The courtyard was silent as Ramires finally spoke.
"Number one, step forward."
All eyes turned to the first participant. A young man calmly walked toward the center, his posture straight, his expression unwavering.
He was tall, with long brown hair neatly tied back, his sharp blue eyes scanning the crowd before he bowed with respect.
"I am Edward Ederyus of the Ederyus family." His voice was clear and firm. "My goal is to become a knight and serve King Aramir."
Edward stepped before the glowing green Neba Circle, rolling his shoulders before clenching his fist. A deep green Neba ignited around his hand, pulsing with raw energy.
With a roar, he lunged forward and struck the circle. A shockwave of green Neba burst outward, the force rippling through the air as the energy dispersed like scattered embers.
Everyone turned toward the large glowing screen.
[Edward Ederyus – 350]
A cheer erupted from the crowd. Ramires gave an approving nod as Edward bowed once more and returned to his place.
The minimum passing score was 250, and Edward had already set the bar high.
One by one, students stepped forward, their strikes landing with bursts of energy.
[380]
[400]
[270]
[450]
[320]
[260]
[290]
The numbers flickered across the glowing screen made from Neva, each result met with cheers or quiet murmurs of approval. So far, no one had failed.
Then, Ramires' voice echoed across the courtyard.
"Number 13, step forward."
A girl moved gracefully toward the platform, her presence drawing curious stares. She was beautiful, with long white hair cascading down her back and piercing blue eyes that held a quiet determination.
She stopped at the center and bowed, her voice soft but steady.
"My name is Seraph Neville, from the Neville family." She hesitated for a brief moment. "My reason for joining the academy is… to become strong and help my family rise even further."
There was a pause, a slight tension in the air as she placed her hand against the glowing Neba Circle. A faint hum resonated as she channeled her energy through it.
Then, boom.
A small explosion burst from the circle, far weaker than the others before her.
The score appeared on the screen.
[250]
The exact passing mark.
Seraph staggered back, her body swaying, her breath unsteady. She had pushed herself to her limit, barely holding herself up.
Laughter erupted from the crowd.
Dune, Atlas, and Ned stiffened, confused.
What was so funny?
She had clearly given her all. She was barely standing, yet they laughed?…
The girl slowly walked down, she was about to fall but someone caught her by the shoulder. It was Ned.
"What are you doing?"
"Helping you"
He helped her to get back to her position. After helping her walk back he nodded calmly and quickly left.
Dune let out a slow sigh, disappointment settling in his chest. These nobles, didn't understand, did they? Not every Neba user was meant to be a brute force powerhouse. Not every neba needed overwhelming strength.
Meanwhile, beside him, Ned's jaw clenched, his fists tightening. His usually bright expression darkened with frustration.
Stupid families. Stupid monarch.
What did they mean by physical strength doesn't matter? How could anyone even gain a Neba animal if they weren't trained for it?
If raw Neba power was all that counted, then what was the point of everything that came before it? Ned's eyes burned with determination.
I'll show them. He glanced at the glowing circle, the laughter still ringing in his ears.
I'll show everyone here what I'm capable of, and prove them all wrong.
One by one, more students stepped forward, delivering their strikes with various results. The scores climbed higher, some managing to impress, others barely scraping by.
Then came Lucas Neville, Seraph's older brother.
He approached the Neba Circle with an air of confidence, his white hair glistening under the sun. His fist pulsed with raw energy, a swirling green aura enveloping his arm. With a single devastating strike, the ground beneath him cracked slightly, and the explosion of Neba surged outward.
The number flashed across the screen.
[600]
The crowd erupted. Cheers, gasps, Lucas had set a new high. He nodded calmly and walked back to his place.
And then, Number 75 was called.
A hush fell over the crowd as Atlas stepped forward.
Dune patted him on the back, pushing him lightly. "Good luck."
Beside him, Ned smirked and whispered, "Whoever bows to the king between us pays for the inn… for the rest of our lives there."
Atlas stiffened, his eyes widening before a chuckle escaped him. "Bastard."
He walked forward, slowly, his heart steady.
He didn't bow.
Dune grinned from his spot. "You really are an idiot."
The reaction in the royal seating area was immediate.
Magma's brow lifted, a smirk tugging at his lips. James Murderthrone sat up sharply, his eyes narrowing. Even some of the nobles whispered in shock.
Another commoner? They never learn.
He didn't bow? How disrespectful.
If I were the king, I'd have him executed on the spot.
Atlas ignored it all. He had trained for this moment. Cadogan's lessons echoed in his mind.
"If you strike with your full power, you'll reach 500 to 600 easily. But that's not enough to set you apart. There's something greater you can do."
He inhaled deeply. Then he spoke.
"My name is Atlas. My reason for joining this academy is simple, to become strong. Strong enough to take revenge on those who wronged me."
The murmurs intensified.
"Revenge?"
"Arrogant fool."
Atlas ignored them.
He stepped up to the circle, his fist glowing with deep green energy. He took a slow step back, then struck.
The initial impact was strong, but nothing extraordinary. The explosion of Neba burst outward, dispersing as it usually did. But then, something changed.
As Atlas retracted his fist, the Neba particles scattered in the air suddenly reversed. The energy that had been lost in the explosion was drawn back. Like a storm pulling in the wind, his aura surged, dragging the fragmented Neba back toward the circle.
Boom!
A second strike landed, this time from behind. The neba curved, bending unnaturally as it obeyed Atlas' command.
The entire academy fell into stunned silence.
In the royal seating area, James Murderthrone shot to his feet, his face dark with shock.
"That technique—! Where did he learn this?"
Damion sat still, his face unreadable, eyes lost in thought.
Meanwhile, Magma smirked wider.
The score flashed.
[950]
The courtyard was frozen in place.
No whispers. No jeers. Just silence.
Atlas turned, his expression calm, and walked back to his place.
Every eye followed him.
The commoner who had shattered expectations.