But even after hearing the start signal, Ciae did not move.
He simply stood there, letting his golden attire glisten under the sunlight.
His posture was lax, with one hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword and his shoulders were utterly relaxed.
His stance?
Open.
Unguarded.
To an untrained eye, it looked careless. But to those who understood, those who had truly trained their eyes, his stillness spoke volumes.
It was not the stillness of hesitation.
It was the stillness of absolute control.
Aeloria's eyes narrowed slightly.
She wasn't a swordsman, but she had grown up watching warriors and knights.
And from just one glance, she understood
"He's strong."
Not because of his attire.
Not because of his confidence from his stillness.
But she just knew that his body had already memorized the blade.
His stance had no wasted movement.
His grip was natural and effortless.
Even before he drew his sword—
She knew.
Step.
Ciae moved and took a single step forward. In the process, the ground cracked beneath his feet.
Shing!
His blade flashed.
A golden arc ripped through the air, light trailing behind it like a comet streaking across the sky.
It was breathtaking.
Like the first light of dawn, cutting through the darkness.
"Radiant Horizon."
Crash!!
The impact was instantaneous.
The training dummy…
Disintegrated.
Not just cut.
Not just broken.
Gone.
The ground beneath it was shattered, the dust rising into the air, leaving nothing.
Silence.
The proctor, who had been calm throughout the test, stared at his paper.
His hands tightened slightly around the clipboard.
The score took a moment to process.
Then, finally a number emerged.
"Hah…"
The proctor took a deep breath and announced the score.
"Score: 2110!"
Clap! Clap! Clap!
A wave of applause erupted from the crowd.
Yet, Ciae himself… did not even bother to react to his score.
With the same casual indifference, he sheathed his sword, turned around and walked away.
Step.
After Ciae's overwhelming performance, the test moved on after the 76th model of dummy was placed.
One by one, swordsmen stepped forward.
Some wielded greatswords, their attacks bringing raw power.
Some used rapiers, their thrusts precise and deadly.
Some danced with curved blades, moving like the wind.
Each applicant showed their best, their scores ranging from 600 to 1400.
But no one managed to break the model like Ciae did.
Then, the proctor flipped to the next name on the list.
"Applicant 736. Please step forward."
A boy with dark brown hair and gray eyes walked toward the testing area.
Unlike the others, his hands were empty.
The proctor frowned.
The other applicants murmured.
But he just ignored them,and simply cracked his knuckles.
Then, he looked at the proctor.
"Can I go now?"
The proctor hesitated but nodded.
"…Owen Decathlon. Start."
Owen took a deep breath and solidified his stance as he locked his gaze onto the training orb.
Dash.
In a second, he instantly appeared in front of the orb.
Bang!!
He punched it.
No fancy sword swings.
No elegant technique.
Just a fist to steel.
Crack…!
The orb shook violently.
A visible shockwave blasted through the air, sending a gust of wind rippling through the field.
For a moment, everyone thought that the orb would shatter as it let out a cracking sound.
But it didn't.
The proctor's paper flickered before he announced the score.
"Score: 1821!"
Gasps echoed.
A swordsman with no sword had outscored most of them.
Owen just shook his hand.
"Damn thing's harder than I thought."
Then, he walked back without a care.
Step.
The test continued.
Applicants stepped up.
Weapons clashed.
Scores ranged from average to impressive.
The proctor looked at the next name.
"Applicant 776. Please step forward."
Step.
A young man with jet-black hair and piercing black eyes stepped out from the crowd.
Unlike the others, he did not carry a large sword.
Instead, on his belt were two short daggers.
The murmurs started again.
But Lythian ignored them.
His black eyes stared at the dummy.
"Lythian Ace. Begin."
Lythian vanished.
There was no sound.
One moment he was standing. Then next, he was behind the dummy.
Shing!
His daggers flashed, striking in quick succession.
One—Two—Three—Four—Five!
But the dummy was untouched.
Or so it seemed.
Ssssshhh…
Fine, invisible cuts spread across its surface.
Each slash was so precise, so razor-thin, that the damage only became visible seconds later.
"Phantom Mirage."
The dummy, the 76th model, shattered into hundreds of pieces.
It never even had the chance to react.
The proctor's hands trembled slightly.
He glanced at his paper and his eyes widened.
"Score: 2025!"
A collective breath ran through the crowd.
He was the second applicant to break the dummy.
Step.
Lythian, however, simply twirled his daggers before sheathing them.
"I'm still not fast enough."
After seeing the scores of the swordsmen, Aeloria stepped back and turned to walk away.
She smiled.
But it wasn't the kind of smile that reached her eyes. Just a mere curve of the lips, a reflex rather than an emotion.
After all, her score was just a measly number compared to those who had shattered the dummy.
Step.
She closed her eyes for a moment, exhaling softly as she walked away from the crowd.
Bump.
She bumped into someone—a boy.
He wasn't particularly imposing. His blackish-brown hair was slightly messy, as if he had just woken up. His blue eyes, however, seemed empty.
Aeloria blinked, tilting her head slightly.
"...I'm sorry."
The boy spoke. A simple apology, quiet and quick, as if he hadn't even processed their collision before stepping around her.
Her gaze instinctively dropped to his chest.
Tag number 777.
'An applicant…'
Step.
The boy walked past him.
He failed to recognize the girl he had bumped into, Aeloria, as he was focused on not being late for the test.
Nor did Aeloria recognize him, her supposed-to-be fiance, as she hadn't seen how Seven looked like.
Step.
She turned around and walked back to the crowd.
It was the last applicant, and she thought it wouldn't be bad to watch his performance.
Murmurs erupted among the crowd as the proctor repeatedly called out the next and last applicant.
"Last chance. Applicant 777. Please step forward."
The proctor had placed the last model, 77th model of dummy, but the last applicant was still not around.
He had already called for about seven times, and that would be enough to void his score in this test.
"Applicant 777 is now—"
Step.
Before the proctor could even utter the word "void," a figure stumbled forward—panting, his breath ragged.
The murmurs began before they could process what had just happened.
All eyes turned to him.
But he didn't seem to care.
Without hesitation, he grabbed the sword from the person standing beside him.
"Hey, that's my swo—"
"Silence."
The proctor's sharp voice cut through the tension, his stern gaze flicking toward the notebook in his hands.
A moment of silence.
"Seven Hart. Begin."
The murmurs erupted instantly. But unlike before, this time, it was deafening.
"The scoundrel?"
"The son of traitors?"
"What is he doing here?"
Some sneered. Others whispered behind their hands. None bothered to lower their voices.
But among them, Aeloria's reaction was different.
Her breath hitched.
She gasped, her pupils dilating as recognition slammed into her like a crashing wave.
Step.
She instinctively stepped back.
She knew.
She knew…
The kidnapping case was forged by her father to taunt the Archduke.
She knew it.
She also knew what happened during the meeting of the nobles.
Step.
She stepped back again.
For the first time—her ever-present smile vanished.
Step.
She turned and mixed herself with the crowd, watching Seven took a deep breath.
"Seven Strikes, First Form…"
Seven pivoted on his heel and rotated his hips just enough to align his stance.
For a moment, he was still. But then he vanished.
"Eclipsing Blade."
A single, fluid strike.
His sword cut through the air with such precision that the faint traces of aura burned into the ground, leaving a flickering, glowing trail.
Silence.
Seven reappeared behind the dummy.
Nothing happened.
At least, that's what everyone thought. The crowd began shifting, ready to dismiss him. But the proctor didn't move.
He was still staring at the dummy.
Clang.
Two pieces slid apart, falling to the ground in perfect halves.
The whispers died instantly and shock rippled through the crowd
The proctor finally spoke.
"Score: 777!"