When Lucien stepped into the chamber, he immediately noticed the absence.
Roughly ten percent of the noble heirs were missing.
They've already failed, he thought, eyes scanning the grand hall.
A few murmurs among the children confirmed his suspicion. The Evaluation had already claimed its first victims.
"With that," came a gruff voice, "the fools who relied solely on their family names have been culled."
The same stern, unshaven man from earlier entered the room. His weathered cloak billowed slightly as he walked with heavy boots and unshakable authority.
"Now," he began, voice loud enough to silence the room, "those of you who remain will undergo the physical examination. It will be divided into three parts."
Without another word, he turned and strode out. The children followed, some with confident strides, others with hesitant feet, until they reached a sprawling training ground.
"Your first task is simple," the man said, stopping in front of the massive oval field that stretched farther than any of them expected. "Run around this entire field. Do not stop. If you halt even for a moment, you're out. This will test your endurance… and your willpower."
Groans rose from the crowd almost instantly.
One boy, lean with a clever gleam in his eyes, stepped forward. "Sir, this ground is massive. It's three times the size of a standard arena! You can't expect us to—"
He was immediately backed by a chorus of protests.
"He's right!"
"You should've warned us!"
"This is madness!"
The man's eyes didn't so much as flicker. "If you have a problem," he said coldly, "you are free to leave. We will be sure to inform the Celestial Conclave that you abandoned the Evaluation mid-trial."
The shrewd boy's smirk faltered, and the crowd fell into nervous silence.
"Now… run. We don't have all day."
With a single sharp clap, the race began.
Dozens of children surged forward, some sprinting with blind energy, others pacing themselves. The field, ringed by trees and tall banners bearing the sigils of noble houses, became a battlefield of stamina.
Fifteen minutes in, the first collapse came. A girl with silky pink hair stumbled to her knees.
"This… isn't fair…" she sobbed as guards lifted her away.
And one by one, others followed. Some cried. Some shouted. Some simply dropped.
By the time an hour had passed, over thirty had fallen.
"Stop!" the man barked.
Panting, gasping, the remaining candidates staggered to a halt. Most of them bent over, hands on their knees, chests heaving. Only a handful stood tall.
The man's eyes narrowed as he scanned the group, pausing when they landed on Lucien.
Interesting, he thought.
He had heard the rumors. That the young heir of House Vaelor had been bedridden. That the boy couldn't even walk properly just days prior. And yet… here he stood. Steady. Calm. Breathing heavier than usual, yes—but far from exhausted.
"A thirty-minute break," the man declared. "Then we begin the second part."
The groans resumed.
"Thirty minutes?!"
"This is torture!"
"This is inhumane!"
But the man turned his back and walked away.
Thirty minutes? That's generous, Lucien thought. No enemy on the battlefield will wait for you to catch your breath.
---
Thirty minutes later, the man returned, hands clasped behind his back.
"For the second round… sparring."
A collective shift ran through the group.
"You will not choose your opponents. The matchups have been randomized."
At that, a familiar voice cut through the crowd like a blade. "I hope I get Lucien," sneered a boy with a sharp jaw and smug grin. "An easy win sounds fun."
Lucien turned to face him, eyes laced with tired amusement. "Be careful what you wish for. Sometimes the best wishes are the ones that destroy you when granted."
"Oh, I know what I'm asking for," the boy said, laughing. "Don't worry, disgrace of House Vaelor. I'll go easy on you."
A few gasps. A few laughs.
Lucien's voice was ice. "Then I hope your wish comes true."
The first match was called.
"The son of House Ardent, versus the daughter of House Virellis!"
The boy, broad-shouldered and armored in silver-lined leather, picked up a longsword. The girl—slender, calm—lifted a beautifully carved bow.
The moment the signal was given, she fired. Three arrows in a heartbeat.
The boy deflected them with a swift spin of his blade, steel ringing. He charged, closing the distance with powerful strides. She rolled sideways, loosing another volley mid-dive. One arrow grazed his shoulder.
He growled and lunged again—this time his sword narrowly clipped her bow.
The girl twisted, flipping backward and firing from the air.
The audience held their breath.
The fight lasted three minutes—fast, fluid, elegant. In the end, the boy disarmed her, but he bowed in respect.
"Victory to House Ardent."
Match after match followed. Some were fierce. Others disappointing. A few ended in seconds. But all were informative—and entertaining—to Lucien.
Then the final names were called.
"Lucien Drayven Vaelor… versus Ash Burnet."
It was him. The taunting Count's son from earlier.
Ash strode forward, confident and cocky. "The Gods really do hate you, Lucien. First disgrace, now defeat."
Lucien said nothing. He stepped forward, calm and composed.
Both boys picked up training swords.
"On the count of three," the proctor called out. "One!"
Their grips tightened.
"Two!"
Their eyes locked.
"Three!"
They exploded forward.
Steel met steel with a violent clang. Lucien parried, Ash countered. They clashed and broke apart, then lunged again.
Ash was fast. Arrogant. Flashy. But Lucien had been trained by a war-hardened Duke for the past two weeks.
They traded blows, dodged, ducked, weaved—Lucien's body moved with fluidity that shouldn't have been possible for someone so recently broken.
He's good, Lucien thought. But not as good as Father. Not even close.
Then Lucien stopped holding back.
He changed rhythms—fast to slow, direct to evasive—and Ash couldn't keep up. A feint to the left, a pivot, then a sharp strike to the ribs.
Ash screamed and crumpled.
Lucien stepped forward, the edge of his training sword resting lightly against the boy's throat.
He leaned down. "Really… losing to the disgrace of House Vaelor? That must sting."
Ash barely heard him before blacking out, a dark smile imprinted as his last sight.
Gasps filled the arena.
"He won?"
"Did he… cheat?"
"No way that was luck."
The crowd murmured, uncertain, curious—and perhaps… afraid.
"Round two complete," the proctor announced. "You've all done well… or at least those still standing."
---
"The third and final part of the Evaluation begins now," the man said. "This will not take long. To pass, all you must do… is remain conscious for one minute."
That seemed easy enough—until the air changed.
The man exhaled, and with it came a wave of power.
Aura.
Not just mana—but its warrior-forged evolution.
Only those at B-rank or above could use it. And this man's Aura pressed down like a mountain.
The children staggered.
Some fell within seconds.
"Thirty seconds have passed," the man said. "Now, I will increase my Aura… twofold."
The pressure doubled.
Screams. Collapses. Gritted teeth.
Lucien's lungs burned. His legs buckled. His eyes blurred. Just… a little… longer…
But just as he began to falter—
A whisper echoed in his mind. "Get up."
The pressure vanished—for him alone. He blinked. Looked around.
Only ten were still standing.
The man's eyes widened in faint surprise.
"This is a record," he said at last. "Ten survivors. The previous high was six."
He nodded, almost in approval.
"You've all earned your place. Five minutes of rest… then the final test awaits."
A/N:
Whew! The evaluation arc is finally wrapping up—about time, right? So... what do you all think of the series so far? Be honest (but gentle, my heart's fragile). Favorite moments? Characters you love—or love to hate? I'm all ears and dying to know! Drop your thoughts below, I'll be lurking in the comments like a suspiciously overinvested author.