The day of the entrance exam had finally dawned. Although it is referred to as an entrance exam, this term is a mere facade designed to promote the illusion of "equality" within the academy. In truth, regardless of my performance, I am assured a position among the higher class due to my influential connections—a privilege I neither sought nor desired, yet one I am compelled to accept.
To maintain the semblance of fairness, I was paired with another individual to fight, making the exam appear legitimate.
The arena, typically used for practicing elemental skills and magic usage, was filled with an air of tension and anticipation. Four groups stood facing each other, preparing for their respective battles. One of those groups included me and my rival, who stood resolutely opposite me, eyes locked in silent challenge.
The arena itself was a vast, circular space, lined with ancient runes that glowed faintly, enhancing the ambient magic. The ground was a mix of sand and stone, scarred from countless previous battles. Tall, imposing walls surrounded the area, with intricate carvings depicting legendary duels from the academy's storied history.
Since this is an entrance exam, the only spectators allowed were the esteemed judges. These judges, robed in the academy's distinctive colors, sat high above in a grandstand, their expressions stern and discerning. They were the gatekeepers of this prestigious institution, tasked with evaluating the performance of those who aspired to join its ranks. For commoners especially, gaining admission required a deep and impressive mastery of magical arts, and the judges would scrutinize every spell, every movement, with an unforgiving eye.
As I stood there, feeling the weight of my lineage and the expectations it carried, I couldn't help but glance at my opponent. Their determination was evident, a stark contrast to my own conflicted feelings about the guaranteed position I neither desired nor felt I deserved.
"First group shall commence. The rest of you, maintain your positions and observe," the head judge's voice rang out, echoing through the arena. "This exam will determine if you are worthy of the academy or just a fool with unattainable dreams."
The first group mentioned was positioned at the far left side of the arena. Two individuals, each representing opposing sides, stepped forward.
One wore crude armor that shone brightly with the magic barrier flowing around his body. In his hand, he wielded a sword as tall as half his height but as massive as a greatsword. The sword, adorned with luxurious gemstones, signified his noble standing among those within the arena. His noble birth contrasted sharply with that of his opponent.
His opponent, seemingly a humble man, was dressed in a tattered robe, worn and frayed with the signs of many battles. In his hands, he held a giant staff, with a large orb floating between intricately carved wooden branches.
"The fight begins!" the head judge declared, his voice resonating through the arena, signaling the start of the duel.
"I've heard stories about the infamous black sheep of Narra. Quite an entrance you made back then. Hope your family didn't disown you. Though, in this brutal world, you spoiled brats hardly stand a chance anyway."
So, he's starting with provocations, huh?
I shifted my gaze to the fierce battle unfolding before us, completely disregarding the man's taunts. Despite the ostentatious ornamentation on the crude armor of the noble, his movements were sluggish. However, based on the precise yet evasive strikes of the mage, it was clear that the armored combatant was a scion of the illustrious Pormenia Locus Family, renowned for their unparalleled mastery of the sword.
Although his technique had the potential to break the mage's evasive rhythm, his apparent lack of commitment rendered his skill ineffective. His grip on the weapon was weak, and every downward slash from his left hand lacked power, often ending with the blade striking the ground.
But I had underestimated him. The determination in his eyes revealed a relentless spirit. His seemingly futile efforts...
In a sudden, unexpected move, his blade found its mark on the mage's side. Seizing the opportunity, the armored man abandoned his weapon, launching a powerful punch that connected with a satisfying thud. Spinning with surprising agility, he landed a flurry of punches and slashes, catching the commoner off guard.
This technique was unlike anything I'd seen before, a unique improvisation that showcased the ingenuity of the Locus Family.
The mage was now cornered, his barrier on the verge of shattering.
Stunned by the sudden turn of events, the mage quickly retreated beyond the noble's reach. Gathering his focus, he began to chant a powerful incantation.
"Terra Forma!"
Suspended in mid-air, he unleashed an earthbound spell. Instantly, more than ten rock-like projectiles materialized and hurtled towards the noble, striking his armored arm with force.
The noble groaned in pain, the impact clearly felt despite the thickness of his armor. But the mage wasn't finished.
"Break Free, Shackles of Latia!"
Out of thin air, a chain materialized—a chain as dark as night—snaking its way towards the defenseless noble. It wrapped around him, binding him tightly and severely restricting his movements.
Shackles of Latia. If my memory serves me correctly, this spell is one of the rare dark incantations permitted for use. It teeters on the edge of legality due to its potent anti-magic properties, but after extensive debates among scholars, its exceptional efficacy was reluctantly made public.
This spell embodies darkness that overshadows light, weaving shadows into tangible chains that ensnare anything they touch. The chains are imbued with a malevolent force, binding their target with an unyielding grip akin to slavery. The very essence of the spell is to dominate and control, severely restricting the victim's movements with an ironclad hold.
Any attempt to resist these dark bindings results in searing pain, reminiscent of the infamous slave mark. The agony is not just physical but also magical, a deep, throbbing torment that courses through the victim's body, punishing any effort to break free. The chains themselves pulse with a dark energy, their surface shimmering with an eerie glow that seems to consume light, further emphasizing their sinister nature.
Now, my curiosity is piqued. I am eager to delve into the intricate structure of this spell, to understand the dark runes and arcane symbols that give it such formidable power. The mechanics behind its anti-magic effect, the source of its pain-inducing properties, and the precise nature of its binding force—these are mysteries I wish to unravel.
The noble's face contorted with agony as the pain from resisting the Shackles of Latia coursed through his body. Every attempt to break free sent waves of torment rippling through him, tightening the chains' grip and deepening his suffering.
Seeing this, the mage's lips curled into a wicked smile of delight. In his mind, the noble was nothing more than easy prey, despite the prestigious name behind him. The mage's eyes gleamed with malice as he relished the sight of his opponent in such a state.
Captured and powerless, the noble's struggles only seemed to amuse the mage further. The mage's mind raced with thoughts of humiliation and revenge. This was more than a battle; it was an opportunity to disgrace the noble's entire family.
"Look at you," the mage taunted, his voice dripping with contempt. "The great scion of the Pormenia Locus Family, brought to his knees. How fitting."
He raised his hand, summoning another spell, his intentions clear. The crowd watched in horrified fascination, the arena tense with anticipation. The mage's goal was not just victory but utter humiliation. He aimed to strip away the noble's dignity and tarnish the honor of his family.
The noble's breaths came in ragged gasps as he fought against the relentless chains. His eyes flickered with defiance and desperation, but the mage's sinister grin only widened. The arena's atmosphere grew heavier, the audience sensing the gravity of the moment.
Now, the mage thought, it is time to disgrace not just the man but the legacy he carries. The noble's suffering was far from over, and the mage intended to make every moment a testament to his family's fall from grace.
"Forth, Yield. Astria!"
Astria, a spell of immense power, one that commands both advance and restraint. This incantation taps into the energy of the cosmos, creating a force akin to a gravitational field. It is a multi-targeting projectile that effortlessly pierces through any magical barrier, rendering the noble's protective shield utterly futile in the face of this grand spell.
A direct hit from Astria would obliterate the noble, erasing him from existence in an instant. The air shimmered with the raw power of the spell as it gathered form in the mage's hands, glowing with an eerie, otherworldly light.
"Halt!" The head judge's voice thundered across the arena, a command so powerful that it echoed off the walls. His tone, filled with unyielding authority and intimidation, sent a chill through everyone present. The very air seemed to freeze as his words rang out, causing every spectator to shiver involuntarily, myself included.
But the mage was unaffected. His eyes were locked onto his target, unwavering. He ignored the judge's command and released the spell, his determination palpable. The glowing projectiles shot forth, converging on the noble with terrifying speed.
"Shit! Gaia's Blessing!"
Desperation tinged the noble's voice as he invoked a powerful defensive spell. Gaia's Blessing was designed to negate any malicious magic, a last resort that forbids death from occurring. However, the spell's protective power is only effective if cast before any harmful magic strikes. The noble's timing was critical and, unfortunately, too late.
Astria's projectiles collided with Gaia's Blessing, the impact creating a blinding flash of light. The arena held its breath as the noble's fate hung in the balance. The sound of the collision was deafening, a roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the arena.
When the light faded, the aftermath of the clash was revealed. The noble, battered and bruised, stood amidst the wreckage of his shattered shield. Gaia's Blessing had mitigated some of the damage, but the force of Astria had still struck him with tremendous power. The crowd was silent, the tension thick in the air as everyone waited to see if the noble could stand after such an overwhelming attack.
Novel Bin 