The courtyard buzzed the next morning, louder than usual. Students crowded around the outer arena—an open stone ring built into the hillside, lined with glowing runes and warding spells. This was the day they'd all been waiting for. Placement trials.
Ashborn stood near the back of the group, arms at his sides, quiet. His sword hung comfortably at his hip. Renar leaned in from the left, whispering just loud enough to be heard.
"Looks like they're doing sword first. Hope the golems don't hold grudges."
Lyessa, standing on Ashborn's other side, smirked. "They're enchanted stone. They don't have feelings."
"Neither does Cedric," Renar muttered, nodding toward the front.
Cedric stood in full view of everyone, stretching like he was already in first place. A few students gathered around him like moths to a torch.
An instructor walked into the center of the ring, holding a glowing clipboard.
"We'll call you one at a time. Swordsmanship first. Step into the ring when your name is called."
The name list started. One by one, students stepped forward. Some fumbled. Some did okay. A few showed flashes of talent. Most didn't impress.
Then: "Ashborn Blackhart."
The whole arena shifted slightly. Heads turned. Whispers started.
Ashborn stepped forward without a word and entered the ring. The instructor nodded at him. "State your preferred form."
"Sovereign," Ashborn replied.
That made a few instructors look up from their notes. Not common. Not easy.
The Sovereign Form wasn't about brute strength or flashy spins. It was a high-level sword style built around control—reading your opponent's momentum, redirecting pressure, and staying one step ahead. A technique that flowed like water but hit like steel. It demanded perfect timing, sharp reflexes, and a calm mind. Few students attempted it. Even fewer mastered it.
The golem across from him activated—its stone body lighting up with dull red runes. It moved fast. Harder, smarter than most.
Ashborn drew his blade.
The moment the golem lunged, Ashborn stepped left, pivoted, parried. His movements weren't flashy—just tight, controlled, precise.
He didn't overpower it. He outmaneuvered it.
Blade met stone, again and again, each hit placed perfectly to destabilize without destroying. The crowd went quiet. Even the instructors leaned in.
Ashborn ducked under a wide swing, flipped his sword in his grip, and pressed the flat of the blade against the golem's core rune. Clean finish.
"Trial complete," the instructor said. "Tier Three. Borderline Tier Four."
Ashborn nodded once and stepped out of the ring.
Renar was grinning when he returned. "Okay, now I have to look good."
Lyessa just raised an eyebrow. "Let's see if your magic can keep up with that."
The second half of the trial took place on a platform lined with affinity crystals and magic detection glyphs. Each student had to walk up, activate the crystal, and then cast a spell of their choice.
Cedric went before Ashborn.
He slapped his palm against the fire crystal. It flared bright red.
"Level 2," the instructor noted. "Fire affinity confirmed."
Cedric smirked and fired off a standard flame burst—loud, hot, but nothing special.
Then: "Ashborn Blackhart."
Ashborn stepped forward, said nothing, and placed his hand on the crystal.
It glowed red.
Then blue.
Then green.
Then a swirl of violet.
The glow got unstable. Flickering. Changing.
The instructor stepped back slightly. "Multiple affinities… unknown stability."
"Spell demonstration?" another instructor asked.
Ashborn raised a hand and released a mana reinforcement spell with no chant. His skin glowed faintly, and the platform beneath him cracked from the force.
Dead silence.
"Wordless casting," someone whispered.
"Confirmed," the instructor said. "Level 3."
Ashborn lowered his hand and stepped away.
No celebration. No smirk. Just done.
Back with his friends, Renar clapped him on the shoulder. "You just broke the curve, didn't you?"
Ashborn didn't answer. But inside, he already knew the truth.
The board tomorrow would say everything.