The candidates had scarcely settled into their positions when a man clad in dark academy robes stepped into the center of the arena.

He was the appointed referee of the Combat Trial.

Tall and stern-faced, he carried neither weapon nor ornament, yet silence followed him surely as his shadow did beneath the sun.

Not only the aspirants, but the murmuring crowd gradually quieted.

Hundreds of teams turned their attention toward him.

The referee allowed the silence to settle for a moment. He took a glance at the teams before speaking.

His voice carried across the arena grounds like the ringing of iron upon stone.

"Listen carefully. The rules shall be simple."

He extended one hand toward the vast circles inscribed upon the arena floor.

Each battlefield was enclosed by a thick white ring painted upon the stone.

The lines gleamed beneath the sunlight.

"First, any participant forced beyond the circle shall be eliminated." He pointed.

A murmur spread among the candidates as they nodded. The rule was straightforward.

The referee continued.

"Second, any participant rendered unconscious shall be eliminated."

The murmurs ceased. That also was a normal rule everyone knew of.

His gaze swept over the gathering once more before adding, "Third."

The man’s voice hardened. "If two members of a team are eliminated, the third shall be automatically eliminated."

The arena grew silent as several candidates frowned.

They immediately understood this was not merely a contest of strength. It was a contest of protection and a test of cooperation.

A lone warrior could not simply abandon weaker companions and seek personal glory.

The referee spoke once more. "You are a team. If your companions fall, you fall with them."

His words lingered in the air, then he stepped back. "The matches shall begin," he announced, before stepping back.

The great bell rang. Its thunderous sound rolled through the arena.

Immediately, the spectators erupted. Thousands of voices rose as one, uncaring about the heavy feeling the aspirants were facing.

The Combat Trial had begun.

By chance, or perhaps by the unseen hand of fate, the first battle to capture the attention of the crowd belonged to Donovan Young.

The Drevlorn noble entered the fighting circle with measured steps.

His expression remained calm, almost bored.

Beside him stood his two companions, the axeman and the spearman. They had wooden weapons; no real weapon was allowed to ensure protection.

Both carried themselves with the confidence of trained warriors.

Across from them stood three ordinary aspirants.

No famous names, no noble lineage, only determination.

The referee lowered his hand and the match began.

At once, the two Drevlorn warriors surged forward. Their movements were swift and disciplined, wooden weapons were tightly gripped in their hands.

The battlefield erupted into motion. Yet Donovan himself remained still.

He stood behind his companions with his hands loosely folded behind his back, watching and waiting for this childish play to end so he could crush the guy who got the glory.

As though the outcome had already been decided.

One of the opposing candidates noticed.

A young woman, quick-footed and clever.

Rather than confronting the two warriors directly, she slipped past them.

Her movements were sharp and agile, she darted between openings.

She avoided the spear, evaded the axe and raced directly toward Donovan.

The crowd roared. Some believed they understood her strategy.

Eliminate the apparent leader, break the team and win.

For a brief moment it seemed possible. She closed the distance.

Her wooden blade rose, and Donovan moved.

It happened so quickly that many spectators failed to see it.

One moment he stood motionless, and in the next he was beside her.

His hand shot forward while her attack whistled through empty air.

A gasp swept through the arena as Donovan’s fingers tangled in her hair.

The girl’s eyes widened and then, with terrifying ease, he lifted her from the ground.

As though she weighed no more than a child, he hurled her.

The motion was brutal and merciless, which in turn forced the young woman flying like a doll across the battlefield.

The crowd watched as she crossed the white boundary, rolled upon the stone beyond it, and stopped.

She was instantly eliminated.

The arena erupted. Many cheered while others stared in shock.

Donovan did not even glance at her, his attention had already returned to the battle.

Within moments, his companions overwhelmed the remaining two aspirants.

The spearman struck one from his feet, while the axeman broke through the other’s defense.

The first-round battle ended swiftly and decisively.

The referee raised his hand. "Victory. Team Donovan."

His voice encouraged the crowd into maddened cheers, with applause and whispers.

The Drevlorn team had become the first to display overwhelming superiority.

Elsewhere among the competitors, Etno Kamsi observed the battle closely.

The handsome swordsman stood with his two Krynovan companions. His calm eyes never left Donovan’s team.

He noted their positioning and their coordination, calculating every action from start to finish without allowing the slightest detail to escape his vision.

The speed of Donovan’s movement, the strength behind the throw. Nothing was considered unimportant to him.

One of his companions spoke quietly. "What do you think?"

Etno folded his arms. "Dangerous."

The companion nodded. "I thought the same."

The swordsman’s gaze lingered upon Donovan for a moment longer.

Then he smiled faintly. "The examination just became more interesting."

Not far away stood Team 243.

Rimon looked pale and Sky appeared tense.

Both watched the surrounding battles with growing concern.

Everywhere they looked, teams were clashing, weapons smacking against one another.

Dust rose as candidates shouting echoed, making the current atmosphere feel more like a battlefield than a testing ground.

Rimon swallowed his saliva. "This is bad."

Sky nodded. "This is very bad." Worry was visible on her face.

Neither received a response from the giant... They worriedly turned their heads to take look.

Thane stood beside them, entirely unconcerned. The brute was cleaning his nose.

Both Rimon and Sky stared at him in bewilderment.

Thane inspected the result of his efforts thoughtfully before flicking it away.

Several nearby candidates immediately moved aside.

The giant looked around and noticed his teammates staring. "What?"

Rimon nearly screamed. "What do you mean, what?!"

Sky pointed toward the battlefield. "People are fighting!"

Thane blinked. "Yes?"

"We might die!" she said. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

"No." Thane replied with a soft chuckle. "You won’t die from this. You die from fighting guys like Topda." He waved his giant palm dismissively.

"Who is Topda?" she asked.

"Someone I fought," Thane replied.

Rimon started scratching his head hysterically. "How are you so calm?" He did not only question his teammate’s calmness, but his sanity as well. Since his own was beginning to slip away.

The giant considered the question and shrugged his shoulders.

"We haven’t started yet," he said.

Sky closed her eyes and sighed, and Rimon looked toward the heavens.

For the first time in his life, they wondered if tremendous strength came at the cost of common sense.

Their only solace was that their turn had yet to come, which might allow them a moment to calm down as well. But considering what was happening every time they looked around...

Around them, battles continued to rage.

And already the arena was beginning to separate the strong from the weak. Calming down did not seem realistic in the slightest.