As we headed to the next examination hall, I could already see everyone’s mood change.
Some students who had been afraid before were now walking confidently, while others were starting to lose their composure. Everyone’s true abilities and preparation were beginning to show.
But it’s still way too early to decide if that’s going to be their final demeanor in this entire examination.
We still had two more academic tests to finish before we reached the practical ones.
If our minds didn’t go out first, our writing hand surely will.
***
The second hall was larger than the first, with wider spacing between desks, a higher ceiling, and a ridiculous amount of layered enchantments carved into every visible surface.
This one wasn’t just anti-cheating.
It was anti-everything.
Even the air felt heavier, like thinking too loudly might get you flagged.
Of course, that was an overestimation, but with how tingly the air got the moment I walked in, it definitely felt like it.
I took my seat without incident, stretching my fingers once as I waited. A few students recognized me again, some stiffened, others glanced away like eye contact itself was dangerous.
The proctor this time was different. Younger. Sharper eyes. Military posture.
[Photographic Memory]
She was a professor from another academy, the only answer I could come up with since I’ve never even seen her once in the list of faculty staff.
"Second assessment," she announced. "Applied Theory and Strategic Reasoning."
Oh.
So this was going to be more specific than the first exam, then.
"Begin."
The seals broke, and the moment I read the first page, I had to resist the urge to sigh.
This wasn’t about memorization.
This was about judgment. A skill that even the most basic of rulers needed to survive for a day.
Hypothetical scenarios involving food shortages, hostile environments, civilian presence, and conflicting objectives. The kind of questions where there wasn’t a single correct answer, only defensible ones.
I smirked.
This was practically written for someone like me.
’You are stationed near an undefendable city when a hostile force emerges from the field...’
I skimmed ahead. Just another basic risk assessment, resource allocation, and ethical tradeoffs kind of question.
Yeah. This was just another day at work. It wasn’t fundamentally different from Corvus’s question in the past.
I wrote calmly, deliberately. Not overly flashy, not extreme, just balanced and practical answers.
Where others might write about heroics or ideals, I wrote about survival, control, and minimizing long-term damage. Not because I was trying to look good, but because those were the only answers that actually worked.
But of course, I also had to sprinkle some morals once in a while in my answers. What competent ruler didn’t possess at least a measure of kindness?
Halfway through, I noticed several students visibly struggling.
Some stared at the page like it had personally offended them.
Others were writing too fast, hands shaking, clearly panicking.
Strategy exams always separated the thinkers from the talented.
Magic was power.
Judgment was dangerous.
By the final page, my wrist finally started to ache.
I may have gone a bit too overboard on my answers...
Hey, at least it gives me less room for error the more bases I cover.
"...There it is," I muttered.
Still, I finished cleanly and leaned back, rolling my shoulder once.
This exam took longer to clear. The proctors moved slower, eyes sharper, occasionally stopping behind a student for far longer than comfortable.
When we were dismissed, the hallway outside was noticeably quieter.
Confidence had thinned.
Stress had settled in.
One more academic test left.
***
The third and final hall felt... different.
Smaller, circular, and no desks.
Instead, we were each led to individual stations, raised platforms surrounded by faintly glowing rings of metal, the welding lined with various runes and magic.
More specifically, dark magic that induced illusions.
Ah.
So that’s how they were doing it.
The proctor’s voice echoed through the chamber.
"Final academic assessment: Mental Resistance, decision making under pressure, and cognitive stability."
A few students paled instantly.
"Do not panic," she added dryly. "This is not a combat test."
That didn’t help anyone, even if it isn’t a literal combat test; they were still going to make it feel like one.
"You will be subjected to controlled stimuli. Illusions, pressure, and manipulation of your senses. Your task is simple: maintain clarity and respond to prompts either through magic or basic answers."
So basically... don’t crack.
I stepped onto my platform as the ring activated beneath my feet, a faint hum rising into my bones.
The world shifted.
The room faded, replaced by a familiar scent.
Iron.
Smoke.
Blood.
"...Oh," I murmured. "You’re doing this."
The illusion was high quality. Too high quality. A battlefield sprawled around me, screams in the distance, bodies half-buried in ash.
It wasn’t as perfect as the one in the emperor’s tomb, but it definitely did its job in making the test-taker feel like they were actually in the illusion.
A psychological pressure test.
For most people, this would be devastating.
For me? Once again, I’d lived worse. They really didn’t account for someone who had lived two lifetimes...
But then again, what kind of academy will?
’Prompt One: You are overwhelmed. Reinforcements are delayed. What is your priority?’
I answered without hesitation.
"Stabilize myself and secure an exit. No action will be taken while emotional instability persists."
My answer was risky and optimistic, but as soon as the ring gauged my answer, it found it acceptable within my personal capabilities.
Then the illusion shifted.
Darkness closed in. Whispers followed.
Regret. Accusations. Faces I recognized, and some I didn’t.
Seemed like it was trying to convince me of a dreaded future scenario where everything went wrong.
Too bad, I found it way too unrealistic to even worry me.
’Prompt Two: What do you do when guilt impairs judgment?’
I exhaled slowly.
"Ignore it, handle it later. Act first."
I could feel the pressure increasing from my answer, the machine doing its best to try to gauge if my actions could back up my words.
DING!
I passed, and my control held.
Somewhere beyond the illusion, I could sense movement, other students faltering, platforms flaring erratically, one collapsing entirely as a proctor intervened.
’Prompt Three: What is more important: victory or survival?’
I paused this time. My old trainers already asked this question a thousand times; I knew full well what to answer with.
"...Survival," I said quietly. "Victory means nothing if it kills the ability to choose again."
The pressure immediately eased with my answer. It didn’t require the machine to test my capabilities; it was just a good answer in general.
And with it, the battlefield dissolved, and the platform dimmed.
And now I was back in the hall, sweating slightly, surprisingly enough.
The proctor looked at me for a long moment, then marked something on her tablet.
"Completed in record time, congrats."