The Physical Exam

"I honestly wasn't sure about how this exam really works… From what they say on this plan, they not only test your ability to use mana but also how well you do in using a sword."

Midas glanced at Avalon, his eyes set on the hung-out paper both of them stood in front of, pinned onto a wooden board hung out in the middle of the hall. Originally, training how to fight with his weapon wasn't something he decided on to do well in the exams—not expecting it would play a role, given he attended the tests to learn the language of the water kingdom.

"I guess it was a good idea to train my fighting skills as well…"

Midas remarked shortly, his thumb brushing his chin as he focused on the sets of characters in front of them—he knew how to pronounce these words, having no idea what they actually meant. Staring at the paper made him think back to the glare the two black-haired contestants gave him—not really scared by the thought of them.

Following Avalon ultimately led him to the back entrance of the giant building, walking through a fenced-off area—its great expanse plastered with bricks, its center marked by neatly cut bushes and a central fountain—benches surrounding it. In the back of the open grounds, another large circular building stretched out in front of them.

The crowd that stood at its entrance gave away that the physical exam would be held here; the pillars that encircled the building made clear that this was some sort of arena—perfectly fit for fighting and testing one's mana capabilities.

Once Midas entered the building, walking through the short entrance area before joining the group of contestants that stood in the barren middle of the arena, he noticed the same two black-haired contestants standing beside him. The expression of the boy stern, looking at the girl next to him, her head sunken.

On an elevated podium, the same woman stood in front of the crowd with crossed arms, raising her voice once more to shut down the contestants. Silently, the children followed her gestures - forming three somewhat equally long lines, the ones who stood in the front facing dummies made out of straw.

The first few answered the shrill sound of her whistle with hesitation; one of the first three then eventually fed mana into his hands, storming towards the dummy—his strike making the dummy's limbs shake, even though his fist stopped a few steps away from its base. The other two followed, showing off the strength of their Null Abilities.

Guards then selected two of them to stand on the left side of those who remained; the last one was brought to the right side, his worried expression looking at the shielded faces of the men in confusion.

His lack of understanding of the language eventually got to Midas; he had no idea what being cast to the left or right really meant. Those who came before him also only relied on Null-Abilities alone—were stones like the sun-shard prohibited from being used?

Eventually Midas risked a glance to his right, he was on the left row, the girl that belonged to the boy was on his right - her eyes sunken slightly, numbly following the movement of the line she belonged to. Her brother was guided to stand in front of her by the guards, three other contestants separating them.

Eventually it was his turn to show off what he was capable of, grasping his hood—greyish fur hanging out of its edges. Freeing his head, he raised his palm slowly; the sand that faintly covered the dry ground of the center began to rise up, condensing to form a sharp cone.

Letting the spike-like object levitate for a brief moment, he swung his hand out, making the object head towards the dummy in an instant. Combusting upon impact, making the form fracture again, the arm of the dummy fell off its plumb torso; hay stuck out of the missing limb.

Midas watched quietly, his head sticking slightly out from the crowd—unable to see if he wore something similar to his sun shard, his eyes followed him being directed to the left side, both groups roughly equal in size. The black-haired girl next to him now formed fists, her brows more stern than before.

Eventually, it was Midas's turn—he would be the first of the three of them. His mana circulation was already ongoing long before the physical exam started. He just needed to fuel it with some of his mana, raising out his bandaged right hand towards the dummy.

His stone began to glow, being fed some of his mana; Midas's eyes opened shortly, widening slightly as he saw the grim expression of the hooded boy in front of him. Due to his lack of focus, his mana consumption accelerated, making the youth squeeze his lids together.

Close enough—he was able to form a tighter grasp on his mana consumption before the stone got to work. Stone pillars shot up from the ground, fracturing the dry stone, crushing the dummy in between them. The result made the woman on the podium awe to herself—the few that lined up behind him now muted.

Midas clenched his teeth; just this tiny mistake made his mana usage act up like this, way too much more than he had initially planned to show. His head began to rise up as a knight approached him, his chainmail glistening in the sun that shone down into the arena.

Laying his left hand on his neck, Midas joined the same group the hooded boy was a part of, standing right next to him, making the youth realize he most likely was older than him. His sister made the dummy's limbs bounce back with the same technique as her brother—being guided to join his group as well with sunken eyes.

"You are from the northern desert, am I right?"

Finally turning to Midas, he asked him directly without hesitation in his voice. His sharp eyes looked down onto him as his sister held onto her forehead, closing her eyes.

"I am; are you as well…? You speak the same language as I do."

Even though Midas tried his best to not aggravate him, his upper lip was raised up at one of his sides—flashing his teeth at him.

"No, we are certainly not from the eastern regions of where you originated from… We are Varni'i… Only following the teaching of the moon that shines our way in the dark."

Midas nodded slowly at his expression, having no idea about what he so proudly spoke about. Their religion seemingly differed greatly from what Alma believed in, as he swore loyalty to the sun, also wearing a mask because of that.

"Something that does surprise me is his hair color… Where do your parents come from? Were you born in the desert…?"

The two of them scanned Midas, both siblings throwing questions at him with dim interest—their dark hair a sign the youth might really be something unusual in the northern desert. Even though the prisoners that were brought into or out of the fort also had some among them who had brown hair like him.

Before Midas was able to awnser these questions, the woman toned from her platform again - quietly, the three of them watched as one was picked out from the group by the knights, forced to guess again what the next part of the exam would be.

Without Midas having a chance to make assumptions, the same knight appeared in front of them; following his gestures, he found himself standing right in front of a long-haired contestant in the middle of the battleground. Again, the woman spoke—the child in front of him was slightly taller than him, fitted neatly in a green uniform—most likely belonging to another university.

Her words made the knight in between them raise his hand up; the scenery in front of Midas closely resembled the time Gunvar came over to spar with him. Connecting this event with the fact that his ability to use a weapon in a fight is going to be tested as well made Midas draw his sickle.

His sunken eyes were met with dimly flashed teeth; the stressed stare of the blonde contestant was set sternly on him as the woman began to count. His shaky fingers eventually drawing the leather handle of his sword, its cast strapped to his brown belt.

„Iven, Deus, Clad…"

Clad was the first that came in the row of numbers used by the northern kingdom, each of them representing an important person that once brought prosperity—ten of them made up the number system. Midas learned their names in mere minutes; Avalon was a good teacher.

Midas's eye quickly twitched to the side, seeing the knight's outstretched hand now completely sunken. Making the youth dash towards the enemy—his last hurdle he had to get over in order to find a seat in the university.

The rusted sickle met the shiny silver blade of the stressed attendant. Midas had one advantage he was able to use—his curved blade, easily interlocking with the straight metal of the sword. His left hand felt the opponent's resistance, keeping a firm grip on the weapon—an improvement from the last time he fought Gunvar.

Midas was, in theory, able to end the fight by using his sun shard, something he wasn't fond of given how easily his control slipped—relying solely on it won't solve his lacking swordsmanship. Using his advantage, Midas risked to kick his enemy down - making him fall onto the ground.

The blade the blonde boy held onto fell onto the ground—seemingly not prepared; he glared up at Midas, unable to believe what just happened as he sunk his gaze onto the dusty imprint Midas's boot left on him. Facing the rough-textured sickle, as Midas raised his tool at him—hopefully ending the uneventful fight.

Turning shortly away from his enemy, Midas unwillingly gave his opponent an opening, seeing him grasp the sword, barely missing his cheekbone as his enemy swung his sword at him. Midas was quick to follow up his opponent's attack—his rusty blade stopping right before the neck of his enemy.

His motion halted by a shout voiced by the knight, Midas was only able to look into the grim expression of the blonde boy—stepping back as his opponent blankly put his weapon away, sinking his head as another knight guided him out of the arena.

Midas felt a sharp stare through the slim openings made into the helmet of the knight as he was guided back to his group. He overdid himself—the fights he had until now allowed him to go all out without thinking about it since he fought for his survival. This time, though, he nearly avoided cutting into the neck of his opponent—even though this fight was only just a duel.

„What's your name…? I was called Midas…"

Midas spurted out at the two of them, his constructed grin hiding his unease as he felt stares from all kinds of directions hit him. The hooded boy only sunk his head with a stern expression at his question, drafted by one of the knights shortly after. Keeping her distance, his sister replied.

„He is Javelin; I'm Jevaila. We were born at the same time…"

Her neck hidden by a thin grey scarf made out of silk, Jevaila replied to him—possibly feeling the glances that were pointed at them from whoever stood behind them. Faintly nodding at her words, Midas raised his head to look out above from the battleground.

Able to see a faint amount of people having gathered on the stone seats encircling them, standing on the other side of him—others walking through the empty seat rows in groups as they watched whatever would happen next. The knight between the hooded boy and his opponent raised his hand again - announcing the start of the second duel.

Just as Midas was trying his best to see who competed against Javelin, his sight was taken away as his sister began to fall onto her knees, losing her stance as she held onto her forehead.