The academy's atmosphere thickened in the days leading to the assessment.
Not with excitement.
Not with competition.
But with pressure.
Whispers followed Leon everywhere he walked.
Upper-years measured his steps.
First-years watched with fear mixed with awe.
Even instructors seemed more alert when he passed.
Leon ignored all of it.
He spent every morning in combat drills with Varron and every night refining his mana flow alone in his dorm. Sleep was secondary. Pain was routine. The watcher in the shadows, the rigged assessment, the Royal Envoy's interest—it all pointed to one thing:
He needed to be ready for anything.
Even betrayal.
Today, the academy courtyard had been transformed.
Massive training walls rose on all sides, forming a huge enclosed arena. Magical barriers shimmered faintly overhead. Rows of seats were arranged for observers—students, instructors, nobles, and the envoy herself.
Damian stared at the arena, pale. "Leon… this doesn't look like an assessment. This looks like a death game."
Leon didn't respond.
The ground in the arena was uneven—two ridges of rock, lowered pits, narrow platforms, and environmental hazards placed deliberately to mimic a battlefield.
This wasn't standard.
This wasn't normal.
This was designed.
Damian tugged Leon's sleeve. "Look at the terrain… So many blind spots, corners, elevated hills—perfect for ambushes. Why does this feel like a demon arena?"
Leon stepped forward into the waiting area.
Upper-years were already there, stretching, sharpening focus, and sparring lightly. Their uniforms bore red trim, marking them as higher-ranked students.
Aaron Vale was among them.
The Level 17 swordsman leaned on his blade, smirking as Leon approached. "Well, well… The legend arrives."
Leon kept walking.
Aaron blocked him with a shoulder. "Don't walk past me like I don't exist."
Leon looked at him. "Move."
Aaron's eye twitched. "You really don't know how to show respect, do you?"
Leon said nothing.
Aaron leaned in closer. "When this starts, I'm not holding back. I don't care about your rank. I don't care about your talent. I'm going to show you the difference between potential and reality."
Leon replied calmly, "Then try."
Aaron's smirk vanished, replaced by an irritated glare.
But before he could respond, two more upper-years approached—a tall girl with a polearm and a thin mage with sharp eyes.
They positioned themselves around Leon.
Damian squeaked from behind. "Uhhh… Leon? Why are three upper-years circling you? I don't like this. I REALLY don't like this."
The polearm user smiled sweetly. "Relax. We're not going to attack before the assessment. We're just… curious."
The mage added, "We want to see what an EX-rank looks like up close."
Leon remained still.
The mage's eyes glowed faintly with mana. "His aura is strange… No fluctuations. No spikes. Just… stable. Too stable for a Level 2."
The polearm user muttered, "Creepy."
Aaron tilted his head. "That's what makes him dangerous."
Damian yelped, "WHY IS EVERYTHING ABOUT HIM 'DANGEROUS'? HE'S JUST QUIET!"
The three upper-years slowly dispersed, but not before Aaron whispered:
"Make sure you stay alive long enough for me to fight you."
Leon let them go.
He didn't tense.
He didn't react.
He simply watched the arena.
This wasn't hostility.
This wasn't rivalry.
This was preparation.
They were planning something.
Footsteps echoed behind him, swift and disciplined.
Leon turned.
Instructor Hale approached, sweat on his forehead, breath slightly uneven—he had been running.
"Hale?" Damian asked. "You look like you sprinted across the kingdom."
Hale lowered his voice. "Leon. Trouble."
Leon waited.
Hale glanced around to ensure no one was listening. "I just spoke with the head examiner. You're not only placed in the upper-year category…"
Damian whispered, "No…"
Hale's expression tightened. "Your match is first."
Damian screamed, "WHYYYY?!"
Leon asked, "Why first?"
Hale hesitated. "Because someone requested it."
Leon paused. "Who?"
Hale shook his head. "The file was sealed. I only know it outranks even the academy's own staff."
Damian slapped his hands to his cheeks. "Leon… someone with VERY high authority wants you to fight first. That's code for 'let's see if he survives.'"
Hale nodded grimly. "I'm not supposed to say this… but be careful. This setup—it isn't normal. You're being tested, but not by the academy."
Leon's eyes narrowed.
Damian gulped. "Leon… please tell me you're not planning to go through with this."
Leon didn't answer.
Because he didn't need to.
Hale squeezed Leon's shoulder. "Listen. The barriers are strong. The instructors are watching. If things get too dangerous, I'll intervene—even if it costs me my job."
Leon nodded once.
Hale swallowed. "Just don't die."
Damian wailed. "PLEASE DON'T DIE!"
Leon walked toward the arena gate calmly.
The crowd was gathering.
The Royal Envoy watched from a high balcony.
The upper-years sharpened their blades.
A hidden watcher lurked somewhere unseen.
And Leon's name was already being announced across the arena.
"First match—
Leon Gray (Level 2)
versus
Three Upper-Year Representatives."
The arena gasped.
Damian fainted on the spot.
Leon stepped forward.
Not once did he hesitate.
Luck pulsed harder than usual—almost like a heartbeat, urging him, guiding him.
He sensed it.
The trap was set.
And he was walking directly into it.
Not because he was reckless.
But because he intended to break it.
A ripple of mana opened the arena gate.
Leon walked into the battlefield.
The crowd roared with excitement and bloodlust.
Three upper-years stepped onto the far side—
A Level 11 shield bearer.
A Level 13 archer.
A Level 15 wind mage.
A "warm-up" group, but not weak.
Aaron Vale watched from the sidelines, eyes narrowed.
The Royal Envoy leaned forward, hands folded.
The watcher… somewhere in the shadows… moved.
The referee raised his flag.
Leon drew his daggers.
Mana stirred.
Luck pulsed.
Everything went silent.
The flag dropped.
The match began.