Two days later, a notice flashed on the Aegis Network for all Arcanum Cohort Adepts.
Practical Examination: Collaborative Dungeon Simulation.
Location: Crucible Training Facility - Sector 7.
Objective: Traverse simulated dungeon environment, retrieve core fragment from final chamber.
Team Size: 3. Randomly Assigned.
Grading: Speed, efficiency, resource conservation, combat performance.
A team dungeon crawl. Random teams. Arlan's cold mind saw it for what it was: a test of adaptability and a chance to see how students performed outside their cliques.
He reported to Sector 7, a vast hanger fitted with holographic projectors and mana-forming pads that could create realistic environments. About twenty Arcanum Adepts were there, looking nervous or excited. He saw Selene leaning against a wall, looking bored. Blythe stood beside her, tuning a small, handheld resonator device. Jax was fiddling with a gadget on her wrist.
A proctor—a man with a beast-kin affinity, evident from his slitted yellow eyes and sharp canines—addressed them. "Teams will be assigned by the Aegis Network now. No swaps. You have five minutes to brief before simulation start."
Holographic name tags appeared over each student's head, with team designations. Arlan saw his: Team 7. He looked for his teammates.
Selene Vayne. The half-vampire witch.
Dorian Ashcroft.
He didn't know a Dorian. He saw a boy detach himself from a group of well-dressed students. He was handsome, with swept-back blonde hair and a confident smirk. He wore his uniform with a casual elegance that screamed old money. His aura was a swirling mix of deep green and quick silver—a plant affinity mixed with something else… metal? His cultivation was a solid 2nd Order, Rank 4. Higher than Arlan.
Dorian walked over, his eyes flicking from Selene to Arlan with mild amusement. "Well. This is an interesting mix. The blood witch, the spatial oddity, and me. The Aegis Network has a sense of humor."
Selene rolled her luminous eyes. "Ashcroft. Shouldn't you be with your little club of legacy kids, complaining about the peasantry in the cohort?"
"My dear Selene, variety is the spice of life," Dorian said, his smile not reaching his cold blue eyes. He looked at Arlan. "Thorne, right? The one who made a mess of the trials. Try to keep up. And try not to break space-time in the simulation. It's hell on the projectors."
Arlan ignored the jab. "What's your secondary affinity?" he asked flatly. "Your aura reads plant primary, but there's metal."
Dorian's smirk faltered for a split second. Sharp observation. "Ironwood lineage. My family's bloodline mixes plant life with metallic reinforcement. I grow living weapons. Now, let's plan. I'll take point and control the battlefield. Selene, you handle curses, spirits, and healing. Thorne, you… provide support. Use your space tricks to block attacks or make shortcuts."
It was a decent, if arrogant, plan. Arlan didn't argue. Efficiency mattered more than pride.
The proctor announced the start. A section of the floor dissolved into a holographic portal. Team 7 stepped through.
The simulation was impressive. They stood in a stone corridor that looked and felt real, down to the damp smell and the chill in the air. The "dungeon" was a mix of natural caverns and ancient ruins. The goal was somewhere deep within.
"Move," Dorian said, leading the way. His hands glowed with green light. Vines sprouted from the stone floor at his command, probing ahead, sensing for traps.
They encountered the first enemies—simulated creatures made of mana. Stoneback Crabs, low-level constructs with hard shells. Three of them scuttled from a side passage.
Dorian didn't hesitate. He clenched his fist. The vines on the floor lashed out, wrapping around the crabs' legs. Then, the vines hardened, turning a shiny grey color—becoming as tough as steel cables. The crabs were pinned.
Selene flicked a finger. Dark purple energy shot out, not at the crabs, but at the space between them. A Withering Mist formed, sapping the mana holding the constructs together. The crabs slowed, their forms becoming fuzzy.
"Clear the path, Thorne," Dorian ordered.
Arlan saw the pinned, weakened crabs. He didn't use a flashy spatial slash. He focused on the space inside each crab's core—the tiny mana-stone that animated it. Since they were low-ranked beast, with a sharp, precise thought, he twisted that space.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Each crab's core gave a small spark and went dark. The constructs collapsed into piles of harmless gravel. It was a clean, nearly silent takedown.
Dorian blinked. "Huh. Efficient."
They moved on. The dungeon presented challenges. A corridor filled with swinging blade traps. Dorian's vines couldn't reach the mechanisms. Selene's magic wasn't suited for it.
Arlan studied the pattern. The blades swung in a complex rhythm. He calculated the timing, then pointed. "There. A three-second gap in the lower left corner. But it's too narrow to pass through."
"Then widen it," Selene said, raising an eyebrow.
Arlan focused. He didn't try to stop the blades. He focused on the space in that gap. He stretched it. To their eyes, the gap didn't visibly change, but when Dorian cautiously extended a vine into it, the vine passed through easily, even though it was thicker than the original opening.
"A spatial dilation. Simple but effective," Dorian admitted, sounding almost impressed against his will. "Go."They passed through the trapped corridor safely.
The next chamber was a puzzle. A room with a locked door and four statues, each holding a different element: fire, water, earth, air. Runic script on the wall read: "Balance the chamber to proceed."
Dorian frowned. "Elemental balancing. Not my specialty."
Selene examined the runes. "It's a phony. The runes are for show. The real mechanism is a pressure plate under the floor. It's keyed to… life force weight. It needs three people standing on it together."
She was right. Arlan's Umbral Sight confirmed it—the floor had a faint mana grid beneath the dust and the way this guy kept commenting on his ability was getting annoying.
They stood together on the spot. The door clicked open.
The final chamber was a large cavern. In the center, on a pedestal, floated the core fragment—a glowing crystal. Guarding it was the simulation's boss: a Mana-Wraith, a shimmering humanoid figure made of chaotic energy, equivalent to a 3rd Order, Rank 1 creature. A real challenge for three 2nd Orders.
The wraith shrieked and charged, moving with blurring speed.
"Form up!" Dorian yelled. Vines erupted from the ground, forming a wall. The wraith tore through them like paper.
Selene threw curses, bolts of darkness that slowed the wraith slightly but didn't stop it.
Arlan analyzed. It was made of unstable mana. A spatial cut might disperse it, but it was too fast. He needed to limit its movement.
He remembered the compression field he'd used in the catacombs. He couldn't hold the whole wraith, but maybe a part of it.
As the wraith lunged at Dorian, Arlan focused on the space around its leading arm. He squeezed.
The wraith's arm suddenly jerked to a near stop, as if plunged into solid stone. The creature stumbled, off-balance, its charge broken.
Dorian didn't waste the opening. He roared, and this time, the vines that shot up weren't just vines. They were studded with sharp, metallic thorns. They wrapped around the staggered wraith, the ironwood thorns digging into its energy form, holding it fast.
Selene stepped forward, her eyes blazing crimson. She didn't use a spell. She sang a single, resonant note in a language that hurt the ears. A Sanguine Curse of Dissolution. The wraith's form began to unravel, its mana streaming out and being absorbed by Selene's spell, feeding her own power.
Arlan saw the core fragment was unguarded. He didn't run. He used his space affinity. He calculated the distance—fifteen meters. He focused on the space between his hand and the crystal, and folded it.
To the others, his arm seemed to stretch, the air around it warping weirdly. His fingers closed around the crystal from fifteen meters away. A basic, short-range spatial grab.
He pulled his hand back, the crystal now in his grip.
The simulation froze. The struggling wraith dissolved into pixels. A cheerful chime sounded.
Simulation Complete. Team 7: Victory.
Time: 14 minutes, 22 seconds.
Rank: 1st out of 7 teams.
They were back in the hanger. Dorian was breathing heavily, a cut on his cheek from a glancing wraith strike. Selene looked energized, her cheeks flushed. Arlan was calm, holding the now-inert crystal fragment.
Dorian looked at Arlan, then at Selene, and let out a short laugh. "Well. That wasn't terrible. You two are… unexpectedly competent."
"High praise," Selene said dryly.
The proctor came over. "Excellent work, Team 7. Especially the use of non-standard affinities to control and dismantle a superior opponent. Ashcroft, your ironwood control is precise. Vayne, your curse application was textbook. Thorne…" The beast-kin proctor's yellow eyes narrowed. "Your spatial manipulations were small-scale but perfectly timed. You work well under pressure. Your team score has earned each of you 200 merit points."
As they walked out, Dorian fell into step beside Arlan. "Listen, Thorne. You might have the personality of a brick, but you're useful. My… study group could use someone with your particular skills. We handle higher-tier missions. Better rewards. Think about it.", his voice laced with the arrogance of a genius.
He handed Arlan a small, engraved metal chip—an address for a place called "The Gilded Root." Then he walked off, joining his group of well-dressed friends.
Selene appeared at Arlan's other side. "Careful with that one. The Ashcrofts are old blood. They play games within games. Useful ally, dangerous enemy."
"I know," Arlan said, pocketing the chip. He wasn't planning to join any clubs. But information was power. And knowing where the rich, powerful students gathered was information.
He had survived the dungeon. He had worked with a team and succeeded. He had earned more points.
And no one had seen him use his shadow affinity once. That was the real victory.