The roar of the crowd continued to echo through the arena, a sonic wave that seemed to shake the very foundations of the battlefield. The spectators, still caught up in the excitement, shouted and stomped their feet in the stands, while some hurled cries of encouragement toward Mirac and Carmen.
Jun, still standing at the center of the arena, let the broken spear shaft fall, landing with a dull thud in the dust. His gaze, now free of any trace of tension, settled on the two challengers.
Despite the stubbed cigar and the shattered spear, the Association's President didn't seem the least bit fazed. In fact, his smile widened, revealing a mix of pride and amusement.
"Not bad, really not bad," he said, breaking the silence between them with a deep, calm voice. "I didn't think two rookies could push me to my limits like that. Well done."
Mirac, still sitting on the ground, catching his breath, looked up at Jun, his face painted with a mix of surprise and relief.
Carmen, beside him, gave a respectful nod, her face impassive but her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
Jun approached slowly, his heavy steps kicking up small clouds of dust. He stopped in front of them, crossing his arms.
"You've shown not only strength but also strategy and coordination. And that trick with the daggers…" He paused, chuckling. "Clever. Very clever. You caught me off guard, and that doesn't happen often."
Mirac, still panting, managed a half-smile beneath his mask. "Thank you, Mr. President," he murmured, his voice cracked with exhaustion.
Carmen nodded silently beside him, her face stoic but her eyes shining with quiet pride.
Jun tilted his head in a gesture of respect. "You can now return to your seats."
With that, he turned and headed toward the large examiners' gate, the same one he'd entered through at the start of the test. His steps echoed across the arena's ground, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.
Mirac got to his feet almost abruptly, using his sword as a crutch to steady himself.
Carmen, who had remained standing the entire time, took a step closer to him.
Then, together, in a spontaneous gesture, they bowed slightly in respect toward the man they had just faced.
Jun, without turning, raised a hand in an informal wave as he passed through the exit.
Meanwhile, after collecting their weapons, Mirac and Carmen walked toward the opposite gate, the one reserved for the examinees, which would lead them up the stairs to the stands.
As they walked, their footsteps echoed in the stone tunnel, while the roar of the crowd behind them gradually faded.
Halfway through the corridor, they met the woman who had provided them with their weapons before the fight.
With her usual professional demeanor, the woman extended her hands toward them, and Mirac and Carmen, one after the other, handed over their respective weapons.
She took them carefully and examined them for a few seconds, noting that the blades showed almost no signs of wear.
But that didn't surprise her at all.
After all, it was well known that enhancing a weapon—by infusing it with Mana—not only made it more durable but also less prone to damage, chips, or scratches.
After placing the weapons back on the long table, the woman jotted something down in her notebook, as she had done during the registration of the two candidates, and with a nod, she motioned for them to continue.
Having returned the Association's weapons, the two candidates resumed their walk, moving deeper into the corridor and climbing the long staircase.
When they emerged into the light of the stands, they returned to their seats, where Blake greeted them with an explosion of enthusiasm.
"You were phenomenal!" he exclaimed, jumping up and hugging them without much ceremony. "But deep down, I knew you'd win!"
Mirac stared at him, one eyebrow raised above his mask.
'You were literally praying for us after assuming we'd lose!' he thought but said nothing.
Instead, he sighed softly and replied, "Thanks for supporting us, Blake."
Blake grinned, his face beaming with joy.
As the three sat back down, the arena hosted the final matches, each brimming with tension and spectacle: the Tankers gritted their teeth to hold out as long as possible against Gorrim, the Assassins struck swift blows amid illusions and bursts of flame, and the Swordsmen clashed blades in slashes as elegant as they were ineffective against Teur's superior strength.
Every duel was a display of skill, strength, and strategy, and the crowd spared no applause for anyone.
When the final match concluded, a heavy silence filled with anticipation fell over the arena.
Moments later, the examiners' gate opened, and the Association's Masters emerged from the corridor, advancing with slow but deliberate steps toward the center of the arena.
Gorrim, imposing in his steel armor, stood on the left, while Lyria, with cold eyes and daggers at her sides, was positioned beside him.
Teur, with a stern expression and a gray cloak billowing, stood next to them, leaving the center to Archmage Eldrin, calm and authoritative in his gray robe that swayed with the wind.
Their presence exuded an aura of absolute authority, so much so that none of the candidates dared make the slightest sound.
At a certain point, when he and his colleagues reached the center of the arena, Eldrin cleared his throat and announced:
"The Physical Test is officially concluded," the man declared, his clear and powerful voice carrying effortlessly. "While the matches were taking place, your written exams were graded, and your physical skill scores were assigned based on your performances against the Association's Masters as you faced them."
A buzz of excitement spread through the stands.
Eldrin raised a hand to silence them and continued: "The final results have been posted on the board in the main hall, at the entrance to the headquarters."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the crowd with intensity. "To those who have passed the Exam, however, I want to remind you of the responsibilities that now await you. Becoming a Mercenary is not only an honor but a commitment. You will be called to protect, fight, and serve with courage and integrity. Do not take this role lightly…"
With a final gesture of his staff, which emitted a faint glow, Eldrin concluded: "With that said, I officially declare the Admission Exam concluded! Congratulations to those who have triumphed, and good luck to all for your future!"
The arena erupted in a final roar of applause as the candidates, torn between hope and anxiety, headed toward the main hall to discover the results.
Mirac, Carmen, and Blake joined the line of aspiring Mercenaries last, following the stream of tense faces and expectant gazes.
The air was thick with tension, a mix of hope, anxiety, and adrenaline that felt almost palpable.
The stone corridors, illuminated by enchanted torches casting flickering shadows on the walls, echoed with the sound of hurried footsteps and excited murmurs.
Mirac walked with determined steps, his mask still firmly in place, though sweat had plastered his hair to his forehead.
Carmen, at his side, moved with her usual calm, her posture elegant and controlled, as if the clash with Jun hadn't fazed her in the slightest.
Blake, on the other hand, couldn't hide his excitement, which was evident in his face and the way he walked, like a child about to buy ice cream.
When the trio finally reached the main hall, they found themselves facing a huge crowd gathered around a large carved wooden board—hanging on the left wall relative to the entrance—where the results were displayed.
The ink etched on the paper faintly reflected the sunlight, and the candidates' names were accompanied by their respective scores.
The tension was sky-high.
Reading the results, most candidates burst into cheers and smiles, while a small few, with disappointed expressions or a slight huff, quietly accepted their failure.
But for those few, it wasn't a problem: after all, the Association's Admission Exam was held every Sunday, so they knew they could try again the following week.
Mirac and Carmen stopped a few steps from the board, observing in silence as Blake pushed through the crowd to get a closer look.
"We made it!" Blake shouted, turning to them with a triumphant expression. "Isaac! Ananya! Come see!"
The two exchanged a glance, then approached slowly.
The crowd parted to let them through, and when they reached the board, their names shone at the top of the list, etched in golden letters:
No. 30: Ananya Shak – Score: 100/100
No. 31: Isaac Belgram – Score: 100/100
A stunned silence fell around them, followed by an explosion of whispers and incredulous looks.
A perfect score was a legendary achievement, something rarely seen.
"Two perfect scores?! Even after facing President Jun as their examiner?!" someone in the crowd muttered, loud enough to be heard.
"They're terrifyingly incredible!"
"They seemed like ordinary people… Who are these guys, really?"
"Wait a second… that masked guy… Isn't he the one who beat up Simner's son and his buddies this morning?"
"Yeah, yeah, that's him! I saw it with my own eyes! He took them all down in the blink of an eye!"
A surprised murmur spread through the crowd as curious and intimidated gazes turned toward Mirac—and also toward Carmen, captivated by her icy composure and extraordinary beauty.
Even Blake was left speechless before bursting into enthusiastic laughter.
"I-Incredible! You got perfect scores!" he shouted, hugging them both with such force that Mirac nearly lost his balance. "That's wonderful! Congratulations, guys!"
Mirac, still in disbelief, stared at his name on the board. "Yeah, we did it…"
Beneath his mask, his eyes gleamed with a mix of pride and relief. 'We're officially Mercenaries!' the boy thought.
Carmen, as usual, maintained her composure and said nothing, but a faint smile curled her lips, revealing her satisfaction for a brief moment.
But suddenly, a shiver ran down her spine.
"Hmm?" Carmen's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't look away from the board in front of her.
She didn't turn around. There was no need.
In her life, she had learned to pick up on certain nuances out of the corner of her eye—or perhaps with something else entirely…
'This feeling…?!'
It lasted only a moment, a subtle tremor that—for the briefest instant—rattled her instincts.
And yet, it was a clear sign, an omen she had come to know all too well by now…
'Could I be wrong?'
Carmen remained still.
She didn't seek confirmation or clues.
She let the thought and the sensation settle in the back of her mind, like sediment to keep an eye on.
Then, with her usual controlled calm, she steadied her breathing and returned her focus to the present—ignoring the feeling that had surfaced in that fraction of a second.
After checking the results, the crowd of candidates—still charged with conflicting emotions—quickly surged toward the reception desk, forming a long line that snaked through the main hall.
Now that the Exam was over, all participants were required to return their numbered metal badges, which they had received upon registration. Those who had passed the Exam by scoring at least 60% of the total points also had to collect their new document: the Association's Identity Document.
The air was thick with chatter, laughter, and a few sighs of disappointment as the candidates exchanged comments about the recently concluded Exam.
Mirac, Carmen, and Blake headed toward the line, blending into the mass of aspiring Mercenaries.
Before they could reach the queue, however, a familiar figure approached quickly from their left.
It was Rose, the elderly woman who had handled their registration for the Admission Exam.
Her gray hair was neatly tied in its usual bun, and her black dress perfectly matched her equally dark eyes.
Adjusting the glasses slipping down her straight nose, Ms. Rose stopped in front of the trio and gave an elegant bow, a warm smile on her face.
"Congratulations, young Mercenaries," she said in a melodious voice, her eyes shining with admiration. "Your performances were nothing short of extraordinary."
Mirac tilted his head slightly, a bit embarrassed but grateful.
"Thank you, Ms. Rose," he replied in a calm voice, while Blake chuckled beside him.
Carmen gave a respectful nod, her face impassive but with a faint glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes.
Ms. Rose straightened up, her smile widening. "Anyway, President Jun is waiting for you in his office. Please, follow me."
Blake raised an eyebrow. "Me too?"
Ms. Rose nodded. "Yes."
The trio exchanged a surprised glance but didn't ask any questions.
Without adding anything further, Ms. Rose turned and led the way, her heels clicking on the polished stone floor.
Mirac, Carmen, and Blake followed, leaving the noisy crowd behind.
As they walked away from the crowd, however, a sudden shiver ran through the red-haired woman once again.
And with it came the strange sensation that had troubled her earlier!
This time, though, it was sharper, more persistent.
It was no longer a fleeting spark but lingered, clinging to Carmen.
And it was that persistence that dispelled all doubt, giving her final confirmation:
'Just as I thought: someone is watching us!'
She was certain now!
'How strange, though…' she thought. 'She usually only follows us when we're out in the open… But now we're indoors… So it can't be her! Then who the hell is spying on us this time?'
The realization sent another shiver down her spine.
Yet, despite the confirmation of her initial suspicions and the myriad hypotheses swirling in her mind, Carmen didn't say a word.
She said nothing.
She took a deep breath and pretended everything was fine.
She didn't change her pace or issue any warnings.
In silence, the red-haired woman continued, leaving behind the gaze that, somewhere in the hall, still lingered on them…
* * *
Turning the corner into the corridor, the small group—made up of Mirac and the others—ascended a series of stairways, lit by sunlight streaming through the windows or, where natural light couldn't reach, by lanterns mounted on the walls that cast golden reflections across the stone surfaces.
After reaching the top floor—having passed through several corridors and climbed numerous flights of stairs—they found themselves facing a wide hallway, lined with tapestries depicting ancient battles.
At the end of the corridor, a massive carved wooden door stood imposingly, separating them from the President's office.
Ms. Rose stopped before the door and knocked firmly.
Knock! Knock!
From inside, a deep, familiar voice replied, "Come in."
With an elegant gesture, Ms. Rose opened the door, motioning for the trio to enter first.
Mirac stepped forward at the center, his masked figure standing out prominently. Carmen was to his left, her steps silent and measured, while Blake, to Mirac's right, tried to contain his excitement, though his smile betrayed his enthusiasm.
The room was grand and majestic, yet not ostentatious.
The walls were lined with dark wood panels, inlaid with delicate silver threads forming abstract patterns.
A large arched window dominated the back wall, letting in warm light that illuminated the wooden floorboards and enveloped everyone present.
Shelves filled with ancient tomes and scrolls lined the left side of the room, while a long table on the other side was covered with scattered maps and papers filled with all sorts of information.
At the center, a crimson rug led to the desk, behind which sat President Jun.
Jun was there, relaxed yet imposing, with a sly smile on his aged face.
His dark, sharp, and piercing eyes settled on the trio as soon as they crossed the threshold.
"Here you are! I was waiting for you…" he said, his deep voice filling the room with calm authority.
There were only two chairs in front of the desk, so the trio—almost in unison and without needing to say it—chose to remain standing to avoid leaving one of them without a seat.
When the trio stopped in front of the desk, with Ms. Rose standing a few steps behind them with her hands clasped, Jun leaned forward slightly, crossing his arms.
"First of all, I congratulate you on achieving perfect scores," he said, addressing Mirac and Carmen with a smile. "What you did in the arena today was truly impressive."
Mirac nodded in respect, while Carmen remained impassive, giving only a slight nod of her head.
"Before our match," Jun continued, not letting silence take root too deeply, "I promised I would reveal every detail about the mysterious recommendation letter you received, which led to me being your examiner…"
Mirac tilted his head slightly, the black mask hiding his expression, but a spark of realization flashed in his eyes.
Carmen, at his side, remained impassive, though a slight shift in her shoulders suggested she, too, was piecing things together.
The President of the Association, with an enigmatic smile, cleared his throat and finally revealed the truth:
"Well, I was the one who wrote it!" he exclaimed, his tone full of surprise and a slight smile. "But I suppose you'd already figured that out on your own by now…"
Blake's jaw dropped, visibly confused. "What? You, President? But… why?"
Jun leaned back in his chair, a sly smile curling his lips.
"Well, the idea came this morning, when Ms. Rose came to deliver the reports about your last week of exploration in the territory under Raerno's jurisdiction." His gaze first shifted to the elderly Rose, who nodded discreetly, then to Blake, who blushed slightly at the sudden attention. "In particular, she showed me the report of your latest expedition, yesterday's, in which you claim that these two," he indicated Mirac and Carmen with his hand, "faced and defeated three Rogthars. Not just any creatures, mind you, but a legendary race believed extinct for over a thousand years after the Great Extermination, when the Gods purified the continent from the most powerful monstrous beasts."
Mirac and Carmen exchanged a quick glance but remained silent, letting Jun continue.
"Reading that report," Jun went on, "I had a hunch. I thought that—if what Blake wrote was true—two swordsmen capable of taking down three fearsome Rogthars weren't ordinary people, but individuals with extraordinary potential! And, you know, I have a soft spot for talented people." His tone grew more solemn, almost reverent. "After all, it's the future generations who will take our place, who will carry forward the Association's mission: to make the world a safer place for everyone. That's why I wrote that letter of recommendation: I hoped until the very last moment that you'd accept it, so I could face you myself, put you to the test, and see with my own eyes what you're made of." Jun's gaze was fixed on Ananya and Isaac, who stood still and silent, listening intently.
The President of the Association paused, crossing his arms. "And I must say, you didn't disappoint me. In fact, you exceeded all my expectations!"
Jun gave a slight smile, then continued in a solemn tone: "And for this reason, by the authority vested in me by the Intercontinental Council, I officially appoint both of you—Isaac Belgram and Ananya Shak—as Mercenaries of the Association, with the rank of Rectified Blade!"
Blake's eyes widened, nearly stumbling from the imaginary stance he'd taken.
"Huh?! R-Rectified Blade?!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with astonishment.
Mirac, beneath his mask, widened his eyes as well, his heart pounding in his chest.
Thanks to his training at the royal palace in his courtly life, he was well acquainted with the hierarchy of the Intercontinental Association Against Dangers, simply known as the "Association."
In the Kingdom of Ardorya, ranks were based on the Blades, a scale of twelve levels reflecting the strength and experience of its members: Fused Blade, Rough Blade, Molded Blade, Forged Blade, Tempered Blade, Annealed Blade, Rectified Blade, Sharpened Blade, Burnished Blade, Inlaid Blade, Radiant Blade, and finally, Deadly Blade.
Normally, except in rare cases like Mirac or Carmen, all new members who pass the Admission Exam start at the lowest rank, Fused Blade—regardless of how impressive their performance was during the trials.
To climb the hierarchy, one must complete a certain number of official missions. After successfully completing a set number of assignments, a promotion to the next rank can be granted.
However, this progressive system applies only to the first six ranks—up to Annealed Blade.
From the seventh rank onward—starting with Rectified Blade—advancement no longer depends solely on the number of missions completed but also on exceptional evaluations, direct recognition from the Association, or the accomplishment of extraordinary feats.
'Rectified Blade… the seventh rank in the Blade classification. I never imagined I'd skip so many levels in one go!' Mirac thought, narrowing his eyes as he covertly studied Jun. 'What exactly is the President planning?'
Blake, still in shock, ran a hand through his hair, his face lit with a mix of awe and pride. "R-Rectified Blade?! Heh, I can hardly believe it…"
Jun chuckled, the chair creaking slightly under his restrained laughter. "Well, I'd say they earned it…"
Then he turned to Mirac, his gaze betraying a deeper, more curious interest. "Especially you, Isaac. In the final moments of the fight, you deliberately aimed for my weak point with your dagger, strategically compromising my second 'weapon'—if we can call it that."
Blake blinked, confused. "Huh? Weak point? Second weapon?" he asked, tilting his head. Perplexed, the boy took a side step toward Mirac and whispered in his ear, "What's he talking about exactly?"
Jun chuckled amusedly, then opened a desk drawer and pulled out a small linen handkerchief, carefully wrapped around an elongated object.
With a theatrical gesture, he slowly unwrapped the fabric, letting it fall onto the desk. When the object was finally revealed, Blake's eyes widened:
"A-A stubbed cigar?!" he stammered, staring at the two broken pieces: one shorter, blackened and consumed by burning; the other cleanly severed, as if sliced by a blade.
But Blake soon realized it wasn't just any cigar: it was the very one Jun had been smoking during the fight, the same one Isaac had cleanly cut just before he and Ananya managed to disarm him completely!
"The President's weak point was… his cigar?!" Blake exclaimed, his voice rising an octave in shock. "I don't get it… why?"
Mirac nodded, a smile hidden beneath the black mask he wore, before speaking to explain everything to his visibly confused friend:
"During the fight, thanks to my Magical Perception, I noticed something unusual," he said, his voice calm but tinged with satisfaction. "The Mana the President used for his fire spells and to enhance his body didn't come from his Mana Core, as it normally should, but from something else. And that something," he pointed to the stubbed cigar, "was Erman Leaves."
Blake's jaw dropped, his face a mix of shock and wonder. "Erman Leaves? You mean those from the Verdlith Kingdom?"
"Exactly," Mirac confirmed. "Erman Leaves are magical plants originally conceived by Mother Nature herself more than five centuries ago, to combat the so-called 'Choking Plague.' It was the urgency of countering that devastating epidemic—which struck much of the continent—that drove her to create these extraordinary herbs, named after the plain where they first sprouted. Erman Leaves are special not only for their innate healing properties, but also because they are infused with Mana from the moment they begin to germinate. Magical energy—just like water and light for ordinary plants—is essential for their cultivation, growth, and development. For this reason, they were originally used exclusively to treat those afflicted by the plague, fulfilling the very purpose for which they were created. Later, they became a widely used remedy in the medical field, still employed today in the preparation of regenerative salves, calming infusions, natural antidotes against certain poisons, and as accelerants for the healing of minor wounds. Over time, however, mages also began using them as an external source of Mana, serving as an alternative to drawing from their own Mana Core."
Mirac paused briefly, savoring Blake's stunned expression for a moment before continuing:
"After narrowly dodging the roar of fire and landing, I immediately activated my Magical Perception. That's when I noticed two things: first, the President's flames were directly fueled by Mana, so it was just a matter of waiting for the right moment to pass through the magical fire without getting burned—since, as everyone knows, the temperature of magical flames is directly proportional to the amount of Mana that fuels them." Mirac told the same lie he had told Carmen while they were devising their plan to defeat Jun.
The lie served not only to explain and justify how he had come across that valuable piece of information, but also to conceal the existence of his Chaotic ability, "Instant Knowledge of Temperature," which had actually helped him.
"And the second thing," Mirac continued, "was that I noticed the President's cigar was soaked with Mana, just like his lungs and the blood flowing through his veins. A clever choice to disguise the truth and make everyone believe he was simply moderately infusing his body with magical energy. But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered why he'd chosen to fight with a cigar in his mouth in the first place. That's when I realized the answer: he wasn't smoking ordinary tobacco but Erman Leaves. This way, he could use the cigar as a stealthy, alternative source of magical energy without drawing from his own Mana Core, and without anyone easily noticing."
Blake brought a hand to his forehead, as if trying to process the information. "Wait, wait… so you figured all this out while you were fighting? Damn, then I wasn't wrong today: you really are a genius, Isaac!"
Mirac smiled faintly. 'Heheh, exactly!' he thought to himself, with a pleased expression and a slight grin of satisfaction—all hidden behind the black mask.
Jun burst into a hearty laugh, briefly leaning on the desk. "Hah, exactly! You figured it all out. Well done, really! Not many would have, especially in the middle of a fight."
The President leaned forward, adopting a more confidential tone. "But tell me: considering everything you've told me so far, I suppose you've also already guessed why I used Erman Leaves instead of regular tobacco for my cigar, haven't you?" A subtle veil of sorrow crossed his face as he asked the question.
Mirac didn't answer immediately but nodded slowly, his thoughts returning to the moment of the clash.
Then, with a steady voice, he presented his hypothesis:
"Normally, there would be no reason to use Erman Leaves as a source of magical energy unless circumstances made it absolutely necessary." His gaze, hidden behind the mask, fixed on Jun. "So, when I realized you were using Erman Leaves during the fight, I immediately deduced that the only plausible reason was that you were unable to draw Mana directly from your Core. And even Ananya, when I told her about that while explaining to her the plan to disarm you, agreed with my hypothesis, ultimately reaching the very same conclusion I had arrived at: that your Mana Core, President Jun, is for some reason unusable!"