The next day arrived shrouded in darkness. Thick fog had enveloped the grounds like a suffocating blanket, reducing visibility to less than five meters. The air carried an unnatural chill that had nothing to do with temperature—something in the atmosphere felt ominous, expectant.
Despite the conditions, thousands of students had gathered in front of the mansion, standing in tense silence. The fog swirled around them, turning their forms into shadowy silhouettes that appeared and disappeared as the mist shifted.
A voice suddenly pierced through the fog—deep, amplified by magic, resonating in everyone's ears simultaneously despite the dampening effect of the mist.
"All registered participants will now undertake the practical combat examination. Unlike previous years, this year features a single unified test."
The speaker remained invisible, hidden somewhere in the fog. The disembodied quality of the announcement made it feel almost omniscient.
"You will enter the Dawn Forest to hunt monsters and retrieve the tokens attached to their bodies. Five thousand tokens have been distributed throughout the woods. With over eight thousand registered participants, conflict is inevitable."
Three thousand will fail before they even encounter a monster, Valen observed from his third-floor window. The Academy's already culling the weak.
A murmur rippled through the assembled students. Valen noticed several groups edging closer together—forming alliances before the test even began.
"Lethal force against fellow examinees is strictly prohibited," the voice continued, harder now. "We will be actively monitoring all areas. Anyone caught killing another student will be immediately disqualified and imprisoned in the Academy dungeons."
Criminal prosecution, Valen noted. They're making it very clear.
"Acquiring more than one token will also result in disqualification. Once you obtain a token, return here immediately to take the written examination—the second phase of admission. The final test will be held tomorrow."
"If you become lost or wish to withdraw, speak your full name aloud. Rescue teams will extract you. However..."
The voice paused, letting tension build.
"Even with these precautions, there is a real possibility of death. The monsters will not hold back. If you wish to withdraw, do so now. No shame attaches to choosing survival over glory."
Silence. Not a single person moved from the crowd.
Of course not, Valen thought. After traveling here, after preparing for years—backing out now would mean admitting defeat before even trying. Pride won't let them.
"The examination ends when the fog dissipates," the voice announced. "If you have not acquired a token by then, you are automatically disqualified. Regarding the monsters: the forest contains primarily Rank 1 creatures. However, approximately one hundred Rank 2 monsters have also been released. Your final ranking will be determined by the difficulty of your kills."
Rank 2 monsters in an admission test, Valen frowned slightly. They're expecting casualties.
"Collaboration is permitted but will negatively impact individual rankings. Your final score reflects personal achievement, not group success."
The voice dropped to a tone of finality: "Begin."
The crowd surged forward like a breaking dam—eight thousand students flooding into the forest in a chaotic wave of movement and sound. Within moments, the fog swallowed them completely.
Valen watched from his window as the last stragglers disappeared into the tree line. Marcus had been among the first wave, moving with the confident stride of someone who'd trained for this his entire life.
Somewhere in that mass was also Raylan Cross, the actual protagonist whose story Valen had read in another life.
And now I get to watch it unfold in real-time.
"Are you in position, Iris?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, Master," her cheerful voice replied in his mind. "The extended range is working perfectly. I can reach the forest's core area."
That had been their project during the journey—a solution to Iris's limited operational range. Originally, she could only manifest within eight hundred meters of Valen. Useful, but restrictive.
The breakthrough had come from studying the other two necromancer Soul Crystals Theodore had given him. They'd spent hours during the carriage ride systematically freeing each spirit and strengthening them to act independently. The first spirit connected to Valen. The second connected to the first. The third to the second.
Each spirit acted as a relay, extending Iris's operational range by approximately eight hundred meters per link. With three spirits, they reached roughly two and a half kilometers. However, Valen had realized that this was his current limit. Adding more would not be feasible—he wouldn't be able to share mana using his low-level Mana Sharing spell. It would have to be upgraded eventually.
Three relays is the current limit, Valen acknowledged. But that's enough for today.
Three translucent display panels materialized in the air before him, each showing the perspective of a spirit Iris was controlling. The images were crisp, showing different sections of the fog-shrouded forest in surprising detail.
Valen settled into his chair with a warm cup of tea.
If only I had popcorn.
High above the forest canopy, six figures stood on translucent hexagonal platforms that hovered motionless in the air. Each wore the brown robes of Academy instructors, their faces hidden beneath deep hoods. The platforms were positioned in a wide circle, giving them overlapping views of the entire examination area.
One figure stepped forward, raising a hand. "Excellent. All departments have sent their representatives." The voice was elderly, carrying the weight of experience. "I am Vecta, head of the Divination Department. I have established monitoring points throughout the forest."
He made a sweeping gesture, and the air before him rippled. A massive scrying sphere materialized—a perfectly transparent orb fifteen feet in diameter that floated between the six platforms. Its surface was smooth as glass, but as Vecta channeled mana into it, images began appearing inside.
The sphere's interior transformed into a three-dimensional map of the forest, rendered in ghostly blue light. Hundreds of small white dots moved through the map—each one representing a student.
But the true marvel was the detail. By focusing on any dot, the sphere zoomed in to show actual footage of that area—trees, fog, students running or fighting, all displayed as if viewed through crystal-clear water.
"Divination magic at this scale," one instructor whispered, impressed despite himself. "The mana cost must be terrifying."
"The Academy's treasury can afford it," Vecta replied, evidently having overheard. "This is, after all, our future we're screening."
Another instructor—a younger woman whose hood had fallen back to reveal sharp features and calculating eyes—leaned forward, studying the moving dots with intensity. "That group there," she pointed. "Combat Department material. Notice how they're moving—formation discipline despite the chaos. Someone's already taken command."
"Numbers don't impress me," a third instructor rumbled, his voice deep as grinding stone. "Show me someone fighting alone against real odds. That's where you find true potential."
"Or true stupidity," someone muttered.
"Sometimes they're the same thing," Vecta said with dry amusement. "Shall we observe? I suspect today we will find some promising new blood."
The six instructors settled into positions around the massive scrying sphere, each focusing on different sections of the examination grounds, watching as hundreds of individual dramas began to unfold in the fog-shrouded forest below.
Somewhere Deep in the Forest
The fog was thicker here, clinging to everything like damp cloth. Sound behaved strangely—muffled in some directions, eerily clear in others.
Raylan Cross ran through the undergrowth with controlled urgency, his breathing steady despite the exertion. Behind him, a young woman matched his pace, her expensive travel clothes torn and dirtied but her rapier held with practiced ease.
"How many?" she gasped.
"Four. Still following." Raylan didn't look back. His awareness extended in a sphere around him—a constant sense of nearby mana signatures that had nothing to do with sight or sound.
Three Rank 1 warriors. One Rank 1 mage. Close formation. Experienced.
Lady Elara Montclair—youngest daughter of Count Montclair—had thought entering the forest with a full entourage would guarantee success. Her family had produced a large number of new mages this year, all competing for limited recommendation slots.
She hadn't counted on those same cousins and friends turning on her the moment they entered the fog.
Betrayal stung worse than any blade. The ones she'd known since childhood had attacked without warning, intent on stealing her token and eliminating her. She would have failed the test if this stranger hadn't intervened—appearing from the fog with brutal efficiency, defeating her attackers before they could catch her.
"Why are you helping me?" she demanded, suspicion mixing with desperate gratitude.
"Because you were outnumbered and they fought dirty," Raylan replied simply. "Besides, you're clearly talented. Letting someone like you get eliminated would leave a sour taste in my mouth."
Practical, she noted. Not heroic. That's... actually more reassuring.
"How much further?"
"Until they give up or we find somewhere defensible." Raylan's eyes scanned the fog constantly. "Neither seems likely right—"
He stopped abruptly. Elara nearly crashed into him.
"What—"
"Ambush," he breathed. "They circled ahead."
Shadows emerged from the fog on three sides—the pursuers forming a loose semicircle, cutting off escape routes with practiced efficiency. Their leader, a blonde arrogant-looking warrior, stepped forward with cold confidence.
"Hand over the token and submit."
Elara raised her rapier, hands trembling slightly. "I won't—"
"You'll shut up," the blonde warrior interrupted, "or die loudly. Your choice."
Raylan's mind raced, calculating angles and odds. Four against two. He could take one, maybe two before being overwhelmed. Elara had training—her stance showed that much—but these were veterans.
This is going to hurt.
Then something changed. The mana signatures shifted—one of the guards suddenly dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
A figure rose from where the guard had stood, brushing off his dark robes with casual indifference. Silver hair caught what little light penetrated the fog. Violet eyes assessed the situation with cold calculation.
Marcus Ashford smiled. "I do hope I'm not interrupting anything important?"
The guard captain whirled, weapon rising. "Who the—"
Marcus moved. It wasn't speed exactly—more like he'd never been where the captain's strike landed and had always been standing three feet to the left. His hand shot out, two fingers jabbing precise points on the captain's neck.
The man collapsed, eyes rolling back.
"Pressure points," Elara noticed, recognizing the technique.
"Much cleaner than actual combat," Marcus explained. "Less cleanup afterward."
The remaining two guards exchanged glances—then bolted into the fog without another word.
Silence settled over the small clearing.
"Marcus Ashford," Marcus introduced himself with a slight bow. "Combat Sorcery Department, assuming I pass this tedious examination. And you are?"
Raylan lowered his guard slightly but kept his stance ready. "Raylan Cross. Undecided on department."
"Elara Montclair," the noble lady added, still processing what had just happened.
Marcus's eyes flickered with recognition at her family name. "Montclair. Ah. Let me guess—family politics made you a target the moment you entered the forest?"
Her expression confirmed it.
"Predictable," Marcus sighed. "Noble families are exhausting. Just ask me."
"I'm living it," Elara replied dryly.
Marcus studied Raylan with more interest now, noting the quality of his stance, the way his eyes kept tracking movement that wasn't quite there. "You have mana sensitivity. Active scanning?"
"Something like that."
"Interesting." Marcus's smile widened slightly. "And you fought off four trained guards while protecting a stranger. Either remarkably noble or remarkably stupid."
"Can't it be both?" Raylan countered.
Marcus laughed—genuine amusement. "I like you. Most commoners are either too intimidated or too resentful to manage humor around nobles."
"Wait—did you say your last name was Ashford?" Elara and Raylan gasped simultaneously.
Marcus didn't answer directly, instead glancing at the unconscious guards. "They'll wake in an hour or so. We should move. Unless either of you has a token already?"
Both shook their heads.
"Then we hunt together," Marcus decided. "Temporarily. Three is better than two, and frankly, you both seem competent enough not to slow me down."
Elara bristled. "I don't think we should—"
"We should," Raylan interrupted quietly. "Those guards were Rank 1 warriors. There are Rank 2 monsters in this forest. Solo survival just became much less likely."
She wanted to reject the idea. But practical sense won out. "...Fine. Temporary alliance."
"Excellent," Marcus said cheerfully. "Now, let's find some monsters to kill. I'm aiming for top-ten rankings, and that requires impressive kills."
As the three moved deeper into the fog-shrouded forest, none of them noticed the small translucent owl spirit that had been observing the entire encounter from a nearby tree branch.
Elsewhere in the Forest
The boy had fought well. Rank 1 mage, specializing in earth magic—solid fundamentals, decent tactical awareness. His mistake had been encountering a Rank 2 Skeleton Knight and thinking he could retreat.
Undead don't allow retreat.
Now he lay motionless in a small clearing, blood soaking into the moss beneath him. The monster had already moved on, token clutched in its skeletal fingers as trophy.
Death claimed him quietly. No final words. No dramatic last thoughts. Just the slow fade of consciousness into nothing.
For several minutes, nothing moved in the clearing. The fog drifted. Distant sounds of combat echoed from other parts of the forest.
Then something around the boy's neck began to glow.
A small pendant, previously hidden beneath his shirt, pulsed with faint green light. The chain broke as the pendant fell, landing in the blood-soaked earth.
It was a seed. Perfectly ordinary in appearance—dark brown, perhaps the size of a thumbnail. But as the boy's blood touched it, the seed split.
A root pushed into the earth. Then another. Then twelve more, spreading in all directions like grasping fingers.
The seed germinated with impossible speed, growing from sprout to sapling to full tree in less than a minute. Bark formed, branches spread, leaves unfurled—all in complete silence.
When the growth stopped, a person-sized tree stood in the center of the clearing, its branches already twisting and reshaping themselves with unnatural purpose.
The wood flowed like water, forming arms, legs, a torso. Features emerged from the bark—eyes, nose, mouth, all carved in eerie detail. The tree-thing took a step, and the remaining roots pulled free of the earth with wet tearing sounds.
It looked almost human now. Almost. The proportions were too perfect, the movements too fluid. Like something had studied humans and replicated them without quite understanding why certain imperfections mattered.
The construct bent down, picking up the spectacles that had fallen from the dead boy's face—now nothing but a skeleton, the flesh consumed by the seed's growth. It wiped the blood off carefully, almost reverently, then placed them on its own wooden face which now was covered in human like skin.
The spectacles settled into place as if they'd always belonged there.
The wooden doppelganger straightened, adjusting the glasses with one finger in a gesture that was simultaneously scholarly and unsettling. Its mouth—a carved line in the wood—curved into something that might have been a smile.
"How fascinating," it murmured, voice like wind through leaves. "There is definitely a chaos heir here."
The doppelganger looked around the fog-shrouded forest with eyes that shouldn't have been able to see, head tilting with bird-like curiosity.
"Time to search."
And then it disappeared into the fog.