enough playing, you three," he admonished, his gaze firm. "We're here for the Selection, not to make a mockery of it."

His words carried a weight that tempered the jovial atmosphere, reminding the others of the solemnity underlying the gathering. Undeterred, one of the trio, undeniably named Kye, responded with a mischievous grin.

"Kye, you're no fun," he teased. "Come on, let loose a little. It's not every day we get to witness the Selection ceremony with the king's son as a guest of honor."

Kye sighed, a mixture of amusement and exasperation evident in his expression, as the banter continued within the heroes' corner. Their interactions, a blend of camaraderie and respect, reflected the diverse personalities that composed the heroic elite within the Academy's hallowed halls.

"I'm more intrigued by the black swan event, like last time, Otto," he mused, his watchful eyes fixed on the corner where the servants were grouped. They waited patiently for their turn at the measuring device, their priority seemingly overshadowed by the lords' sons and daughters.

"Yeah, yeah, that's why you asked us to come today instead of pushing our fight on the eastern front of the Demon Realm, right?" Otto quipped, his words punctuated by the thud of his landing leg on the chair in front of him. The casual banter among the heroes hinted at an underlying tension, an awareness that today's events held a significance beyond the usual Selection ceremony.

The machine hummed once again, marking the pivotal moment. The crowd's collective breath held as the device concluded its assessment on Viktor. All eyes were fixed on the rotating numbers displayed on the large screen behind the measuring device.

A triumphant ding echoed through the Academy as a triple-digit number materialized on the screen. Viktor's relief was palpable; he exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

The Academy erupted in applause, acknowledging the king's son for his impressive flow level. In an attempt to seek acknowledgment from his father, Viktor called out, "Father!" With a face beaming with happiness, his voice cut through the applause.

However, the king's countenance revealed no trace of emotion. It was as though he looked through Viktor, rendering him invisible, his interest elsewhere. A noticeable chill pervaded the air, contrasting sharply with the celebratory atmosphere of the Academy.

As Viktor's gaze shifted to his mother, he found solace in her applause, the only resounding support amidst the silent acknowledgment from his father. The queen's smile offered a semblance of comfort, but it couldn't fully dispel the bitter taste of his father's indifference. Despite the joy of his achievement, Viktor couldn't shake off the disheartening realization that his father's approval remained elusive.

Agatha, her eyes gleaming with admiration, addressed the assembly, "Ladies and gentlemen, witness the prowess of our future knights and heroes. Viktor has not only met the expectations but surpassed them with an exemplary triple-digit flow level. Today, we welcome him to the highest echelons of our esteemed Academy, where he shall further hone his skills and emerge as a beacon of valor for our kingdom."

As Agatha spoke, Viktor couldn't escape the persistent weight of his father's gaze, each step up the ranks in the Academy hierarchy feeling like a hollow victory in the face of his father's indifference. The applause from the crowd and the commendation from Agatha, while genuine, couldn't bridge the growing chasm between father and son.