Chapter eight: The Entrance Exam
The city was buzzing with life. Street vendors, people in carriages passing by, few are those that have enrolled in the Academy and are preparing for the entrance exam.
"Hey, you look like kids who enrolled at the academy, I sell swords and shields if you're interested!!" A man shouted desperately looking at Drake and Drakelle's way.
The Street vendors knew that during this time of the year there would be people who would enroll at the academy.
"Disgusting leeches" Drake thought to himself, with a look of both disgust and anger.
"F*ck off, donkey" he said.
For the man, the world turned black. The man apologized and then left.
"There was no need to bite his head off."
Drakelle murmured looking at the man as he was leaving.
"Let's go" Drake said, with an irritated face.
Drake looked irritated. His jaw was tight, his crimson eyes narrowed, and his hands flexed as if itching to draw a blade. The irritation wasn't because of the travel, nor because of the nobles staring at him and Drakelle as though they were curiosities. No—the reason for his sour mood was the damned entrance exam.
In The Last Descent of a God, the novel he once obsessed over in his past life, the entrance exam for the Divine World Academy had been explained in suffocating detail. The narration went on and on about how impossibly difficult it was, how it broke the spirit of the weak, how only monsters among monsters survived. But that wasn't what gnawed at him now.
The real issue was the competition.
The exam didn't only gather participants from the Belmore Kingdom. No, it dragged in promising candidates from the other kingdoms across the continent. And among them were children from transcendent families.
Transcendent families—those bastards were one rank below the peak families. Families whose bloodlines had brushed against the heavens but hadn't quite grasped them. Their heritage, their techniques, their mana control—they all scaled higher than ordinary means, standing above the vast majority of nobles and clans. Not quite gods, but monsters all the same.
That was the first reason his teeth ground together in frustration. The second was much worse.
He had sensed a familiar energy. Something he thought he'd left behind with his first death. Something that churned his stomach with loathing.
The first prince of Belmore.
The very kingdom he now resided in. A human-infested land rotten with corruption. Drake had no fondness for it in his past life, and in this life, his disgust was magnified. The prince was among the candidates for the exam, his aura so infuriatingly familiar that it pulled bile up Drake's throat. He remembered that same aura in his past life, tied to memories drenched in betrayal and rage. To see it here, so early, made his blood boil.
He wanted to rip the prince apart. But not yet. Not until it was time.
There were four kingdoms across the continent.
Endora, a land of elves and dwarves, steeped in magic and craft.
Darko, a territory of demi-humans and half-demons, half-creatures forged by strife.
The White Sea, a mana-rich and monster-infested domain, feared more as a natural disaster than a nation.
And Belmore—the cesspit of humanity. His birthplace in this life. His prison.
The Divine World Academy, that so-called sacred ground of knowledge and bloodshed, was located here in Belmore. But unlike the rotten kingdom itself, the Academy accepted all races. Elves, demi-humans, beastfolk—everyone gathered here to claw their way up. To fight, to study, to kill, to ascend.
The following day arrived like a blade to the throat.
Drake and Drakelle walked side by side through the buzzing city, heading toward the exam grounds. The Academy had chosen its arena for the trials—a structure so vast it dominated the skyline, an impossible monument of stone and magic.
It was massive. Circular, layered in ivory and steel, with enchantments glowing faintly along its walls. It was an arena built to withstand bloodshed, a coliseum where countless geniuses would battle for survival.
Drake tilted his head back, studying the sheer scale of it. For a moment, even he had to admit the architects had achieved something worthy of awe. But awe was fleeting, easily burned away by the cold fury in his chest.
The rules of the exam were simple—deceptively simple.
"Duke it out. The last few remaining will be accepted."
That was it. No written tests, no noble formalities, no politics. Just slaughter.
But Drake wasn't fooled. Easy words, but the reality was hell. This wasn't some polite duel. It was a tournament of survival, designed to tear apart the weak, humiliate the unworthy, and sharpen the strong into weapons. The arena would drink blood today.
Sixty students would be admitted, no more. Out of the hundreds gathered, only sixty would remain standing.
Drake's lip curled. "Simple my ass," he muttered under his breath. "This is just a massacre dressed up as a selection."
Drakelle walked calmly beside him, her posture straight, her black hair flowing like a banner. She looked unshaken, but Drake knew her well enough to sense the tension beneath. Today would be her fight. His would come tomorrow.
The twins paused at the edge of the coliseum floor. Candidates crowded everywhere—elven prodigies humming with mana, demi-human warriors flexing claws and tails, arrogant human nobles flaunting weapons engraved with family crests. And among them, the unmistakable pressure of transcendent family heirs, standing taller, sharper, stronger.
The noise was deafening—taunts, boasts, promises of victory. But for Drake, it all blurred into a low, hateful buzz. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching, always searching. And then he felt it again—that wretched aura. The prince. Somewhere in this sea of arrogance, he was here.
Drake's fists clenched, nails biting into flesh. His irritation spiked into rage, but he swallowed it down. Not today. Not yet.
Drakelle turned her head slightly, her voice calm. "You'll get your turn tomorrow. For now, watch me."
Drake looked at her. His twin sister, talented to the extreme, standing tall in the face of the same storm. Her crimson eyes glowed faintly, her aura steady. She was ready.
"Don't die," Drake said flatly, though his lips twitched with the faintest smirk.
She smirked back. "Don't worry. I'll save that for you."
The announcer's voice boomed through the arena, amplified by mana. "Welcome, candidates, to the entrance examinations of the Divine World Academy! Today, you will prove your worth. Today, you will bleed for your future. Only sixty of you will remain standing by the end. The rest—consider this your grave!"
The crowd roared. Bloodlust surged.
Drakelle stepped forward, her slim form moving with unshakable grace. Today, the spotlight belonged to her. Drake's turn would come tomorrow. But as he leaned back, crimson eyes glowing faintly, one thought repeated in his mind like a curse carved into stone:
This is just the beginning.