Chapter 61: Entrance Exam
Winterveil City slept beneath a shroud of snow.
The Frost River stretched through the heart of the city like a frozen serpent, its glassy surface catching the dim flicker of gas lamps. Gothic spires towered through drifting fog, their silhouettes carved against a bleached morning sky. Carriages rolled softly over white-dusted cobblestones while chimney smoke curled lazily upward, swallowed by the winter sky.
At the toll of the Clocktower's chimes, a black-haired boy lifted a gloved hand.
The empty carriage slowed, iron-shod wheels grinding against packed snow. The driver pulled his scarf higher, running a curious eye over the well-dressed youth in a fitted black coat, pressed vest, polished boots, and a neatly positioned monocle.
Raven's breath misted faintly as he examined the driver.
Low affinity. Mortal. Nothing noteworthy.
"Where to, lad?" the driver asked.
"Fallen District." Raven flicked him a silver coin.
The man caught it with practiced ease. "Hop in."
Raven stepped into the wooden interior, settling into the corner. The faint scent of damp wool and worn leather lingered in the enclosed space. With the steady rumble of wheels beneath him, he pulled a slim leather notebook from thin air.
He should be somewhere in the Fallen District…
He flipped the first page.
Not words—maps. Hundreds of them. Streets, routes, river bends, government buildings, noble estates. Every town neatly drawn, every landmark marked in red ink. An artifact worth ten gold coins—worth far more in accuracy.
He turned the pages until Winterveil's map revealed itself. The Frost River looped across the drawn parchment; the northern district was circled in red.
Raven tapped the roof hatch.
"Old North Street," he instructed.
"Aye!" the coachman called back.
The city blurred past the frost-rimmed window—lanterns haloed in mist, slanted rooftops heavy under snow, distant silhouettes moving through the cold.
Minutes later, the carriage slowed.
"We're here."
Raven stepped out into a gust of biting winter air. Old North Street felt different from the rest of Winterveil—not poorer, but hollow. Isolated. Fewer footsteps, fewer lamps, too much silence.
He adjusted his top hat and walked.
His boots crunched softly with each step, the cold gnawing through the air as he reached a mansion standing awkwardly dignified among modest neighboring homes.
Snow-tipped hedges framed its iron gate. Stone lanterns lined the walkway. The carved stone façade bore cracks spiderwebbing across its surface; ivy clawed up one side. Curtains, thick and heavy, hid the windows completely.
A grand home, proud once—but now left to wilt quietly in the cold.
Raven pushed the gate open. Its metal groan echoed faintly.
He knocked twice on the oak door.
Silence.
Just as he turned to leave, a soft creak broke the stillness. A pair of pale blue eyes peeked through the opening.
"Who are—" The voice stopped.
Recognition flickered.
"Y-Your Highness?"
Daley Findlay swung the door fully open, alarm and relief blending on his face.
"I thought you might never come." He bowed. "Daley greets the 66th Prince of Zenith."
Raven tipped his hat lightly and stepped inside.
Warmth enveloped him, though faint—the kind produced by a single struggling fireplace. Dust lay thick across the chandeliers; the wooden walls bore faint scars of age. The house felt abandoned, despite the effort someone had put into keeping it livable.
Daley closed the door behind him, posture tense. Snow-white hair fell over his forehead, and while his clothes were simple, they were carefully maintained.
"Apologies for the condition, Your Highness," Daley said awkwardly. "I wasn't expecting… anyone."
Raven waved the apology off. "You live alone?"
Daley's jaw tightened. "After Thomas warned me, I left the academy and returned home. I didn't expect celebration, but…" A bitter breath escaped him. "My cousins ignored me. My parents looked at me like I'd shamed the bloodline. When I told my father I wanted to move here—to the old North Street—he agreed too quickly. Like he couldn't wait to see me gone."
Raven raised a brow. "And the guards Thomas mentioned?"
"Taken by the main family." Daley's smile twisted sadly. "They didn't even send a letter. At least my mother and brother visit when they can. Otherwise…" He shrugged helplessly. "Solitude becomes… heavy."
Exactly what I expected… Raven thought.
He sat on the ornate sofa. "Sit."
Daley obeyed and leaned forward slightly.
"Have I proven my loyalty enough," he asked quietly, "to join the Golden Wheel?"
Raven adjusted his monocle and examined Daley's status.
The frost curse is still there. His spell model stabilized… but the affinity loss is permanent.
He pulled out an old parchment.
"Let's finalize the contract."
Daley read every line twice, eyes serious, before nodding.
Raven pricked his thumb with an iron pin and let a drop of blood fall. The runes flared crimson.
"Your turn."
Daley hesitated—not from fear, but from solemnity—before he pressed the pin into his thumb and let his blood fall. The parchment glowed, dissolving into shimmering fragments and vanishing.
A faint mark settled deep in Raven's soul. Two marks, actually—Elizabeth's and Daley's.
It shouldn't cause problems, right?
[No.] Zera assured him. [If they break the contract, the mark disappears for you. They're the ones who will suffer.]
Good.
Daley lifted his head. "What is your command… Prince?"
Raven opened his inventory and set several books and scrolls onto the table.
"You will start with these."
Daley's breath caught as Raven separated each one.
"This is Spatial Blink—your core movement spell."
"Pocket Space—storage."
"Dimensional Anchor—immobilizing targets."
"Pathfinder's Map—area detection."
"Spatial Barrier."
"Spatial Blade."
"And Phase Shift—temporary dimensional slip to avoid damage."
Daley stared, stunned.
Raven continued calmly, "Your spirit is too low. Use the Uncommon Spirit Technique first. Meditate. Raise your spirit power. Then construct all seven spell models."
Daley swallowed hard. "H-How can I accept all this without giving anything in return…?"
Raven waved a hand, producing a sealed letter that landed softly in Daley's palms.
"Stay quiet. Train. Become a Radiant Wizard within five years," Raven said as he stood. "When it's time, the first gathering will find you."
He tipped his hat and walked toward the entrance. The oak door creaked as he opened it, letting in a sharp draft of winter cold before it shut behind him.
Daley remained frozen in place long after Raven left. Only when the final echo of footsteps faded did he look down at the sealed envelope.
Hands trembling, he broke the seal.
One word sat boldly in the center of the page.
Twister.
Daley blinked.
"…That's my code name?"
His eyes widened, equal parts bewildered and proud.
…
4th January, Year 1422 — Capital City of Zenith Empire
Red Ember City
The steam engine train shrieked as it slowed, runes glowing along its sides. White steam billowed across the station platform like a dragon's breath.
Raven stood at the window, watching Red Ember City unfold beneath winter fog. Once the doors unlocked, he stepped out with the crowd—only not as Raven.
His face belonged to Thomas Holmes today.
The station smelled of coal, iron, and a faint undertone of hot oil. Raven blended easily into the flow of passengers, slipping out through the stone archway and onto the snow-lined street.
A brougham carriage idled near the corner.
"West Borough," Raven said. "Quickly."
The coachman raised a brow. "Entrance exam for Crows' Misery Academy, eh? Yer late, boy. Hop in."
Raven didn't correct him. He simply climbed in.
The carriage rattled across cobblestones, speeding over the Ember Bridge as the Joy River shimmered beneath a coat of thin ice. West Borough's architecture rose around them—tall, imposing buildings, aristocratic inns, polished stone avenues.
At Crows Street, the coachman slowed to a full stop.
"No further, lad. Road's clogged."
Raven stepped out—and paused.
Carriages packed the entire street. Dozens… hundreds… all jammed together. Velvet-coated nobles argued with their guards, parents huddled anxiously, and a sea of youths crowded the gates of the towering Gothic academy.
Raven paid four silvers, lowered the brim of his bowler hat, and pushed into the mass of bodies.
Inside the academy yard, the selection had already begun—harsh, unforgiving, mechanical.
A spirit orb shimmered atop a pedestal, judging applicants with cold, indifferent light. Physical tests followed. Willpower. Endurance. Elemental affinity.
One by one, thousands fell.
By sunset, only five hundred remained—out of almost ten thousand.
Raven watched from the side, his monocle glinting as hundreds of blue screens flickered before his eyes.
Eight stand above the rest… but four won't make it.
Most were eliminated early—low spirit power, unstable affinity, or unsuitable physical condition.
But one case caught Raven completely off guard.
A girl. Twelve years old, maybe thirteen.
Silver eyes. Black hair. Frail body.
She had a Prodigy-ranked affinity and an Extraordinary affinity—a combination so rare it belonged in myth.
And yet, she lost control.
The Spirit Orb exploded the moment she touched it.
'Jovie… bad luck and a weak body.' Raven watched her sink to the foot of a tree. 'She could've passed with just a month more training.'
For over an hour she didn't move—just clutching her head as if fighting something inside.
Her spirit power flickered at 1.9. Her elemental affinities pulsed—Death and Chaos, coiling in strange patterns.
[Her body is too weak. Even if she passed the first test, fitness would've crushed her.] Zera murmured.
Raven followed the girl quietly with his gaze as she rose unsteadily and walked toward the gate. A guard shoved her aside, sending her crashing to the ground. She didn't react—just got up shakily and kept walking.
[Her eyes changed. Someone else is looking through her body now.]
Raven stepped forward.
Jovie staggered onto the roadside. Her face hollowed. Her breath trembled.
"Are you alright, young miss—?"
She collapsed backward.
Raven caught her before she hit the snow.
"Are you alright?" he repeated gently.
"No…" she whispered, voice faint and trembling.
Her limbs dangled uselessly. She tried to stand, but nothing responded.
"Easy," Raven murmured. "Lean on me."
He guided her toward a waiting carriage. When he asked where she lived, her whole body jolted like he had touched a wound.
Her silver eyes brightened into an eerie blue that drilled into his soul. The shift was instant—unnatural.
"It's okay," Raven said softly. "I'm only trying to help."
She stilled, but her gaze never left him.
Raven saw the scars on her arms—thin, numerous, old and new. Someone—or something—had carved at her life for years.
"Nearest inn," Raven told the coachman, handing him two silvers.
"Poor lass looks like she needs a doctor…" the man muttered.
Raven supported her into the carriage, letting her rest against the cushioned seat before shutting the door. He pulled a water pouch from his inventory.
"Drink."
She barely sipped before slipping toward unconsciousness.
[She's severely exhausted.] Zera said.
Raven frowned and opened her status window.
**[Name: Jovie Viser Azarael (?????)]
Age: 15 (????)
Nationality: Viser Kingdom
Health: Abnormal (???????)
Class: None
Current State: Exhausted**
Attributes
Strength 0.7
Agility 0.6
Vitality 0.6
Luck 0.1
Spirit 1.9
Affinities
Death — Prodigy
Chaos — Extraordinary
Additional Skills
Spectral Vision, ?????, ??????, ???????
Zera's voice was immediate.
[Spectral Vision… unknown skills… concealed information… her age is hidden. Interesting.]
'She isn't normal.' Raven narrowed his eyes. 'Not at all.'
Zera hesitated before speaking.
[I have a guess.]
'What?'
[She might be… reincarnated.]
Raven's eyes widened.