The heavy doors of the palace library slammed shut behind Kaelian with a dull thud. The silence of the room, its walls lined with millennia-old grimoires, felt more oppressive than the shouts of the court. Here, everything was ordered, classified, motionless—but every shelf concealed traps more dangerous than any blade.
This was the place the king had designated for his first official evaluations. The test was no mere formality. It was an intelligence exam organized by the Royal Council of Masters, a rare ritual reserved for nobles destined for the Academy. Officially, it was meant to assess a young man's ability to handle logic, ancient languages, and fundamental magical principles. Unofficially, it was a screening, a discreet way to eliminate undesirables—especially illegitimate children.
Yet Kaelian did not tremble.
Seated alone at a large black marble table, he slid a goose feather quill dipped in ink between his fingers, studying the rolled parchments recently handed to him. Three examiners stood in the shadows, hidden behind traditional golden masks. Among them, he recognized the rigid figure of Master Elgorn, an archmage known for his contempt of mixed bloods.
"Intelligence test number one: immediate translation of a coded passage in ancient runic language," announced a monotone voice.
Kaelian unrolled the parchment. His heart quickened slightly. He recognized the symbols. Better yet: he understood their logic. Memories from his previous life—a modern strategist passionate about cryptography—clicked into place like well-oiled gears.
Within ten minutes, he reconstructed the text, identified grammatical inversions, corrected three original errors, then transcribed the whole into the royal language. In the margin, he added a footnote suggesting an alternative reading of the last paragraph, indicating that the original scribe had likely wanted to conceal a double political meaning. Then he submitted his work.
A muffled but perceptible murmur rose behind the masks.
The second test concerned strategy. Before him was placed a fictitious topographic map depicting a border territory between two kingdoms. He was given thirty minutes to devise an effective defense, then a surprise attack of the same territory, using limited resources.
A fatal mistake.
Kaeilan had mastered this kind of game in his other life. He assessed the positions, identified three supply routes, invented a ruse of simulated siege, then described a diversion maneuver involving a fake retreat to the north. All illustrated with precise diagrams.
"That is... brilliant," murmured Master Elgorn under his breath before correcting himself.
The third test was the strangest.
A magical artifact—a glass sphere pulsing with a bluish glow—was placed before him. One examiner announced:
"Affinity test: spontaneous interaction with the Orb of Revelation."
Kaelian understood. This test measured latent magical ability, even if undeveloped. As a royal bastard, he was not supposed to possess such power—at least not officially. But he already knew magical blood ran in his veins… mixed, impure, and dangerous.
He closed his eyes. He would not simply touch the orb. He would control what the orb would see. He imagined an ordinary spirit, filled with moderate ambition, loyalty, naivety… and at its core, immense respect for the Empire.
He placed his hand on the sphere.
The orb shimmered. A faint violet glow pulsed, unstable, hesitant. Then it turned pale blue, neutral. The examiners nodded, visibly relieved.
But Kaelian saw, in the orb's reflection, a deep hidden red gleam—the true reflection of his mind. The Orb, perhaps, had understood… and chosen silence.
An hour later, Kaelian left the library. The corridor was empty except for a figure leaning against the wall.
Theor.
The legitimate half-brother. The favored heir. Handsome, cruel, and confident in his power like a razor-sharp blade. He smiled.
"So, little brother... They didn't drown you in ink?" he sneered.
Kaelian tilted his head slightly. He had no desire to provoke Theor in public, but he also had no intention of being walked over.
"Ink is less toxic than venom," he replied softly. "I hope you didn't lose your place at the Academy during my test."
Theor's face froze for a moment. Then he laughed, but without joy.
"You're intelligent, I admit. But you forget one thing."
He stepped closer, locking eyes with him.
"Here, intelligence is not enough. It takes blood. And yours… is worthless."
Kaelian felt the threat in his voice. It was not just an insult. It was a declaration of war.
"Then I will make sure even the purest bloods need me to survive," he answered calmly.
Theor clicked his tongue and walked away.
That very evening, Kaelian was summoned to a more discreet room: a private office reserved for royal advisors. There he found Counselor Dorn Valek, the diplomat with an ever-insincere smile.
"You impressed more than one mask today," Dorn said, sipping a pale wine. "And worried even more."
"Was that the goal?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. Tell me, Kaelian: do you want to enter the Academy by merit alone... or by another path?"
The young man narrowed his eyes.
"I will enter. No matter the door."
Dorn smiled, more sincerely this time.
"Correct answer."
He tossed a sealed parchment onto the table.
"This is a secret recommendation. It does not guarantee your admission, but it... influences the votes. You'll only have to use it if your test is rigged. And it will be, I promise you that. You've already succeeded too well."
Kaelian took the parchment but did not immediately slip it into his jacket.
"Why help me?"
"Because rare pieces are worthless if they stay in a chest. And you... are a weapon I prefer to hold by the handle than by the blade."
They gauged each other. A silent pact was born that night.
In his room, Kaelian finally opened the box containing the official results of the test. They were magically sealed. He dropped a drop of his blood on the sealing rune.
The parchment slowly unrolled.
"Strategic intelligence: advanced academic level.
Linguistic analysis: exceptional.
Magical capacity: non-compliant, unstable, unidentifiable.
Verdict: justified doubt. Recommendation: enhanced monitoring."
Kaelian frowned. They were not rejecting him. But they were not accepting him either. They placed him in a gray zone, between threat and curiosity.
Perfect.
He rolled up the parchment and smiled.
The game had just begun.
And Kaelian had never liked fair games.
End of Chapter 8 – "First Tests of Intelligence"
A public duel is announced at dawn, pitting Kaelian against an arrogant young noble. This duel is not just an intellectual contest, but a political trap designed to provoke his early exclusion… or his destruction.
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