Some of the students were trembling now, desperation setting in.
Arthur could hear them whispering—
"Damn it! Why can't I get this?"
"I know how to control mana, I swear! But this… this is different!"
"I keep tearing the leaf! How the hell does this make sense?!"
A few even glanced toward the instructor, eyes pleading.
The instructor remained silent.
His arms were crossed, his expression blank.
Not for them to succeed—but for the time to run out.
They were trying to force the mana, trying to shape it through sheer will. But mana wasn't something to be dominated. It had to be guided. He had understood that from the many skills he had comprehended through the skill books, whilst also engaging in combat.
One student—one of the more impatient ones—snapped.
With a growl, he crushed the leaf between his fingers, mana flaring wildly around him.
Some students froze. Others flinched as if the words themselves had delivered a fatal blow.
The instructor's gaze swept over the crowd.
"Six people have passed."
A sharp silence followed. Then—chaos.
Murmurs broke out instantly, rising into shouts.
"Only six?! Out of fifty?!"
"No, no, I was close! Just give me one more minute!"
Arthur remained still.
The instructor's next words cut through the noise like a blade.
"The rest of you have failed. You may leave."
A broad-shouldered student—one of the more arrogant ones—stepped forward. His face was twisted in rage, his fists clenched.
"I cut my leaf into a hundred pieces! How does that not count?"
Another voice joined him.
"Yeah! We destroyed ours completely! Isn't that better than just splitting it in half?"
Arthur almost laughed.
They still didn't get it.
This wasn't a test of destruction.
It was a test of comprehension.
And now, they were embarrassing themselves.
The instructor exhaled, as if bored.
In an instant, he was gone.
And then—he reappeared.
The broad-shouldered student who had been complaining?
Arthur's eyes narrowed. The instructor hadn't touched him. Hadn't said anything.
He had simply appeared behind him—and suddenly, the student was on his knees, trembling.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The student tried to get up. Veins bulged along his arms, his muscles straining.
Arthur felt it—pressure.
The air around them had shifted. Thickened.
The instructor was releasing mana.
But he wasn't directing it at anyone.
He was simply existing—and that alone was enough to crush the weak.
The instructor's gaze remained cold.
"If you don't understand the purpose of the test, you don't belong here."
His voice was calm. Unshaken.
The student gritted his teeth, his face reddening from the strain.
He still couldn't move.
The instructor didn't look at him again.
Instead, he released the pressure.
The student collapsed, gasping.
Then—without sparing a single glance at the failed applicants, the instructor turned toward the remaining six.
The instructor watched the expressions of the six students who remained before he started speaking.
"Congratulations to all five of you. You have passed the test."
Arthur simply nodded, he was in.
"This is not the final examination."
Arthur narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Understand this—passing the entrance exam does not mean you are equals. Far from it."
The instructor's gaze swept over them like a hawk surveying prey.
"This final test will determine your placement within the Academy. And make no mistake—the class you are placed in will shape your future."
"The Academy of Mera is not a place that fosters mediocrity. We do not exist to coddle you, nor to hold your hand through your growth. We exist to refine you, to shape you into warriors, scholars, and leaders. Only those who prove themselves worthy will receive the best resources. The rest will take what is left."
His sharp gaze flickered between them.
"There are four classes per year. Unlike other academies, we do not flood our ranks with students. We take only the best. We root out the weak. That is why you stand here while the others are gone."
A heavy silence settled over them.
Then, his voice cut through it.
His tone was flat, almost dismissive.
"The lowest-ranked class. Those who barely scraped by. Mostly composed of students with C-rank talents. There is no shame in being in Class C—" He smirked. "But there is no glory either."
Arthur remained motionless, listening.
The instructor's voice carried a hint of approval.
"This is where most students land. B-rank talents, some high-potential C-ranks. You will receive solid training, decent resources, and opportunities. But you will always be second to Class A."
Arthur could see it in the others' eyes.
Nobody wanted to be in Class B.
The instructor's tone sharpened as he continued.
"The strongest of the standard classes. This is where A-rank talents belong. Occasionally, a B-rank talent with exceptional ability may find their way in. The resources here are vastly superior. But still—" His smirk returned. "It is not the pinnacle."
The air around the students changed, they were much more focused.
After all, 'Class S' had weight, it was different.
"Reserved for the best of the best."
His voice dropped slightly.
"Only S-rank talents. Almost exclusively."
A slow glance across the students.
"In the history of this academy, you could count on two hands the number of A-rank talents who have ever entered Class S."
Arthur's expression remained unreadable, but he understood what that meant.
Class S was not just strong. It was a different league.
A soft chuckle left the instructor's lips.
"You may think that A-rank and S-rank are not so different. That if an A-ranker works hard enough, they can stand among them."
His gaze turned sharp.
"Let me tell you now—that is a lie."