After a week into the exam, mages began giving up one by one, revealing the disparity in skill levels. The lower-tier students struggled with questions 1 to 4, the middle-tier stalled at question 5, and the upper-tier split between those who completed question 6 and those tackling question 7.
The top tier further divided between those who had solved more than half of question 7 and those who had fully completed it. No one mentioned question 8. However, experiencing this exam was a badge of honor for all participants, a privilege enjoyed by only 150 out of 300 new mages. Even senior mages and active professors asked about the exam.
Today, at noon on Saturday, with all exams from the Mage Tower of the University concluded, Sylvia was deeply engrossed in question 8, oblivious to the passage of time.
Her disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes contrasted starkly with her usual self, but she continued channeling her mana. She had spent nearly five days on question 8 alone, having already drawn over seven magic circles.
Due to the complexity and variety of spells interacting in question 8, she meticulously deconstructed each spell linkage and transferred it onto her answer sheet. She had already created seven magic circles and wasn't sure how many more remained. No wonder the answer sheets were so large and numerous.
As she worked on the eighth magic circle, Sylvia felt pain in her head and eyes. She quickly pinched her nose to stop a nosebleed, fearing it might ruin her answer sheet. She stepped out of the exam room to clear her head.
Seeing her reflection in the window and the blood droplets on the floor, she felt wretched and exhausted. She needed a break. Sylvia performed a light Cleanse spell to refresh herself and noticed a familiar face dozing off in front of the elevator.
"Excuse me."
"Oh, uh, yes, Miss Sylvia. Are you stepping out?"
"Yes."
"Alright, I've noted it."
Sylvia took the elevator down and stepped outside the Mage Tower. The area was thankfully quiet. She walked to a nearby park and sat on a bench, looking at the garden in front of her.
The university's garden was ordinary, with grass, flowers, and trees growing under the sun and sky, all nourished by them. Like question 8, the garden was a result of independent elements coming together. Perhaps Grand Magic was not so different from tending a garden.
Her father once told her that even a thousand or ten thousand Solda-level mages couldn't cast Grand Magic alone; it required thirty professor-level mages, and only an Archmage could do it solo. That's why, in the past sixty years, there had been only one Archmage, Demakan. Now over a hundred years old, he could likely solve question 8 with just a glance.
Sylvia closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, the sun had moved. Pondering this mysterious phenomenon with her magical insight, Sylvia quickly realized she had fallen asleep and stood up, surprised.
She rushed back to the Mage Tower and checked the clock. It was 4 p.m. She had thirty-one hours and fifty-nine minutes left until the deadline at midnight on Sunday. Sylvia sat down, furiously scribbling with her magic pen.
The exam question contained a dozen or so spells interlocked like gears. She carefully disassembled and analyzed each one, transforming them into magic circles without knowing what they would become, her focus unwavering.
Tick-tock, tick-tock—
The clock seemed to move twice as fast. Throughout, Sylvia's mana, almost ten thousand mana points, continuously flowed into the answer sheets. Finally...
"... Eleven."
Sylvia had finished a total of eleven answer sheets. She spread them out on the floor, carefully checking their order and structure. One by one, the magic circles engraved on the paper fit together perfectly. Taking a deep breath, she infused the spell with her mana, the result of 150 hours of effort. The magic circles on the answer sheets resonated deeply with her soul.
Hummmmm—
A powerful resonance shook her heart. In that instant, 80% of her mana was drained, and the exam room transformed. An unfamiliar landscape filled the space, with the magic extending beyond the walls and ceiling, separating the room from the outside world.
— On the ground, cypress trees and wheat fields swayed together, while the sky was filled with swirling winds and bright starlight. A quaint village with a drawbridge, hills with vegetable gardens, and spinning windmills created a picturesque scene. In the distance, the beauty of sunflowers added to the charm.
This space, crafted by Deculein, was a tribute to the young mage who had solved all eleven spells. To Sylvia, it felt like a painting bursting with vibrant colors, a glowing oil painting full of warmth. It was a piece of art that deeply resonated with her soul.
"Sylvia," a voice came from somewhere, as gentle as the wind.
Sylvia opened her eyes wide and looked around. In the middle of the magical, painterly scene stood Deculein, perfectly dressed in his usual suit, looking almost magical.
He looked at Sylvia and said, "Congratulations."
Kim Woo-Jin's soul harbored a deep passion for art. Despite being swept up by the trends and realities of the world, he never let go of his dream, thanks to her support. Though his lack of talent kept him from reaching his goals, his memories merged with Deculein's Aesthetic Sense.
With the artistic talent he had always dreamed of, he started recreating the masterpieces from his time in another world. He brought the art of his homeland to life through magical illusions, such as The Starry Night, Road with Cypress and Star, Sunflowers, and the Vegetable Gardens in Montmartre.
The original artist of these works, Vincent van Gogh, was a man who suffered endless pain and sorrow, never appreciated during his life. He was an outsider who created pure beauty from his suffering. The paintings he left behind were stunning and powerful, filled with intense emotion.
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Sylvia closed her eyes, but the scene remained vivid, as if it had been seared into her mind. Every part of it was magic, with each color representing an element. The unfamiliar fields felt alive, and standing in the center of this vibrant painting, she felt her soul tremble. This tremor spread, turning into a deep resonance. At that moment...
"Thank you," Deculein said, his words surprising and confusing Sylvia.
Sylvia turned to him, puzzled by his gratitude, but she could see the sincerity in Deculein's eyes.
"... You did well."
Deculein couldn't recreate this scene with his own magic due to a lack of mana, but he had always wanted to see it with his own eyes. For this, he was grateful to Sylvia. She might not fully understand, but she nodded as if she did.
Sylvia turned back to the magical landscape, immersing herself in the wind, the scents, the colors, the movement, and the light. She suddenly felt warmth on her cheek—a single tear she hadn't shed since her mother's passing. Wiping it away, Sylvia turned around to find that Deculein was already gone. She had wanted to thank him.
***
Knock knock—
After knocking, Allen opened the exam room door. The room was filled with the strong smell of coffee, and Epherene was sitting inside. The place was typically messy, with answer sheets scattered all over the floor, each marked with numerous magic circles. She had reached a similar stage to Sylvia but had ultimately failed.
"Debutant Epherene, time is up."
Startled, Epherene looked up at Allen, scratching her head with a bitter smile and asked, "Ah... is it really?"
"So close," Allen said, smiling back at her.
Epherene hesitated, looking both embarrassed and regretful, then asked, "Assistant Professor, about the exam questions..."
"Oh, sure. You can keep them. Professor Deculein said we should send them with safeguarding magic on a new exam paper. You'll just need to provide a drop of blood."
Of the four who made it to question 7, only two lasted all eleven days. Epherene was one of them, so she earned her reward.
"Phew... thank you," Epherene said with a sigh of relief, standing up to draw her blood for the lock. Then she gathered her writing tools and belongings and left the exam room.
Allen escorted her to the Mage Tower elevator. As they walked, he said, "Epherene, you've done a great job."
"... Assistant Professor Allen, thank you so much. And thank you for the exam papers," Epherene said, bowing deeply, her backpack slipping off her shoulders and then back up again.
"Hehe. No problem," Allen said, chuckling as the elevator approached the 30th floor. "The exam papers will arrive in three days. Review them whenever you want and keep practicing. I'll also include ten of your magic answer sheets."
"Ah, thank you so much..."
"But don't get too obsessed with it."
Ding—
Just then, the elevator arrived.
"Even if you can't figure it out now, you'll get it eventually. Don't stress too much if you can't solve something every day. Just take it one week at a time," Allen said, sounding unsure of his own advice.
Epherene smiled and nodded, understanding well enough and said confidently, "Yes. I'll work on it every week and eventually solve it."
"... Alright," Allen said, watching her with a hint of envy.
"Take care," Epherene said, waving until the elevator doors closed.
Ding—!
However, as soon as the doors shut, her smile disappeared. Blood oozed from her gums; she had been clenching her teeth all day, almost to the point of losing them.
"... Hah."
She slumped into the corner of the elevator, her shoulders trembling. Frustrated, she punched the wall.
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Ding—!
"Ahhh!"
She thought she had broken the elevator, but the door simply opened. Despite it being almost midnight, numerous mages boarded from the 25th floor. They were all at least Solda grade, working under professors—or rather, slaves.
Ding—!
The elevator stopped again on the 21st floor.
Ding—!
Again on the 19th floor.
Ding—!
And again on the 12th floor.
Ding—!
Once again, it stopped at the 5th floor. The elevator was now crammed with about thirty mages.
"Wow, when are we ever going to get some sleep?"
"Hey. Don't push, I'm stuck in the corner..."
"Seriously, grading these assignments is killing me."
"Ouch... don't push..."
"Once we're done, people will start complaining about the grades."
"Help me..."
"Yeah, and if we accept complaints, the professor will lose it over his reputation..."
Ding—
Epherene was nearly squashed by the crowd as they reached the first floor.
"... Oh god."
Stumbling out, she felt dizzy and nearly fainted as she left the Mage Tower. She walked aimlessly until her legs gave out at the Mage Tower's entrance. Unable to take another step, she stood still.
"Hey, there's Ephie!"
Beyond the door, her club members, who she had joined on a whim, were waiting for her. At that moment, Epherene couldn't hold back anymore. Her cheeks puffed up like steamed buns, and the dam of emotions she had barely held back finally burst.
"Ephie, don't cry. Come on, let's go eat. We've got Roahawk Boar at the restaurant."
"Roahawk..."
Her friends came over, and soon she was walking with them, part of the group again.
"But no food for you if you keep crying."
"... I'm not crying. Who said I was crying?"
***
The once-brilliant Imperial Palace was now shrouded in darkness. The vassals wore black-and-white garments, and the gates of the palace were firmly closed. In the vast hall, where only the Emperor could tread the central carpet, the Empire's guardian knights, ministers, and officials knelt in silence.
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Emperor Crebaim sat on his throne, his form obscured by a veil. He wished to die while still seated. The hall was steeped in silence, his breaths no longer audible. The vassals and knights struggled to hold back their tears, stifled sobs barely contained. The Emperor would not survive the day, and per his will, his body would be placed in a simple wooden coffin.
For the next three days, the palace gates would stay closed. After nine days, the succession ceremony would take place, gathering the heirs and heads of the captive kingdoms and noble families. With the Emperor's death imminent, the first in line for the throne, Sophien Aekater Augus von Jaegus Gifrein, was deep in thought in her chambers.
"... Your Highness," Keiron, Empress's Knight, said.
Sophien turned her weary gaze toward him, her half-closed crimson eyes reflecting her fatigue and said, "Shouldn't you start calling me Your Majesty?"
"The Emperor has not yet passed away," Keiron replied.
"Not quite. It's already been more than six months," Sophien said with a faint smile.
Keiron silently withdrew a set of documents from his coat, study materials for her review and said, "Here are this month's tasks, Your Highness."
"Just leave them there."
"They are your tasks."
"You always bring me such burdens. It's rather annoying."
"Please, give them a try. These problems have gained quite a reputation recently."
As the assured successor to the throne, Sophien was exceptionally talented in all fields. With a sword, she was destined for Valhalla. With books, she could become a sage. With magic, she could rival Archmages. Her only flaw was her laziness. Though she was no longer young, she showed no passion for any specific area.
Despite this, she had no weaknesses, was well-informed about current affairs, and had a keen ear. She never made hasty judgments, stayed detached from emotions, and was clear-cut in her decisions, never mixing personal feelings with duty. She possessed qualities that surpassed those of Emperor Crebaim in every way, truly embodying the essence of a ruler.
"Hmm," Sophien muttered, glancing at the stack of documents Keiron had handed her. "I see it's about magic."
"Indeed, Your Highness," Keiron replied.
Then Sophien noticed the author of the magical compilation.
"Deculein von Grahan-Yukline?"
"Are you familiar with him?"
"Of course. He supported the Scarletborn at Berhert, which greatly displeases me. Has he lost his mind? Why the sudden support for the Scarletborn?"
"... He was never well-regarded," Keiron replied with a wry smile.
Sophien silently tossed the documents aside.
"Nevertheless, you should read it."
"Why?"
"It was auctioned on the Floating Island for 30,000 elne."
"Why?"
"It's a limited edition, but the Imperial Sir Geor suggested you would benefit from reading it—"
"Why?"
"... Whether you choose to read it or not is up to you."
"Why?" Sophien asked, laughing quietly. "I'll read it later. But why not give it to Kreto?"
"Prince Kreto has already taken part in the auction himself."
"Naturally. He insists on handling everything on his own."
Kreto, second in line for the throne and Sophien's younger brother, was a Lumiere-ranked mage with a deep passion for magic.
"By the way, Keiron, what do you think I should do with the Scarletborn when I become Empress?"
Keiron stayed silent.
Sophien twisted her lips, saying, "You always say knights shouldn't involve themselves in politics."
"Knight keeps their words few, if I recall correctly."
"It's the same thing. They only stay quiet about political matters. If that weren't the case, they should be silent all the time. Yet, when a blade is at their throat, they suddenly become eloquent. Not one of them refrains from speaking."
Keiron looked at Sophien. To others, her eyes might seem to hold an innate majesty and gravitas, but to Keiron, who had been with her since she was thirteen, they just looked dull and lifeless.
Boom—
A drum echoed through the hall.
Keiron pressed his lip together and said, "Your Highness, the time for your departure has arrived."
"Indeed," Sophien replied as she stood up.
She walked with the dignity and grace of her royal lineage, a natural elegance she had possessed since birth. Knight Keiron followed his sovereign with measured, disciplined steps.