A crushing force descended upon the field.
The applicants felt like an unseen hand was being pressed down on them.
Most applicants buckled instantly.
Bodies hit the ground with dull thuds with their hands bracing against the dirt as their bodies tremble under the sheer pressure.
Majority managed to hold themselves upright, though their breaths came out in ragged gasps and their arms were shaking from the strain.
Some clutched their chests as if trying to keep their ribs from caving in.
'Urghh…'
Seven felt the pressure coil around him, pressing against his shoulders as if it was urging him to bow down.
He grit his teeth, forcing himself to sit upright despite his muscles burning.
After all, he had endured worse.
He already died before.
"I am the Vice Headmaster."
As the woman spoke those words, Seven could feel the weight on him doubled.
His vision blurred for a second, as his heart pounded against his ribs.
"Hah…"
Sweat beaded at his temple as he realized something.
The pressure was being focused.
On him.
He lifted his gaze, and met the Vice Headmaster's gaze.
'I was right…'
Cylinth stood tall on the platform like an unmovable mountain looming over the field. Her jet-black hair swayed lightly against the wind, but her gaze did not waver.
Sharp.
Cold.
'Testing…'
She was testing him.
She was testing the youngest of the Hart.
Seven's fingers curled into fists as he forced his body to remain still.
Stare.
He wasn't sure how long they stared at each other, but the silent exchange felt far longer than it should have.
Then, without shifting her focus, the Vice Headmaster stated her name.
"Cylinth déi Silverio."
A muscle in Seven's jaw tightened as he swallowed the groan threatening to slip out.
Beside him, Lythian sat casually, as if the weight didn't exist at all. His arms rested on his knees, his posture was relaxed along with a barely concealed smirk tugging at his lips.
Seven resisted the urge to scowl.
'Of course. The bastard has… a second gate.'
Still, that wasn't what bothered him.
Cylinth.
She wasn't supposed to be the one standing there right now.
This wasn't how it was written.
The one meant to lead the orientation should have been Magnus Havin.
The Archmage.
The Headmaster.
And yet, he was nowhere to be seen.
'Did father really fight him?'
'Was the rumors true?'
For countless times, he believed that the story had changed.
The pieces were shifting.
And Seven had no doubt.
It was because of them.
"Readers."
Seven's gaze flickered toward Lythian.
"Hey—"
But before he could finish, the pressure intensified.
A sharp, crushing weight bore down again. Even Lythian, who had been unbothered up until now, stiffened slightly.
Those who had barely been holding on finally succumbed.
Their bodies collapsed, face-first into the dirt, the sound of their impact swallowed by the silence of those still struggling to stay upright.
But Seven wasn't looking at them anymore.
His eyes were locked onto someone else.
Not a professor.
Not an examiner.
But a late applicant.
He was striding through the sea of kneeling and unconscious bodies, as if the pressure did not exist at all.
Golden hair.
Golden eyes.
Golden robes.
Golden sword.
Even the aura surrounding him shimmered with a golden brilliance, making him look like something out of a legend.
Ciae Arventis.
Step.
He moved forward with unhurried grace.
His number tag, two (2), was pinned to his robes, glinting under the sun.
He approached an empty spot next to a woman with number one (1) on her tag, her pinkish-green hair standing out amidst the crowd.
Like him, she was encased in her own layer of energy, holding the pressure at bay.
Seven felt his stomach drop.
'Fudge.'
'Fuck.'
Both Seven and Lythian cursed at the same time.
This wasn't just an orientation.
It was already a test.
A test to eliminate those who lacked the ability to control their energy—whether it be mana or aura.
A test to separate those who could think under pressure from those who crumbled the moment things got difficult.
He had completely overlooked that.
Lythian must've realized it at the same time, because in the next second, he reacted.
A faint shimmer coated his skin as he enveloped himself in aura, his movements practiced but slightly rough—clumsy in a way that revealed how unfamiliar he still was with this body.
But it worked.
Seven moved quickly, guiding his own aura outwards from his sole gate, letting it spread over his body like a second skin.
One by one, those who had been holding on caught on and did the same.
"Hah…"
A collective gasp filled the field as the pressure around them finally 'eased' just slightly.
Enough to breathe.
Just for one, singular breath.
Then it returned.
Stronger.
The weight crushed down on them again, but this time, it wasn't Seven who had Cylinth's full attention.
It was Ciae.
Her gaze settled on him like a predator locking onto prey.
And yet, Ciae barely reacted.
He reached his spot, sat down, and crossed his legs—completely unbothered.
As if he wasn't being subjected to the same force that had flattened dozens of applicants around him.
Cylinth's eyes narrowed.
She swept her gaze across the remaining applicants. Most were still standing.
Her lips curled.
Then the pressure rose
A new wave of force surged over them. One second. Two seconds. The bodies began dropping again.
Thud.
Thud.
One after another.
The air grew heavier.
It rose again.
Again.
And again.
Thud.
Thud.
More bodies hit the ground. The field became littered with those who could no longer hold on.
Seven's vision blurred for a moment. He could feel his pulse hammering against his ribs, his breath sharp and shallow. His fingers curled into the dirt, his knees threatening to buckle.
'Fudge…'
How much longer—?
The professors moved, rushing onto the stage. Their voices were urgent, words sharp and clipped.
"Vice Headmaster—"
"Enough."
"Please stop."
Cylinth exhaled through her nose.
'Crap. I… got worked up.'
Again, it was a rare thing for her.
But no one could blame her as for the first time since she took her position, the applicants were interesting.
And not just one or two.
There were several.
It was enough to make her curious.
Even now, she scanned the last few standing. Seven—who was clutching his chest, gasping for air. Lythian, whose composure had cracked just slightly. And of course, Ciae, untouched, unbothered, unshaken.
There were a lot more compared to last year.
She smiled.
Thud.
Another body dropped.
Only then did she release the magic.
The invisible weight vanished.
Everything returned to normal, and the applicants no longer felt like the pressure was dragging them into hell.
"Hah…"
Seven sucked in a deep breath.
He could feel his entire body trembling from the exertion, sweat trailing down his neck.
"Fudge. I almost… failed…"
If the Vice Headmaster had held on for a few more seconds, he wasn't confident he could have endured
Lythian, equally exhausted, clicked his tongue.
Seven let out a dry laugh.
"I thought you failed."
"Fucker. Says the one who—"
Thud.
A body collapsed ahead of them.
Owen Decathlon.
The second from the right wing, three rows in front of him.
The one with no talent.
No characteristics.
The one Seven was sure wouldn't make it.
Medical staff rushed toward Owen's unconscious form. Unlike the others still unconscious on the ground, they moved quickly.
They lifted him onto a stretcher and carried him away.
But no other unconscious applicants had been retrieved.
Only him.
Which meant one thing.
They were taking him to be treated.
Because he had endured.
Because he had made it.
Seven's gaze followed them as they disappeared from view.
"I bet he passed…"
A moment ago, he was sure that Owen wouldn't stand a chance
Cylinth let her gaze sweep across the remaining applicants.
The once-crowded test field, which had been filled to the brim just moments ago, now looked half-empty.
Bodies still lay unconscious on the ground, unmoving.
Some were breathing, others twitching faintly. A few were slowly regaining consciousness, groaning as they tried to push themselves up—but it was too late for them.
Those still sitting?
They passed.
Cylinth exhaled and folded her arms across her chest.
"Congratulations."
Her voice carried through the silent field.
"All of you here have survived the first test."
Despite the simple statement, a weight hung in the air.
Survived.
Not passed.
Because in the end, that's what this was.
Not a test of talent.
Not a test of skill.
A test of survival.
And only 437 of them remained.
Cylinth tilted her head slightly.
"437 of you managed to withstand the pressure. That means more than 300 of your fellow applicants have already been eliminated."
Some of them tensed at her words. Others simply exhaled, still trying to catch their breath.
She let the silence linger before continuing.
"But don't get comfortable."
A slow smile crept onto her lips.
"This was merely the first of seven."
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the group.
Some of them paled and stiffened.
Seven tests…
They had barely made it through one, and there were six more?
For the last time, Cylinth looked at Seven before she turned on her heel.
"I hope you're not the type to celebrate too early."
And just like that, without waiting for a response, she left.
Thud.
Another body fell, and the medics rushed with a stretcher.
But the body belonged to a certain someone.
Seven Hart.