Chapter 125: Entrance Test [3]
Master Kovren handed him the final token, her expression professionally neutral.
"There will be a small break before the third phase begins. Use the time wisely."
Alaric nodded, pocketing the token, and made his way toward one of the refreshment stations that had been set up around the training yards.
Academy staff dispensed water, light snacks, and what appeared to be mild energy tonics to help candidates recover from the demanding aptitude tests.
He accepted a glass of some kind of fruit juice and was looking for a quiet spot to observe the other examinees when a voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Rough day, huh?"
The voice came from beside him. A young man with tousled brown hair and the kind of face that probably smiled a lot under better circumstances. Right now, though, he looked like he’d been through a mill.
"Could be worse," Alaric replied, glancing at him.
"I’m Oliver Cartwright." The young man managed a weak smile.
"And I think I just failed spectacularly at the essence manipulation portion. My fire control is... well, let’s just say I nearly singed the examiner’s eyebrows."
He laughed, but it came out shaky. "My hands won’t stop trembling. Look at this."
He held up his hand, which was indeed shaking slightly.
"How am I supposed to do an interview like this?"
Alaric studied him with mild interest. "You always this nervous, or is today special?"
"Today’s special," Oliver admitted.
"Though I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have come at all. Half these people look like they could teach the classes themselves."
"Probably," Alaric agreed.
Oliver blinked, clearly expecting something more encouraging.
Alaric studied the young man with growing amusement, one eyebrow arching slightly.
"Let me understand this correctly. You’re concerned about embarrassing your yourself or your family, so you decided to approach a complete stranger and confess your inadequacies?"
Oliver blinked, clearly not expecting that response.
"I... well, I thought—"
"You thought what? That I’d offer comforting words about how everyone feels nervous?"
Alaric’s smirk was sharp enough to cut.
"Or perhaps you were hoping I’d share my own fears so you could feel better about your obvious shortcomings?"
The boy laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry. Just... talking too much, huh? You must think I’m pathetic."
Alaric tilted his head, regarding him with faint amusement.
"Pathetic? No. Entertaining, perhaps."
Oliver blinked, unsure how to take that.
Alaric’s lips curved in a smirk.
"You wear your fear like a badge of honor. Shaking, spilling your worries to a stranger, you’ve already admitted defeat before anyone declared it."
The boy paled, his throat working as though he’d swallowed glass.
"Relax," Alaric added, almost lazily, swirling the last of the liquid in his glass.
"The academy needs some fodder too. Someone has to fill the bottom ranks, after all."
The poor boy stared, horrified, as Alaric finished the draught, pushed himself off the wall, and casually tossed the empty glass into the disposal chest without so much as glancing.
He slipped his hands into his pockets and walked away, leaving boy standing sulking by the refreshment station.
Some people needed to figure out their own problems, and he wasn’t running a support group.
The third phase was about to begin, and that was all that mattered.
The announcement bell tolled across the grounds.
Alaric made his way back inside the halls, following the flow of examinees toward their assigned interview locations.
The corridors were quieter now, most candidates had already found their rooms or were still finishing the aptitude phase.
He climbed the stairs to the third floor, checking his token against the room numbers as he walked.
The hallway here was practically deserted, with only the distant murmur of voices from behind closed doors indicating ongoing phase.
"Room 312."
His gaze followed through the closed doors as he walked ahead.
Eventually, he found it at the end of the corridor and reached for the door handle.
He twisted the handle and pushed—
"Ouch."
The voice was soft, startled. The door had swung into someone.
Standing just inside was a girl with golden hair cascading down her shoulders, a black blindfold with intricate golden patterns veiling her eyes.
One delicate hand pressed to her forehead where the door had struck, though her lips curved into a small, easy smile.
Beside her, another young woman with flowing silver hair looked at her with obvious concern then glanced at Alaric before froze and froze and then quickly looked away.
Alaric exhaled lightly, raising a hand.
"Ah, I’m really sorry."
The blindfolded girl lowered her hand and waved dismissively, a small smile tugged at her lips.
"It’s alright. I wasn’t watching where I stood. My fault." Her voice carried warmth, as if the apology mattered little.
She inclined her head politely before stepping past him with unhurried grace, the silver-haired girl falling into place behind her, casting one last guarded glance his way before turning her eyes to the floor.
He watched them go for a moment, there had been something oddly familiar about the pair, though he couldn’t place why.
Why do it feels like I had seen her somewhere before?
He then just shrugged and stepped into the interview room and closed the door behind him.
There were other things he needed to do.
The room was smaller than Alaric had expected, furnished with only two simple wooden table, four chairs, and a single window that overlooked the academy’s central courtyard.
Afternoon light filtered through diamond-paned glass, casting geometric shadows across the polished floor.
Behind the table sat a man who looked to be in his fifties, with iron-gray hair.
His robes bore the crimson and gold of senior academy faculty, and a nameplate on the desk identified him as Professor Aldwin Thorne, Master of Strategic Studies.
"You should’ve have knocked first." He spoke without looking up, eyes on the folder on desk.
Alaric took the chair opposite, "Sorry, will do next time."
He leaned back, arms loosely crossed, noting how the professor continued reading for several moments, a deliberate technique to create tension and observe how candidates handled waiting.
Finally, Professor Thorne closed the folder and raised his eyes. They were pale blue, calculating, the gaze of someone who missed very little.
"Take your seat properly, candidate." His tone was firm but not unkind.
Alaric stretched his legs lazily before pulling himself upright.
"Was comfortable enough," he muttered, mostly to himself, though the professor’s raised brow told him he’d been heard.
Professor Thorne leaned back in his chair.
"Tell me, why do you wish to attend the Phoenix Academy?"
The question was standard, expected.
But something in the professor’s tone suggested he was looking for more than the usual platitudes about service and honor.
"Because power without education is dangerous," Alaric said after a moment’s consideration.
"And education without practical application is worthless. The academy provides both."
"An interesting perspective. Most candidates speak of duty to the realm, family honor, personal achievement. You frame it in terms of necessity."
"Duty and honor are luxuries for those who already possess the tools to fulfill them. I prefer to be practical."
Professor Thorne made a note.
Then he leaned forward slightly.
"Let’s discuss a hypothetical scenario. You’re serving as an advisor to a regional governor when border tensions escalate with a neighboring kingdom. Intelligence suggests they’re massing troops, but diplomatic channels remain open. The governor asks for your recommendation. What do you advise?"
Alaric considered the parameters carefully.
"I need more information. What’s the nature of the border dispute? Are there resource conflicts involved? What’s the current state of our military readiness compared to theirs? And most importantly, what are our strategic objectives."
Then he lowered his voice, "Are we trying to prevent war, or preparing to win one?"
Professor raised a brow.
"Assume the dispute involves mining rights to a border region. Our forces are roughly equivalent, though they have better positioning. Your objective is to protect the kingdom’s interests while minimizing casualties."
Alaric then leaned back again.
"Then I recommend a three-pronged approach. First, accelerate diplomatic efforts while simultaneously making discrete preparations for military action, showing strength while leaving room for negotiation. Second, gather intelligence on their true military capacity and political situation; often border tensions mask internal problems they’re trying to distract from. Third, explore alternative solutions that address the underlying resource competition—shared mining operations, territorial exchanges, compensation agreements."
"And if diplomacy fails?"
"Then you fight to win quickly and decisively. Prolonged conflicts benefit no one except arms merchants and grave diggers."
Professor Thorne made several notes.
Then he rang the handbell.
Moments later, footsteps echoed down the hall.
The door opened and two figures entered.
Academy staff in crimson robes.
One of them, carrying a slate tablet etched with glowing runes.
Stepped forward and placed it on the desk before Alaric. The surface shimmered faintly, waiting.
The professor gestured toward the floor’s central formation.
"The sigil will synchronize with the tablet. Place your hand on the surface, and it will draw out an imprint of your core. It will not harm you, though you may feel... discomfort. The resonance you produce will be recorded, measured, and compared against the standards of this academy. From there, your potential rank and suitability are judged."
Alaric just nodded, reached out and pressed his palm against the slate.
Heat flared beneath his hand, but not burning.
Then it was gone.
The tablet flashed violently once, then steadied, runes racing across its surface faster than the eye could follow.
One of the assistants gasped softly, and even professor’s carefully schooled face cracked with the faintest flicker of surprise.
Alaric leaned back, withdrawing his hand, flexing his fingers as if nothing had happened. "That it?"
Professor did not answer immediately. He took the tablet, scanning the readout, his eyes narrowing.
His lips pressed into a line, and then he turned, showing the assistants something only they could see.
One of them shifted uneasily, glancing at Alaric with something between awe and apprehension.
Finally, professor cleared his throat.
"The results will be compiled and announced in due time. You may leave."
Alaric just stood up and headed towards the door.
He opened it and stepped outside.
Silence.
Then the assistants exchanged hurried whispers.
The tablet still pulsed faintly on the desk, its runes refusing to fade as quickly as they should have.
Professor rubbed at his temple, his eyes fixed on the lingering glow.
"This one... is dangerous."