As Elijah's team along with all the others in this trial fought their battles against each other, the audience watched with bated breath. It was rare they got the opportunity to start watching the exams as early as the third trial, and rarer still that the projections were so clear. Every motion, every strike, every decision was on display for all to dissect.
In a fortified meeting chamber, military personnel sat around a long obsidian table, screens and projection crystals casting the light of battle across their faces. They scribbled notes, muttered observations, and occasionally exchanged sharp remarks as they judged which cadets had the qualities of foot soldiers, and which had the aura of command.
A gruff middle-aged man with scars littering his body grunted in appreciation as he leaned forward in his chair.
"It seems Clancy has been training them well. This batch of students is better than most years."
Across from him, a stern woman with purple hair tied in a severe high ponytail gave a small nod. Her uniform was pressed to perfection, and her tone matched her appearance: clipped, precise.
"Yes, especially the number one ranked second-year student Katherine Gravelle. The Gravelle family has truly outdone themselves with her. The girl is a monster. She is decimating all the enemies practically by herself, while also properly commanding her team and ensuring they still get a chance to show their abilities and feel a sense of purpose. With how strong she is she could easily hog the spotlight, but instead she balances control with delegation. Though…" She tapped her pen sharply against the table. "…she's still securing most of the kills."
On-screen, Kat's tally was undeniable: 35 kills, 0 deaths, 12 assists.
From the far end of the table, a lazy-looking officer with hair so long it fell across his eyes leaned back until his chair creaked. He yawned, almost dismissively, though his words carried more weight than his demeanor suggested.
"Katherine is very impressive, but let's be honest, we all expected that based on our intel. I'm more impressed by student Timothy Thomas. His raw strength is above average but nothing extraordinary. He barely scraped into the top 100 before the exam started. What stands out is his ability to effortlessly bring his team together into a cohesive unit with strong bonds and phenomenal communication. Their morale is the highest of any group we've observed. He could be an effective commander one day."
Halfway through his assessment, he sat up straighter and tapped notes onto his slate for emphasis.
Another man, this one with a shifty demeanor and heavy bags beneath his eyes as if he hadn't slept in days, leaned forward and spoke in a low, gravelly tone.
"I agree about Timothy. But I've also been keeping my eye on the young man just above him in the pre-exam rankings, Claro Nova, scion of the Nova family. His team is efficient, lethal. I worry about his overaggression, but results are results. He's worth tracking."
The officers nodded among themselves, trading insights in clipped, professional tones. Their discussion was all about utility, chain of command, and battlefield potential.
When Elijah's team began to claw their way back into their match, the lazy officer's attention sharpened. He blinked as if to make sure he wasn't imagining it.
"Oh? What's going on here?"
The woman with the ponytail adjusted her spectacles, her voice carrying both surprise and professional curiosity.
"That team was performing poorly. I had all but written them off as a dysfunctional mess. But once that boy stepped up, their cohesion improved drastically. They're still behind, but… that was a well-executed counter. What was his name again?"
She shuffled through her notes before finding it.
"Elijah Eneri. Very low-ranked. A late awakener, apparently, but rising quickly for his circumstances. His strategic mind is sharp. If his strength grows, he could have real potential. Perhaps not as a front-line fighter, but a backline strategist? Someone who shapes the flow of a battle."
The others murmured agreement, scribbling down his name alongside the other standouts. They were eager to see how this batch of cadets would grow over the coming year.
Elsewhere, in a lavish guildhall adorned with banners of beasts and blades, the Awakened Lords, the continent's top mercenary company, were holding their own viewing session.
Unlike the military officers, their interests weren't tied to discipline or command structures. They valued profit, reliability, and battlefield spectacle. The room buzzed with laughter, curses, and the clatter of mugs against tables as they watched the exam unfold.
A massive bald man with a greatsword propped against the wall bellowed with laughter as Claro's crystals tore through his opponents.
"Now that's the kind of lad I'd want watching my back! No hesitation, no wasted movements. Ruthless, efficient. That's money on the battlefield!"
Across from him, a wiry woman with scars crisscrossing her jawline raised an eyebrow and swirled the liquor in her cup.
"Efficient, yes. But I've seen his type before, too arrogant, too quick to alienate allies. A merc who can't keep his team alive won't last long, no matter how sharp his crystals are."
Their leader, a calm, broad-shouldered man with a golden clasp holding his cloak, steepled his fingers. His eyes remained fixed on Kat's projections.
"Katherine Gravelle. If she keeps this up, she won't end up in a mercenary guild. Families like hers aim higher, military leadership, maybe even politics. She's untouchable."
The bald man snorted.
"Then what about the excitable one? That Timothy kid. He's got a tongue that can make strangers fight like brothers. You put him on a battlefield, I bet half the sellswords would rally behind him without question."
"That one," the scarred woman admitted reluctantly, "is dangerous in a different way. Charisma like that can win wars before the blades ever clash."
Their leader shifted his gaze toward Elijah's team as the replay displayed their turnaround moment, the ambush, the sudden reversal of momentum. His expression barely changed, but his tone grew thoughtful.
"And then there's him. Elijah Eneri. Not flashy. Not dominant. But patient. Clever. He turned certain collapse into an actual contest. That kind of foresight…" He tapped the table once. "…is what wins battles most people call lost."
The guild buzzed with differing opinions, but one thing was clear, they had taken notice.
Finally, across taverns, markets, and households, the general populace watched the exams with fervent excitement. Projection crystals floated in plazas and hung above bars, showing the matches live. Cheers and groans echoed across the city like thunder.
Children shouted Kat's name as if she were already a hero. Young men and women alike gawked at Tim's antics, laughing when his boundless energy translated into sudden, creative plays. Claro drew hushed whispers, half admiration, half fear, as people debated whether his cruelty was brilliance or madness.
And Elijah? His team's stumble-to-spark turnaround captured hearts in a different way. Ordinary people, who knew what it was like to struggle and scrape, saw themselves in him. He wasn't perfect, he wasn't the strongest, but he thought, adapted, and refused to give up.
"That Eneri boy," an old woman said in a bustling tavern, shaking her head with a smile. "He fights like he's playing chess with giants."
"Bah, he lost anyway," a younger man scoffed, though he didn't hide his smirk. "But it was damn fun watching him try."
"He's the underdog," another chimed in, raising his mug. "And everyone loves an underdog!"
The tavern roared in agreement.
For the elites, the exams were a crucible for soldiers, leaders, and weapons. For mercenaries, they were a market. But for the people, the ordinary folk looking for something to believe in, the trials were entertainment, inspiration, and a glimpse of the sparks that might one day shape their world.
The world bent, twisted, and then righted itself.
Elijah and his teammates materialized back in the exam's team chamber, the teleportation glow fading into the sterile, round-walled meeting space. It looked more like a corporate boardroom than a war camp: a polished circular table sat in the center, chairs ringed around it, and a projection screen on the wall still flickered with the last frames of their defeat. Their weapons and armor were gone, replaced by the academy's training uniforms.
The silence weighed heavy. Everyone's breathing was still fast, their faces slick with sweat. The only sound at first was the faint hum of the projector and the shuffle of chairs as they collapsed into them.
Rennik broke it first. Of course he did.
"Okay," he said, voice pitched somewhere between exhaustion and excitement. "That started pretty horribly, not gonna lie." His grin returned anyway, a flash of his usual bravado. "But we almost turned it around there, didn't we? I'd almost say that went well." He leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. "We got this next match. Plus, I got a lot of kills. Hehe."
The others groaned, but the grin spread some warmth through the room.
Mira sat upright, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her usual composure was cracked; her lips pressed into a tight line, her eyes downcast. Finally, she spoke, her voice formal but edged with regret.
"I must apologize to you all. For my failed leadership." She bowed her head slightly. "I thought myself the best choice to command, but I did not anticipate every move the enemy could make, nor did I strategize around the nature of this trial. I cannot deny it, Elijah is the better shot caller."
The words landed heavy, her admission stark against the sterile hum of the room.
Sylvara, who had been quiet since their return, reached out and placed a gentle hand on Mira's arm. Her voice, soft as a whisper, was firm all the same.
"It's alright, Mira. We know you were trying your best. You don't need to punish yourself for that."
Elijah shifted in his seat. He hadn't expected Mira to fold so decisively, and something in her lowered gaze made him want to ease the sting. He leaned forward, elbows on the table.
"Don't be so hard on yourself, Mira. Your calls weren't bad. You saw angles the rest of us missed." His tone softened. "It was just one or two mistakes that got exploited. The enemy snowballed those, that's all. Believe me, failure isn't proof of weakness. It's just… room to grow. You're already sharp. Now you'll be sharper next time."
He gave a wry smile. "I've failed more times than I can count. But every time, I treated it as an excuse to level up. Failure's just the tutorial before the real fight."
Mira looked up at him then, her expression conflicted but lighter. Slowly, she nodded.
Brax broke the mood with a booming laugh as he slapped Elijah's back, nearly sending him face-first into the table. Elijah had to plant his feet hard against the floor, using a flick of mana to anchor himself in place.
"Inspiring words, Elijah!" Brax said with a grin. "Glad you stepped in. Wouldn't expect anything less from a friend of Tim's." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his massive arms. "Though, between us, I'd still love to land a clean hit on that jitterbug."
That earned a snort of laughter from Elijah, tension draining away.
"I think you're not the only one who feels that way. Good luck, though, you'll need it."
A few chuckles circled the table. Even Sylvara let out a small laugh, though she hid it behind her hand.
The laughter faded, replaced with a hum of something else, anticipation. Elijah felt it building inside himself too. Nervousness, yes. But beneath it was a thrill, like the quiet before a storm. He straightened, drawing a slow breath.
For the first time in his life, the others were looking at him, waiting on his words. Trusting him. The responsibility sat heavy on his shoulders, but it wasn't crushing. It was galvanizing.
His gaze traveled across them one by one. Rennik's restless fire, Mira's sharpened resolve, Sylvara's quiet steadiness, Brax's immovable strength. He thought back to how each of them had fought, how their instincts had revealed themselves, their "battle tendencies."
He wouldn't let this next match become a figurative "bloody stream," as it had felt before, the kind of chaotic slaughter that left everyone's abilities wasted and morale shattered.
"Alright, everyone," he said, voice firm but encouraging. "We don't have much time. Let's go over the next enemies' abilities, reflect on our strengths and weaknesses, and form a proper plan."
The team leaned in. They trusted him now, and it showed in the way their shoulders squared and eyes focused.
Elijah activated the holographic table, bringing up a rotating display of the next enemy team also showing clips of their match history and what roles they had held last match:
1. Kaelen Dros (Top Lane)
Rank: 147
Ability: Ironvine Growth - summons fast-growing metallic vines from the ground that harden into spiked barriers. He can lash with them at short range or use them to block paths.
Playstyle: Zone control tank - manipulates terrain to trap and corral enemies.
2. Nysar Veyor (Jungle)
Rank: 136
Ability: Shadow Pounce - leaps between nearby shadows to reposition quickly; his next strike after reappearing is empowered.
Playstyle: High-mobility assassin, picks off overextended targets.
3. Orric Dane (Mid Lane)
Rank: 142
Ability: Aether Lattice - conjures shifting geometric panels of force that slice or block depending on formation.
Playstyle: Control mage, punishes missteps.
4. Velra Sunfell (ADC / Bot Carry)
Rank: 151
Ability: Windpiercer Arrows - long-range arrows that gain speed and damage with focus; can create gusts to knock enemies back.
5. Theron Pike (Support)
Rank: 154
Ability: Tidecaller's Veil - water shields for absorb or slow torrents to control enemies, can accelerate allies briefly.
Rennik whistled low.
"Sounds like a nightmare. Fast, slippery, and control-heavy."
Elijah nodded.
"Yes but not even close to unbeatable. I can already see a strong path to victory. Alright here's the plan…"