The pitiful red dragon didn't even get the chance to spread its wings or breathe shadowfire before Thea pinned it down and hacked it to pieces.
In theory, cutting off the head should've done it — but this was obviously an illusory dragon, not a real one. "Fatal injuries" didn't seem to follow normal rules here.
Still, Thea didn't care about theory. She just kept chopping.
Hack. Slash. Slice.
By the time she stopped, the once-mighty dragon looked less like a mythical creature and more like… ground meat.
She poked through the steaming remains — no dragon crystal, no core, no crafting loot. Figures.
Then, as she caught her breath, she finally noticed what the trial's real mechanism might've been.
At the entrance stood four broken knight statues — headless, limbless, scattered like discarded junk.
It clicked.
The intended challenge wasn't "solo the dragon." The statues were reference points — the exam's original design probably wanted the test-taker to reenact the classic knight-and-mage cooperation to slay the dragon scenario.
But one of her distant ancestors must've… misunderstood.
Either that, or they'd decided to prank their descendants, turning the statues into actual combat puppets that went toe-to-toe with the dragon.
Now, all that was left of them was rubble.
"Great. So I passed — but in the dumbest way possible."
Shrugging, Thea had her giant mech carefully set her down.
One hundred and fifty meters was a long way to fall — she wasn't about to get flattened by her own creation.
Sword in hand, she skirted around the mountain of dragon bits and walked straight into the palace beyond.
The moment she stepped inside, the heavy doors slammed shut behind her.
"Ugh, how original."
From outside, the palace had looked massive.
Inside… not so much.
A few steps later, she found herself standing before a messy desk.
Stacks of parchment were scattered across its surface.
Three quill pens lay at odd angles, and a tiny ink bottle — nearly dry — rolled lazily on the floor.
Thea frowned.
This setup didn't match the style of an ancient magical trial at all.
So disorganized. So… un-magelike.
Had the test fallen into disrepair? Or had the "invigilator" been on vacation for a few centuries?
Either way, she couldn't just stand there.
"Fine. First rule of exams — tidy your desk."
She started stacking the parchment. But the moment her fingers touched them, the air in front of her shimmered — and a massive hourglass appeared out of nowhere.
Grains of sand trickled down at a steady pace.
Roughly an hour's worth, she estimated.
"Okay… but what exactly am I supposed to do for that hour?"
She glanced around the room again — fine carpets, wall paintings, ornate lamps.
Pretty. But useless.
No puzzles, no clues, no magical sigils to study.
Still, better safe than sorry. She gave the place a thorough search.
Ten minutes later, her conclusion was clear: decoration, all of it.
The only things that mattered were the desk, the parchment, and the ink.
Sighing, she picked up the first sheet and squinted at the scribbles.
"What in the…?"
"The practical applications of mana within the secondary relationship between water and earth."
She tossed it aside.
"Yeah, sure. Totally something a medieval farmer would understand."
After sorting through all the sheets, she managed to find a few she could actually read.
Those, thankfully, were basic — things about the composition of the world, the fundamental elements of creation, and similar "101" material.
Child's play.
With her boosted cognition and the learning discipline honed from a lifetime of exams, Thea devoured the text like a machine.
Even the sections that contradicted her modern understanding of physics were no problem — she memorized them all verbatim.
Then came the dense stuff — half alchemy, half nonsense.
She didn't bother understanding it.
She did what every good student does when faced with impossible material: memorize first, think later.
Her mind ran like a high-speed scanner, cramming page after page of archaic drivel.
In less than half an hour, she had memorized over ten sheets — tens of thousands of words — and spent another ten minutes sorting it all out in her head.
The knowledge was chaotic, fragmented, clearly cobbled together from different sources.
It felt less like the coherent wisdom of an archmage and more like someone's attic full of random magical trivia.
"Maybe the original came with a manual…" she muttered. "Too bad it's probably been lost for generations."
Still, it didn't matter. She could feel the trial's end approaching.
Finish this, and she'd clear the relic's test.
Taking a deep breath, she centered herself, calming both body and mind.
When the last grain of sand fell, the old parchment vanished.
A single fresh sheet appeared on the desk.
The ink and quills remained.
"Right. Pop quiz time."
There were fewer than twenty questions — things like "How many elements compose the world?", "What colors does fire burn in under differing mana conditions?", and "Explain basic light refraction."
Elementary stuff.
Thea rolled her eyes.
"You've got to be kidding me."
All that studying, and the real test turned out to be multiple-choice for toddlers.
"Whoever designed this… I hope your beard catches fire."
Still, she answered each question seriously.
Five minutes later, exam done, double-checked, flawless.
Then came the awkward part.
"…So, uh, who do I hand this to?"
No response.
"Hello? Anyone? I'm done!"
Her voice echoed off the stone walls. Not a whisper answered.
She slumped forward, groaning.
"Don't tell me the great Merlin left the timer long enough for people who just learned to write…"
Honestly, it was possible.
In the Middle Ages, literacy was a luxury — even kings could barely sign their names.
Most nobles used signet rings to stamp their "autographs."
Sitting back, Thea drummed her fingers on the desk.
"Fine. If no one's grading, I'm looting."
She stood and started searching the room again — this time properly.
Using the treasure-hunting tricks Catwoman had taught her, she ran her hands along the walls and fixtures, checking for hidden seams or magical catches.
It took a while, but persistence paid off.
The walls yielded nothing — but in one of the decorative antler mounts, she found something gleaming.
A dagger.
Black as shadow.
"Well," she murmured, twirling it in her hand, "at least someone here knows how to give proper rewards."