“Now if you are done chatting, follow me to the battle platforms.”

  Lady Evelyn’s voice cut through the noise like a blade.

  We moved immediately.

  No one dared argue.

  We followed her through a tall iron gate behind the stage. The moment I crossed it, the world shifted.

  The air twisted.

  The ground beneath my feet felt lighter for a split second.

  Then—

  We were somewhere else.

  I stumbled slightly as my vision adjusted.

  The noise of the arena was gone.

  No audience.

  No stage.

  No other applicants.

  Just a wide circular stone platform suspended in what looked like endless white mist. Several identical platforms floated at different distances, barely visible through the haze.

  But on this one…

  There were only six of us.

  Rose.

  Ceilian.

  Julian.

  Two others around our age.

  And me.

  Lady Evelyn was nowhere in sight.

  The timid girl beside me wrapped her arms around herself.

  “Umm… w… wh… where are we?” she asked softly.

  Her voice echoed strangely in the open space.

  Ceilian glanced around, unimpressed.

  “It seems like this is where our test will be taken.”

  His tone carried confidence, as if being separated from the rest only confirmed his importance.

  The other boy stepped forward slightly. He had sharp features and pale hair, his posture stiff but controlled.

  “Well,” he said, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve, “I am Greg Frostmoon.”

  He gave a polite nod.

  “Rose, Ceilian, and Flirty Julian are well known. At least the others can introduce themselves.”

  Julian put a hand to his chest dramatically. “Flirty Julian? I prefer Charismatic Julian.”

  The timid girl swallowed.

  “I… I am Sylvia Moondew.”

  Her voice nearly disappeared into the mist.

  It seemed to be my turn.

  I opened my mouth.

  “I am—”

  “He is the useless one,” Ceilian cut in smoothly. “Not worth knowing.”

  The words landed harder than I expected.

  I had endured whispers before.

  But hearing it spoken so plainly… so casually…

  It stung.

  Julian’s expression changed instantly.

  “That was uncalled for,” he said, stepping closer to Ceilian.

  Ceilian did not even look at him. “Did I say anything wrong? He is nothing but a bug.”

  Rose stood a few steps away, gaze forward, uninterested. She neither supported nor opposed him.

  Greg adjusted his stance but said nothing.

  Sylvia lowered her head.

  No one wanted to interfere with a noble.

  Julian placed his hand firmly on Ceilian’s shoulder.

  Not playful this time.

  Serious.

  “I think your noble ass owes him an apology.”

  The air shifted.

  Ceilian slowly turned his head.

  “Oh?” A smirk curved across his lips. “You can try making me do that.”

  Julian’s grip tightened.

  A faint layer of frost began forming around his fingers.

  Ceilian’s eyes sharpened.

  Moisture gathered in the air again.

  The mist around us stirred, reacting to the tension.

  For a moment, it felt like they might actually start fighting.

  And I stood between humiliation and gratitude, unsure whether to pull Julian back or let him swing.

  Then—

  A new voice cut through the charged air.

  Deep.

  Composed.

  Amused.

  “I thought you all were going to fight me, not each other.”

  All our heads turned.

  A man stood near the edge of the platform.

  Tall.

  Broad shouldered.

  Dressed in regal attire of deep crimson and gold. The royal guard sigil gleamed proudly on his chest. A long sword rested at his side, not drawn, yet impossible to ignore.

  He looked at us as though we were children arguing over toys.

  Sharp eyes scanned each of us briefly.

  Then he smiled.

  Not warmly.

  But knowingly.

  “Welcome to the final round.”

  We formed a semicircle around him.

  The mist swirled quietly beneath the floating platform, endless and silent.

  Greg cleared his throat. “What will be our test, Ser…?”

  The royal guard’s lips curved slightly.

  “You may call me Ser Willguard. I do not usually offer my first name to anyone.”

  His gaze drifted toward the horizon of white.

  “If you look closely into the distance, you will see many such floating grounds. Each one is a test site. Other groups like yours are being evaluated as we speak.”

  I squinted.

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  Through the mist, faint silhouettes of other platforms hovered, distant figures clashing like tiny shadows.

  He continued.

  “There is no fixed procedure for this round. Every royal guard tests differently. Some allow three or five minutes of combat. Others prefer all versus one.”

  He rested his hand casually on the pommel of his sheathed sword.

  “I am different.”

  A faint pause.

  “It will be one on one.”

  The mist seemed to still.

  “You may choose who goes first.”

  His eyes sharpened.

  “You will fight me until I feel entertained. If you make me draw my sword willingly, consider it an achievement.”

  A small smile.

  “Choose any weapon you desire.”

  Before anyone could speak—

  Ceilian moved.

  He stepped toward the rack of weapons at the platform’s edge and picked up a shield and spear with fluid confidence. The shield locked onto his arm smoothly. The spear spun once in his grip before settling forward.

  He entered the arena circle without hesitation.

  Ser Willguard did not draw his blade.

  Ceilian struck first.

  His spear thrust forward with precision, shield angled perfectly to guard his flank. He was fast. Faster than I expected. His footwork was disciplined, controlled, sharp.

  But the guard…

  He was smiling.

  He sidestepped effortlessly, letting the spear skim past his coat. The butt of Ceilian’s spear redirected instantly, adjusting angles mid motion. He pressed again, shield bashing forward to create an opening.

  Ser Willguard moved like he was strolling.

  Ten minutes passed.

  Sweat formed along Ceilian’s brow.

  Then—

  The smile faded.

  In a single smooth motion, the guard’s sword left its sheath.

  Metal flashed.

  The sound of steel striking spear rang out across the platform.

  Ceilian was pushed back three full steps in one exchange.

  The spear trembled.

  The match ended.

  Ceilian stepped back, jaw tight.

  He had lasted.

  But he had been handled.

  Rose stepped forward next.

  She chose a sword.

  Not the heaviest.

  Not the lightest.

  Balanced.

  When she entered the circle, the atmosphere shifted.

  She moved differently.

  Light.

  Graceful.

  The first clash sounded almost musical. Her blade met his in a controlled arc, fire flickering briefly along its edge as she pivoted. Her footwork was elegant, almost like she was dancing at a royal banquet rather than fighting.

  Each strike flowed into the next.

  Each turn was deliberate.

  Within moments, Ser Willguard’s expression sharpened.

  Before ten minutes passed—

  His sword was already out.

  Steel met steel with greater force now.

  Their exchange became faster.

  Sharper.

  Heat flared around her blade in brief pulses, never wild, always contained.

  Neither of them overwhelmed the other.

  And then—

  It stopped.

  He stepped back.

  She lowered her sword.

  No victor declared.

  But she had forced him to take her seriously.

  Sylvia went next.

  She chose a thin blade.

  Her hands trembled before the fight even began.

  It ended in under five minutes.

  A single misstep.

  A sharp redirect.

  She was pushed off the platform’s edge, saved only by a thin barrier of light that prevented her fall into the mist below.

  She did not meet anyone’s eyes afterward.

  Julian twirled a staff before stepping in.

  “Do not underestimate the power of style,” he declared.

  The first strike nearly knocked the staff from his hands.

  But he adapted.

  He used distance.

  Circling.

  Spinning.

  Striking from angles rather than direct clashes.

  Ice formed along the tip of his staff briefly, forcing Ser Willguard to adjust footing.

  Twelve minutes.

  Longer than Ceilian.

  When the guard finally disarmed him with a clean upward strike, Julian fell back laughing.

  Greg stepped in with a short sword and shield.

  He was methodical.

  No flashy moves.

  No wasted motion.

  Every step calculated.

  Every block solid.

  He lasted eighteen minutes.

  Eighteen.

  By the end, even Ser Willguard’s coat had a shallow cut along the sleeve.

  When it was over, Greg bowed slightly.

  Then—

  It was my turn.

  I walked to the weapon rack.

  My hands hovered.

  I chose a two handed sword.

  Modest.

  Heavy enough to matter.

  I had trained with something similar back in Rocky Village. The local guards had shown me basic forms when I begged long enough.

  This was familiar.

  At least this.

  I stepped into the arena.

  The difference hit immediately.

  A royal guard and a village guard were not the same.

  Not even close.

  I swung.

  He parried casually.

  The impact alone rattled my arms.

  I adjusted stance.

  Struck again.

  He stepped inside my reach and tapped the flat of his blade against my ribs.

  Pain flared.

  Less than a minute later—

  I was on one knee.

  The sword knocked from my hands.

  The match should have ended.

  But I pushed myself up.

  Again.

  I grabbed the sword.

  Charged.

  He swept my legs from under me.

  I hit the stone hard.

  Get up.

  I stood.

  Breathing ragged.

  Vision slightly blurred.

  He watched me.

  Something in his eyes shifted.

  I raised the sword again.

  He lunged forward suddenly.

  Not with his blade.

  With his body.

  A kick slammed into my thigh.

  A fist struck my shoulder.

  Another to my ribs.

  “Give up already,” he said sharply.

  I swung wildly.

  Missed.

  Another blow to my stomach knocked the air from me.

  But I stayed upright.

  I would not kneel.

  He clicked his tongue.

  Then—

  His foot drove into my gut with full force.

  The world tilted.

  I flew backward.

  The platform edge vanished beneath me as I hit the stone and rolled.

  Warmth filled my mouth.

  Blood.

  I tried to rise.

  He stepped forward, intent on finishing it.

  Then—

  His foot stopped.

  Mud shot upward from the stone itself, forming crude hands that gripped his ankle tightly.

  The air rippled.

  Lady Evelyn appeared.

  Her expression was no longer unreadable.

  It was cold.

  “I saw what happened through the screen,” she said.

  Her voice carried no anger.

  Which made it worse.

  “You should not be doing this. He is just a boy.”

  Ser Willguard straightened. “He refused to—”

  “You are dismissed.”

  Her words cut him off completely.

  The mud tightened for a second before releasing him.

  “Students, follow me. Help Silver up.”

  Silence.

  No one moved.

  Except—

  Julian.

  He rushed forward without hesitation, sliding one arm under my shoulder and lifting me carefully.

  “Easy,” he muttered.

  My vision swam.

  I could taste iron.

  The others followed behind at a distance.

  But it was Julian who carried me toward the healers.

  And as the floating platform faded behind us into mist…

  I realized something.

  I had lost.

  Completely.

  But I had not given up.