Chapter 7: Tests and Eyes

Rob stepped into the testing chamber, his eyes widening at the sheer scale of the advanced technology surrounding him. The room was a marvel of modern engineering, filled with sleek, futuristic equipment that hummed with energy. Holographic displays floated in the air, showing real-time data and statistics, while robotic arms adjusted weights and dummies with precision. The other applicants were equally awestruck, their murmurs of amazement echoing through the chamber.

An evaluator in a crisp white lab coat stepped forward, her voice sharp and commanding. "Attention, all applicants. For accurate measurements, you are required to strip off your gear and clothing and change into the standard testing suits provided. This ensures that no external enhancements interfere with the results."

Rob hesitated for a moment, glancing at the others. Some applicants grumbled as they began removing their gear, while others complied without complaint. Rob followed suit, changing into the lightweight, form-fitting testing suit. It was surprisingly comfortable, designed to allow maximum mobility while adhering to the Bureau's strict standards.

Once everyone was ready, the evaluator continued. "There are five standard tests to measure your stats: Strength, Agility, Perception, Vitality, and Magic. Each test is designed to evaluate your capabilities objectively. Afterward, there will be a final test to assess your overall combat readiness. Let's begin with the Strength Test."

The applicants were directed to a series of strength-measuring slots, each equipped with a high-tech weightlifting station. The weights were unlike anything Rob had ever seen—sleek, metallic, and infused with glowing mana circuits. The evaluator explained the process: "The weights will progressively adjust until you can no longer lift them. Your maximum lift will be recorded as your strength score."

Rob watched as the first few applicants took their turns. Some lifted the weights with ease, their muscles straining but their expressions confident. Others struggled, their faces red with effort as the weights climbed higher. A few cocky applicants even mocked the test, playfully tossing the heavy weights around as if they were toys. Rob couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety. What if I can't keep up?

When his turn came, Rob stepped up to the station. The evaluator nodded at him, and the weights began to adjust. The first weight was light—barely a challenge. The number on the display climbed steadily: 1… 2… 3… Rob lifted each one with relative ease, his breathing steady. But as the weights grew heavier, he began to feel the strain. By the time the display reached 8, his arms were trembling, and sweat dripped down his forehead. He barely managed to lift the weight, his muscles screaming in protest.

The evaluator nodded, jotting down his score. "Wait in the corner for the second part of the Strength Test," she instructed.

Rob moved to the designated area, his mind racing. Eight. That's my STR stat. Not great, but not terrible either. He glanced at the other applicants, some of whom were still lifting weights with ease. A burly man in the next station was grinning as he effortlessly lifted a weight marked 15. Rob sighed. Guess I'm not winning any awards for strength.

Once all the applicants had completed the first part, the evaluator announced the second phase. "This test measures your striking power. You will have three attempts to hit the dummy as hard as you can. The highest number will be recorded as your final score."

Rob watched as the first few applicants took their turns. The dummies didn't budge, but the impact sensors displayed their scores in bright, glowing numbers. Some applicants scored high, their punches landing with a satisfying thud. Others barely made a dent, their scores hovering in the single digits.

When Rob's name was called, he stepped up to the station. The dummy stood before him, its surface smooth and unyielding. The evaluator handed him a pair of gloves and said, "Whenever you're ready."

Rob hesitated, his mind racing. Should I use my Creation skill to enhance my punch? He considered it for a moment but decided against it. Too risky. If they notice something unusual, they might start asking questions. Instead, he focused on his natural strength, channeling all his energy into his fist.

With a deep breath, he swung. His fist connected with the dummy, the impact reverberating through his arm. The display flashed: 7.

Rob frowned. Not great. He tried again, this time putting more force into the punch. The display showed 6. Frustration bubbled up inside him. What the hell? How did I do worse?

For his final attempt, Rob gritted his teeth and threw everything he had into the punch. His fist slammed into the dummy with a loud crack, and the display lit up: 8.

The evaluator nodded, jotting down his score. "Wait in the corner to proceed to the next chamber for the Agility Test."

Rob stepped aside, his mind racing. Eight again. That's my STR stat. At least I'm consistent. He glanced at the other applicants, some of whom were celebrating their high scores. A part of him wished he could show them what he was truly capable of, but he knew he had to be careful. One step at a time.

As he waited, Rob couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on a man in a dark suit standing in the shadows. The man's gaze was fixed on him, his expression unreadable. Rob just shrugged it, thinking to himself, maybe he was just assuming. 

The applicants moved to the next chamber, which was even more spacious than the last. The walls were lined with glowing blue circuits, and the air hummed with the faint sound of machinery. Rob couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and nervousness as he took in the high-tech environment. The evaluator stepped forward, her voice crisp and clear.

"The next test is the Agility Test," she announced. "There are three parts to this test. The first part measures your velocity and burst speed. Follow me."

A section of the wall slid open, revealing rows of short, straight tracks. Each track was equipped with a starting plate and a large timer at the far end. Staff members stood at each station, ready to oversee the test. The evaluator gestured for the applicants to line up.

"Names will be called one by one," she said. "When your name is called, step onto the starting plate. The timer will count down from three. Your goal is to sprint the 25-meter track as fast as possible. Your time will be recorded, and the shorter the time, the better."

Rob watched as the first group of applicants stepped onto the tracks. The timers lit up, counting down: 3… 2… 1… GO!

The applicants took off, their feet pounding against the floor as they poured everything they had into the sprint. Rob's eyes darted to the timers, watching as the numbers flashed: 3.12… 4.05… 2.89… The average times hovered around 3 to 5 seconds, but a few exceptional applicants managed to hit the 1.5-second mark, their speed almost inhuman.

When Rob's name was called, he stepped onto the starting plate, his heart pounding. The timer began its countdown: 3… 2… 1… GO!

Rob exploded forward, his legs pumping as he sprinted down the track. He focused on the timer at the far end, willing himself to go faster. The air rushed past him, and for a moment, he felt like he was flying. But as he crossed the finish line, the timer flashed: 3.89 seconds.

Rob slowed to a stop, breathing heavily. Not bad, he thought. Average, but not below average. At least I didn't embarrass myself.

A staff member handed him a bottle of enchanted water, its cool, revitalizing energy instantly refreshing him. "Wait in the center for the second part of the test," the staff member instructed.

Rob nodded, joining the other applicants in the center of the chamber. He glanced around, noting the mixed reactions of the group. Some looked pleased with their times, while others seemed frustrated or disappointed. Rob couldn't help but feel a pang of envy as he spotted the applicants who had hit the 1.5-second mark. If only I could use my Creation skill to boost my speed, he thought. But it's too risky.

Once all the applicants had completed the Speed Test, the evaluator announced the second part. Another section of the wall slid open, revealing a smaller chamber with pitch-black walls. The room was empty except for a series of glowing orbs and soft logs scattered across the floor.

"This is the Quickness Test," the evaluator explained. "You will be tested on your ability to avoid fast-moving projectiles and obstacles in a dark environment. The test will progressively increase in difficulty, and you will have three attempts. The highest stage you can survive will be recorded as your final score."

Rob watched as the first few applicants took their turns. The test began with slow-moving glowing balls and rolling logs, but as the stages progressed, the projectiles became faster and more unpredictable. The logs didn't just roll—they launched into the air, forcing the applicants to duck and weave. Most applicants struggled to survive past stage 3, while the more agile ones made it to stage 5. A few rising stars managed to reach stage 10, their movements fluid and precise. One particularly skilled applicant even survived up to stage 12, drawing applause from the evaluators.

When Rob's turn came, he stepped into the dark chamber, his heart racing. The room was eerily silent, the only light coming from the glowing orbs that hovered ominously in the air. The test began, and Rob immediately found himself dodging slow-moving projectiles and rolling logs. He managed to survive up to stage 3 on his first attempt, his movements cautious but effective.

On his second attempt, Rob felt more confident. He familiarized himself with the patterns and managed to survive up to stage 4, his reflexes sharpening as he adapted to the increasing difficulty.

For his final attempt, Rob pushed himself harder. He weaved through the projectiles with precision, his body moving almost instinctively. He made it to stage 5, but as the test progressed to stage 6, the projectiles became faster and more erratic. A glowing ball whizzed past his head, and a log launched into the air, forcing him to dive to the side. He narrowly avoided the obstacles, but the strain was too much. A fast-moving ball caught him off guard, and he stumbled, ending his run.

The evaluator noted his score. "Stage 5. Not bad."

Rob stepped out of the chamber, his breathing heavy but his spirits high. Stage 5. That's above average. At least I'm improving. He glanced at the other applicants, some of whom were still recovering from their attempts. A part of him wondered how far he could have gone if he'd used his Creation or Destruction skills, but he quickly pushed the thought aside. Too risky. Stick to the plan.

As he waited for the final part of the Agility Test, Rob still couldn't shake the feeling that he was constantly being watched. He scanned the room again, his eyes landing on the same man in the dark suit he'd noticed earlier. The man's gaze was fixed on him, his expression unreadable. Before Rob could react, the man turned and disappeared.

Rob's heart skipped a beat. Who is that bastard? And why is he watching me? Did he figure out my abilities? But I barely use them though.