Beneath his boots lay a gargantuan deck forged from a single expanse of adamantine.
The unique, dark-hued metal had undergone an exquisite matte treatment; under the direct glare of the midday sun, it produced no blinding reflections but instead absorbed most of the light, exuding a heavy and oppressive industrial aesthetic. The deck of this floating leviathan was vast beyond imagination; even with over 6000 initiates standing upon it, the space felt hollow and solemn.
"An incredible miracle, truly," Marcus remarked, his voice filled with awe as he traced the enchanted etchings along the deck's edge. His eyes shone with a feverish longing. "Once I am officially ordained as an Arcanist, I will spare no expense to own a floating leviathan of my own."
"Save your breath," Gwen countered, her voice like a splash of cold water. "By the laws of the Coalition, only High Mentors of Rank 4 or above possess the right to procure such strategic war fortresses. You should focus on how to survive the upcoming trial rather than squandering mana stones in your daydreams."
Marcus offered a sheepish grin, his gaze scanning the thick clouds in the distance. He knew Gwen was right—at the absolute apex of the "Spire," the Headmaster himself was merely a Rank 4 Arcanist. Power of that magnitude was indeed not something for initiates like them to speak of so casually.
"Silence."
A voice as cold as ten-thousand-year-old ice boomed across the deck, instantly crushing the murmurs of thousands into nonexistence.
The initiates turned in unison, startled to find three figures draped in sacred white robes standing upon the command platform at the bow.
The lead wizard was abnormally gargantuan, standing at a height of 2.3 meters, making him appear like a living adamantine titan. The arcane pressure radiating from his being was so immense it caused the surrounding space to ripple with visible distortion.
The colleague to his right was sinister and gaunt. The man’s face was buried deep within the shadows of a heavy hood, revealing only a sliver of a chin so pale it was nearly translucent. He clutched a staff topped with a withered skull, the faint scent of decay emanating from him signaling his profound mastery over soul and necromantic arts.
As for the last one, Pierce felt a hint of surprise—it was Gaius, the veteran wizard with the scaled black arm who had intervened during the demonized incident.
"I am Avery, the Grand Examiner for this freshman trial."
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
The tall wizard spoke with a steady tone, yet it carried an undeniable sense of judgment. Behind him, a massive metal projection screen manifested out of thin air, with countless shimmering arcane characters flowing across it.
"The specific regulations of the trial are listed here. You have precisely 30 minutes to study them. Once the leviathan crosses the planar barrier and reaches the predetermined coordinates, the trial will commence immediately. During this time, private duels and clamor are strictly forbidden; violators will be stripped of their pursuit of truth and expelled."
With those words, Avery’s form dissolved into a blur of blue light and vanished.
"Little ones, do your best to demonstrate what remains of your value," the necromancer known as Mordred let out a grating laugh, sounding like sandpaper on stone. "In the logic of The Spire Academy, mediocrity is the original sin."
As the three official wizards departed, the suffocating pressure on the deck receded like a tide.
Marcus wiped a handful of cold sweat from his brow, his heart still thudding violently. "Three official wizards... that level of biological pressure is more terrifying than facing a dragon."
Pierce’s gaze was already locked onto the massive regulation panel.
As rumored, the location was an island named "Lonely Shadow." However, it shocked everyone that the island was not in the Prime Material Plane but situated in the Delo Plane—one of the three blood-soaked colonial spheres under the rule of Aurora City.
The island held over a hundred thousand exiled Delo Barbarians—natives branded as slaves for resisting the Arcanists. According to the rules, initiates were to hunt these barbarians to accumulate points. A common barbarian warrior was worth 1 point; the stronger the foe, the higher the score.
After ten days, the bottom 1000 initiates would be ruthlessly culled.
To ensure the "hunt" was authentic enough, the academy had made a bloody promise to those desperate barbarians: any barbarian who killed an Arcane initiate would receive five "Freedom Exemptions" and be allowed to return home. Conversely, at the trial's end, any barbarian remaining on the island without an exemption would be summarily executed.
"This isn't a trial anymore," Xavier’s voice carried a faint tremor. "They are forcing those barbarians to trade their lives for ours."
A Delo Barbarian reached Trainee Knight status upon adulthood, and their Centurions were capable of slaying a full Knight in direct combat. Driven by the frenzy of freedom and the threat of death, they would become the most lethal predators on the island.
Pierce did not join the discussion; his eyes remained fixed on the third clause of the restrictive rules:
The academy has released a startled Myriad Flower Fey upon the island. Any initiate who successfully captures and returns the fey to the examiners will receive a one-time bonus: 5000 points.
5000 points. This value was enough to instantly propel any initiate into the top three.
In the knowledge system of Arcane civilization, the Myriad Flower Fey was an extremely rare phantasmal creature, adept at mimicking anything in the world without flaw.
Since you want to test the depth of an initiate's knowledge, I shall not be modest.
Pierce looked at several empty vials in his Dimensional Pouch, a gleam of absolute determination flashing in his eyes. For him, who desperately needed "Myriad Flower Honey" to accelerate the derivation of those 32 runes, this fey was not just points—it was the most critical piece of the puzzle for his ascent to the pinnacle of truth.
