Meeting the Hero

Next was the final test. Up until now, the exams had been designed to evaluate the four critical aspects of every candidate's potential—the 4Qs. Emotional Quotient (EQ)and the Spiritual Quotient (SQ) which measured our ability to handle pressure and emotions; Intelligence Quotient (IQ), which assessed our academic knowledge and problem-solving skills; and Physical Quotient (PQ), which gauged our strength and endurance. Each part of the exam had been carefully crafted to reveal our strengths and weaknesses in these areas, ensuring that only the most well-rounded individuals would make it through.

But the final test was different.

This one wasn't about theory or endurance. It wasn't about how well we could manage stress or how strong our mana reserves were. The last test was meant to measure something much more tangible—our combat experience and actual skill in battle. No more hiding behind knowledge or raw talent; this would be the ultimate demonstration of whether we could apply what we'd learned and survive in a real fight. This test was also meant to reveal individuals who had talents for combat.

The final test was famously known as the newbie crusher by the students of the world academy because the test would be a spar, one-on-one, against a senior student.

After the grueling mental test, we were finally given a brief reprieve. The instructors allowed us a few minutes to rest and collect ourselves before the sparring portion of the exam. Tables lined the edge of the training grounds, laden with water, bread, and fruit to help replenish our energy. Many of us staggered over, eager to recover from the mental strain of the previous tests.

As I grabbed a piece of bread and took a sip of water, I noticed Arthur standing a few feet away, wiping the sweat from his brow. His usually sharp features were softened with fatigue, and there was a heaviness in his expression—likely lingering from whatever trauma he had just been forced to relive.

While I watched him from a distance, I saw Jayden approach. Jayden, with his noble bearing and sharp eyes, looked fresh and unfazed despite the intensity of the tests. His composure stood in stark contrast to Arthur's visible weariness. As Jayden neared, I could see that many eyes were on them—these two were the brightest stars of our generation, after all. Their skills and talents had already set them apart from the rest of us.

Arthur, noticing Jayden's approach, stepped forward, extending his hand in a friendly gesture. There was a tense moment as Jayden's eyes flickered down to the offered hand. For a brief second, it seemed like he might return the gesture, but instead, Jayden's expression turned cold, and without a word, he brushed past Arthur as if he weren't even there.

A ripple of murmurs immediately swept through the crowd. Whispers of the tension between the two spread like wildfire.

"Did you see that? Jayden just ignored him."

"I knew there would be bad blood between them."

"Arthurs from a commoner family, right? But Jayden's practically royalty—maybe he thinks Arthur's beneath him."

"That's bold, even for Jayden. Arthur's no slouch either."

The gossip continued, and I could see Arthur standing there, his hand still hanging in the air for a moment before he withdrew it, his face tightening. He clenched his jaw and tried to play it off, but I could tell the encounter had struck a chord. After that, I saw some of the others Main cast interacting with each other and some of the well-known families already making connections.

After getting a light meal, I headed to the waiting room where we were to prepare for the sparring test. To my surprise, I found Arthur already there. He sat on a wooden bench, his shoulders slumped slightly, staring at the floor as if lost in thought. His earlier confidence seemed drained from him, replaced with a quiet, reflective sadness. Perhaps the mental test had taken more out of him than anyone realized. Seeing him like that felt strange, given the image he projected most of the time in the novel.

I approached cautiously, not wanting to disturb him, but he must have sensed my presence because he glanced up. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, they were filled with something I hadn't expected—vulnerability. As someone who was also bullied when I was young, I could see how the encounter with Jayden had shaken him. There was also the look in his eyes, it seemed the weight of whatever he had experienced in the test still lingered in his gaze.

"Rough day?" I asked, trying to break the silence.

Arthur gave a small, humorless chuckle, running a hand through his dark hair. "You could say that."

I didn't push him to elaborate, but I could tell the mental test had shaken him more than most. Everyone had their demons to face, but for someone like Arthur—who always seemed so put together—it was clear his burdens ran deeper than he let on.

I decided to sit near him while waiting for our test to begin. We sat there in silence for a few minutes, the noise of the bustling academy muffled by the thick stone walls of the waiting room. It was a strange moment, almost peaceful despite the tension of what was to come.

As I watched him, I realized that despite Arthur's reputation as a genius, he was still human, still someone who carried his own pain. Maybe Jayden's coldness had added to the weight on his shoulders, or maybe it was something more personal, but either way, I could sense that Arthur was fighting a battle within himself.

"Well," I said, standing up as the signal for the next test echoed through the halls, "let's survive this next test. One thing at a time, right?"

Arthur looked up at me again, his expression softening slightly. He nodded, though the heaviness in his eyes didn't fully fade.

"Yeah," he muttered, getting to his feet. "One thing at a time.". Surprising he gave a look that said 'Goodluck man' it seems he sensed they apparent lack of mana I had compared to my peers.

And with that, we headed out to face the final test—the sparring match, where our skills, not our pasts, would be the only things that mattered.

The anticipation in the air was palpable as we were led to the academy's training grounds, a vast open space where dozens of sparring arenas had been set up. The dirt floor was scarred from countless duels, a testament to the hundreds—no, thousands—of battles that had taken place there over the years. The wooden bleachers surrounding the arena were packed with spectators, mostly senior students, eager to watch the newcomers prove their worth. Some watched with casual interest, while others seemed almost predatory, no doubt eager to spot potential rivals or future allies.

The senior students we were about to face weren't ordinary upperclassmen. Each had earned their place as the academy's top warriors, having survived the same rigorous training and trials we were now facing. They were seasoned veterans, warriors who had already been through the crucible and emerged stronger for it. Their eyes held the kind of confidence that only came from real combat experience, and there was no doubt in my mind that they would handicapped a little to showcase our abilities.

One by one, the names of the applicants were called, and each of them stepped forward to face their assigned opponent. The air was tense as the first matches began, the clash of weapons and the hum of mana filling the arena. Some of the applicants, particularly those from noble families, seemed almost overconfident, believing their lineage or early training would be enough to carry them through. Others, especially the commoners, approached the fight with a mix of determination and trepidation, knowing that this test could be the difference between acceptance or failure.

As I watched the battles unfold, it became clear that this wasn't just a test of physical skill. The senior students were ruthless in exposing weaknesses, testing their opponent's resolve as much as their technique. The fights were intense, pushing the applicants to their limits. Some held their own, managing to last long enough to show their potential, while others crumbled under the pressure, overwhelmed by the sheer skill of their opponents.

The instructors watched everything with sharp eyes, taking notes and observing how we handled ourselves in the face of adversity. The academy valued mindset above all else, and a true warrior's spirit wasn't defined by victory alone—it was about perseverance, adaptability, and the willingness to push forward, even when the odds were stacked against you.

Arthur's match was called early, pitting him against one of the top-ranking students from the second years—a towering hammer wielder named Daven. The crowd buzzed with anticipation, many eager to see how the much-talked-about genius would fare against an upperclassman. Daven was known for his brute strength and heavy strikes, his hammer capable of crushing shields and opponents alike. Meanwhile, Arthur's choice of weapon was both elegant and precise—two swords, just as it had been described in the novel.

As they stepped into the sparring ring, the air thickened with tension. Arthur stood calm and composed, his twin blades gleaming under the training hall's bright lights. His opponent, in contrast, had a wide, almost cocky grin on his face, clearly confident in his superior strength and rank. But there was something in Arthur's eyes, a quiet determination, a subtle resolve that hinted at the depth of his skill.

The signal was given, and the match began.

Daven lunged forward with a massive swing of his hammer, the force of it reverberating through the arena floor. The ground cracked under the weight of the strike, but Arthur had already moved. In one swift motion, he sidestepped the blow, his movements almost too fast to track. His footwork was immaculate, a dance of precision as he maneuvered around the hammer's arc.

He wasn't just dodging—he was observing, studying every move Daven made. For the first few moments, it seemed like Arthur was on the defensive, avoiding every swing with practiced ease. Daven continued to press forward, confident in his overwhelming strength, but there was no fear in Arthur's eyes. Only focus.

It was then I noticed how Arthur subtly infused mana into his swords, the faint glow of energy enveloping the blades. He wasn't using spells outright, but rather, enhancing his physical abilities—his strength, his agility. His movements became even sharper, faster, and more fluid as the fight progressed. Each time Daven brought his hammer down, Arthur would parry, using just enough force to redirect the blow, not block it. It was a brilliant display of technical mastery, using the opponent's strength against them.

The crowd began to murmur in amazement as Arthur slowly started turning the tide. Daven's strikes grew slower, more labored as fatigue set in. Meanwhile, Arthur's movements were growing more aggressive. His blades danced through the air, slashing with pinpoint accuracy. With a final, decisive strike, Arthur disarmed Daven, sending the hammer clattering to the ground. In one fluid motion, he stepped forward and placed the edge of his sword against the senior's throat.

"Yield," Arthur commanded, his voice calm but firm.