Dawn was dead. The wait was over. Seven hundred and twenty-nine aspirants crowded inside the grand combat arena under the glaring morning sun.

Their numbers filled the vast stone grounds like an army preparing for battle. Around them rose tier upon tier of spectators, and above them stood the banners of academies, noble houses, and foreign kingdoms, stirring gently in the wind.

The atmosphere was different, and more crowded than it had been during the fight of Edniot and Willa. The crowd was greater than on the previous day.

For news had traveled far and swiftly. The names from the examination had emerged: Thane, Donovan Young, Etno Kamsi, and many others.

Their names had become subjects of conversation throughout the capital.

Now people had come to witness them with their own eyes.

At the center of the arena stood a line of academy officials carrying polished wooden chests.

Within them rested bronze tokens, the symbols of fate, the means by which companions and rivals would be chosen.

An instructor stepped forward. His voice carried clearly across the arena. "No candidate shall choose their team. No candidate shall exchange tokens. The draw is final," he announced to everyone. Their fates were tied to those they were randomly assigned with.

A small murmur passed through the gathered youths as the distribution began.

One by one, hands reached into the chests. One by one, destinies intertwined.

Thane received his token with little ceremony. The giant turned it over in his hand and examined the number engraved upon its surface.

Around him, candidates hurried through the crowd searching for matching numbers.

Voices rose, questions were asked, and names were exchanged.

A short while later, two figures approached him.

The first was a lean youth with untidy brown hair and sharp features. His clothes were simple, and his nervous eyes darted constantly from side to side.

The second was a young woman whose gait felt entirely different on more than one level. She carried herself with confidence despite her modest appearance, her gaze unwavering. She radiated both stubbornness and high self-esteem.

The brown-haired youth raised his token, and the number matched. "So... we’re together?" he asked, his eyes shifting between Thane and the girl.

Thane looked at his own token and nodded. "I think so."

The youth released a breath. "Good."

He extended a hand. "My name is Rimon," he introduced himself.

Thane shook it without asking for his family or clan name as he introduced himself. "Thane."

The girl stepped forward. "Hello."

Her eyes briefly traveled from Thane’s face to his enormous shoulders, then farther down, then up again.

She bit her lip lightly. "You’re bigger than the rumors," she truthfully added.

Thane was taken aback. "Yeah, I hear that a lot in the capital, but... why are you biting your lip though?"

"I don’t know... tell me," she said, as she bit her lip again.

"Stop doing that." Thane felt chills running through his spine.

The girl didn’t stop and walked toward Thane.

"I’ll smack your face, stop that," Thane said as he raised his hand.

The girl raised her brows. "You’ll hit a girl?" she asked provocatively.

"No shit, back off," Thane warned. He didn’t know how to treat girls. The only girl he was close with was Eudora and his cousin sisters, who found pleasure in his torment.

The girl pursed her lips before taking a step back. She decided it was better she stopped her teasing, considering Thane’s reaction.

"Ahem." She cleared her throat, smiled, and said, "Sorry, it was rude of me. Hi, I am Sky." She introduced herself.

"I’m Thane." He rudely replied.

For a moment, the three stood together, strangers joined by chance or perhaps by fate.

Whatever the reason, they would need to fight as a group and on the same side, for today at least.

Elsewhere in the arena, chance held less power.

The exempted aspirants had been granted a special privilege.

The academy had allowed them to enter alongside companions from their own nation. Their groups, who they were familiar with, would tag along in the test.

A privilege almost every ordinary aspirant, taking the test as their only way through, regarded as unjust, or even corrupt at the very least, from both the test and the academies allowing it.

Yet none dared voice such complaints openly. They were commoners, and voicing or defying it would only backfire.

Donovan Young stood among a group clad in the colors of the Drevlorn Dynasty.

The tall noble looked entirely at ease. One companion carried a spear, and the other bore twin axes.

Both were warriors from Drevlorn, both had trained beside Donovan for years.

One candidate nearby muttered under his breath. "You could have chosen local teammates."

Donovan heard him. A cold smile appeared. "I could have."

His gaze drifted toward the surrounding aspirants as he uttered loudly, "But I don’t trust Bentrami losers who rely on technology."

The words were heard by many, causing several Bentram candidates to frown.

The Drevlorn youths laughed, but Donovan did not. His expression remained proud and unyielding.

To him, the Drevlorn Dynasty was a superior nation to any other. If there was one to compete with, it was the Great Murak Empire.

Drevlorn had bigger academies. He had only been sent to learn the ways of Bentram Kingdom.

Not all Bentramis were afraid of him. Near Donovan stood a guy, the one who had stood for Thane during dinner.

He heard the remarks and looked at Donovan as he spat on the ground and commented. "Drevlornese people are a bunch of illiterate swine. I mean, they rely on our technology.

Behind the veil of their tough bravado, they’ve got a pea-sized brain in their ball-sack-sized heads."

The Bentrami students heard that and burst into laughter. Finally, someone had shut them up.

Unfortunately, this time, no famous Bentrami families like the one from which Edniot came were participating.

Only seventeen-year-olds could participate. They had none of that age.

The only one to come from a big clan was Thane, who was hiding his identity.

So, the majority of Bentrami aspirants were overwhelmed by the big family names of Young and Kamsi.

Donovan caught those disrespectful words. He was about to confront the blasphemous youth when his teammate stopped him. "Not now. We will get the chance."

A similar scene unfolded not far away.

Etno Kamsi stood beside two fellow swordsmen of Krynova.

Unlike Donovan’s group, there was no arrogance in their demeanor. Only discipline could be seen.

The three looked less like students and more like soldiers.

One academy official approached curiously. "Do you also want companions from your homeland?"

Etno smiled faintly. "Not necessarily, sir."

His hand rested lightly upon the hilt of his sword. "But as Donovan was allowed, I shall also choose my kin over Bentram aspirants."

"You both are alike. Donovan said the exact same thing with awful words. However, you have the tongue of a strategist," the official praised with a smile.

Etno gave a casual smile, as if he had heard the same thing numerous times. "Perhaps you are right, sir," he replied respectfully.

The official wisely chose not to ask further, and nodded before going back in a happy mood.

Above the arena, the judges observed in silence.

The ten representatives sat high upon their platform, gazing down at the sea of young faces below.

After yesterday’s incident, the judges, instructors, and representatives had been changed.

One judge stroked his beard thoughtfully. "The pairings are stupidly interesting."

Another nodded. "Some will discover the value of teamwork."

"And others?" asked the third judge.

The first judge chuckled. "Will discover its absence."

The judges started to laugh as the sun gradually climbed higher. The air grew warmer, and the anticipation within the arena thickened like a gathering storm.

Every candidate felt it in their body: the weight of expectation, the nearness of battle, and the possibility of glory or failure.

At last, the great bronze bell was wheeled into position. It stood taller than three men, runes carved by blessed experts shimmering faintly across its surface.

The sight alone was enough to silence the crowd. Slowly, the buzzing noise faded.

Thousands of voices became hundreds, then dozens. A hush settled over the vast stone grounds.

The chief judge rose from his seat. His gaze swept across the assembled aspirants.

For a long moment he said nothing. He studied them slowly, and then he said, "The Combat Trial begins," he announced.

His voice echoed from wall to wall. A tremor of excitement passed through the crowd.

Candidates tightened their grips around their weapons, and companions exchanged final words.

Rimon swallowed nervously, Sky rolled her shoulders, and Thane simply stood, waiting and watching.

The chief judge lowered his hand and the hammer struck.

BOOOOOOONG

The bell rang.

Its voice thundered across the academy like the call of some ancient giant awakening from sleep.

For a heartbeat, everything remained frozen.

Then the world erupted. Voices rose. Boots pounded against stone.

The polished wooden weapons flashed beneath the sunlight.