On the second class, we were suddenly called back to the rear courtyard. A messenger came into the room and informed us that the combat class test would begin shortly. I hadn’t even known this place had a back courtyard. The academy was so large that it kept surprising me with new sections.

When I stepped outside, I understood why they used this area for combat.

The courtyard was wide and open, paved with worn stone that had clearly seen years of use. Benches were arranged along the sides, some under the shade of tall trees whose branches stretched overhead, leaves rustling softly in the breeze. Near the center stood a circular fountain, its water flowing steadily, the sound mixing with the low chatter of students.

Beyond that, dominating the entire space, was the arena.

It was massive, an oval structure sunk slightly into the ground, with rows of stone seating rising around it in tight layers. The seats curved along the arena’s shape, giving a clear view from every angle. The fighting ground itself was flat, packed earth, darker in patches where it had been worn down over time. This wasn’t just for practice. This was built for real matches.

I sat down on one of the benches, resting my elbows on my knees while I waited for whoever was in charge of the test to show up.

"Yo."

A hand tapped my shoulder. I looked up and saw Ken standing beside me, grinning like he’d just finished something fun.

"Hey," I said. "You guys get tested already?"

"Yep," he replied, clearly pleased with himself. He pointed a thumb at his chest. "Ranger."

"Good with bows, huh?" I said. "Nice."

"I always had a knack for daggers and bows." He shrugged. "Back when my father trained me, I’d always pick the bow. Felt more natural." He tilted his head slightly. "What about you?"

I shrugged. "I dunno."

"Maybe a rogue?" He mimicked quick dagger strikes in the air. "Like a shadow. In and out. Pah, pah, pah, shink."

"Like I said, dunno."

He stared at me for a second, then shook his head. "Man, you’re not excited at all? You can be so boring sometimes, Ace."

"That I know."

Before he could say anything else, the door at the top of the stone steps leading into the courtyard opened. A teacher stepped out and began walking down toward us.

She moved with confidence, each step steady as she descended. She was tall, taller than most students here, including me, easily around six feet. Her hair was cut very short, black and neat, framing a sharp face. She wore a tight academy shirt that outlined a strong, athletic build, her shoulders broad, her posture straight. Her presence alone was enough to quiet the area.

Once she reached the bottom, she clapped her hands once, loud enough to carry across the courtyard.

"If you’re not from 1-F," she said, her voice firm and clear, "head back to your classes. Break is over. Move."

A mix of responses followed.

"Yes, ma’am."

"Yeees..."

"Right away, ma’am."

Ken smirked and leaned closer to me. "Good luck," he said, giving my shoulder another light tap before stepping back.

Then he turned and walked off with the others, heading toward the exit as students from different classes began clearing out of the courtyard. The noise slowly faded as they left, leaving behind a smaller group.

Now that others were gone, only 1-F remained. Some students gathered closer to the arena, whispering among themselves. Others stayed near the benches like I had been. The space felt emptier now, more focused.

The teacher watched until the last of the other students were gone. Then she turned her attention to us.

"I am Professor Arlen Veyra," she said. "Combat Disciplines."

Her gaze moved across the group, sharp and assessing.

"Form a single line inside the arena. Now."

No one argued.

I got up from the bench and walked toward the arena along with the others. We filed in through the opening and spread into a line across the edge of the fighting ground. I ended up somewhere in the middle.

Professor Veyra stepped down into the arena as well, boots pressing lightly into the packed dirt. She walked along the line, her eyes passing over each student one by one, as if measuring something none of us could see.

When she reached the center, she stopped and turned to face us.

"Today, you will be combat tested," she said. "This was meant to happen yesterday, but due to the fight near the elder tree and the upcoming tournament, it was postponed."

No one spoke. Everyone stood still. She reached into her pocket and pulled something out.

At first glance, it looked strange, like a small, shifting mass. A translucent, jelly-like substance that rested in her palm, slowly moving on its own, as if it were alive.

Then it reacted.

The moment it touched open air, it twitched, then stretched outward, its surface rippling rapidly. In a second, it hardened, taking the shape of a weapon.

A long handle formed first, solid and dark. At the top, a heavy, spiked metal head took shape, each spike sharp and evenly spaced.

A mace?

"And no," she said flatly, glancing across us, "this is not a mace. It’s a morningstar. I’m sure at least one idiot here was thinking that."

Ouch.

She continued without pause.

"This," she lifted the weapon slightly, "will take the form of the weapon you are most compatible with. Mine is this. Which places me in the Warrior class."

She lowered it, the weapon still perfectly formed in her hand.

"First in line," she said, her voice cutting through the silence as she pointed at a student. "Step forward."

The first student stepped forward nervously, shoulders stiff as he approached Professor Veyra.

She lowered the black glob into his hands.

The moment his fingers touched it, the strange substance rippled violently. Its surface stretched and hardened, quickly shaping itself into a weapon. A short blade formed first, sleek and narrow, with a curved edge and a dark leather grip.

A dagger. The student blinked in surprise and gave it an awkward swing or two through the air, testing the weight.

The student lowered the weapon, still staring at the light fading from its edge. "W-what is this..."

"The weapon you’re holding is called Viotelle," she said, irritation clear in her voice. "It reveals what kind of combat style best suits you and awakens the potential tied to it. Rogues, for example, possess greater agility. After this test, you’ll notice your body tires less easily. Now put the dagger down."

The student crouched and placed it down carefully. The instant it left his hand, the dagger softened and collapsed back into the strange black glob.

The next student stepped forward.

This time, the transformation happened faster. The black mass extended upward into a long wooden shaft capped with a crystal-like tip glowing faintly blue.

A staff.

The student’s eyes widened slightly as he held it upright.

"A pure mage, huh?" Professor Veyra said with a faint grimace. "I don’t like it. But whatever. Put the staff down and return to the line. Next."

The student obeyed quickly.

One after another, students stepped forward.

Another dagger.

"By Nythera’s veil," Professor Veyra muttered under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Am I classing a whole group of thieves today? Back to the line. Next."

A longsword.

A spear.

Another mage.

The process repeated over and over, each student receiving their weapon, testing it briefly, then returning to formation.

Then it was my turn.