Chapter 9 – The Trial Begins

He walked through the corridor and entered his room.he moved to the bed and sat on its edge outside, the sky had already darkened fully, and stars were faint behind clouds.

He started reading the book. The first few pages are the content with information that Leo already knows. After a few pages, it comes to the history of the empire.

The book was dated to the year 1019, so this is quirt old book. He started to read it.

At the beginning of the Era of Apotheosis. Also known as the beginning of the age of steel. The empire of Astravar, the empire of Eldroth, and the empire of Ashkarin are one of the most ruthless and powerful empires of that time. 

They were in continuous war with surrounding kingdoms to endlessly expand their territories.

The text went on to explain how the military power works. 

The empire of Astravar relies on its weapons and its firepower.

The empire of Eldroth relies on its manpower and their use spells to gain superhuman strength.

And as for the empire of Ashkarin, there was almost nothing. No details, no explanations. Only its name remained.

There is no further information about other empires after that. Records focus solely on the Astravar Empire. Its internal structure, systems of rule, and the new technologies they found.

The records mention only a handful of technologies, guns and explosive weapons, air balloons capable of long-distance travel, and steam locomotives. At that time, trains were not used as a civilian transport method it served solely to move military equipment and supplies.

Leo closed the book long after the candles had burned low. His thoughts lingered on what the records did not say, and sometime later, without realizing it, he fell asleep.

The morning light slipped through the windows of Leo's room. The air was cool, and faintly smelled the distant aroma of baking bread. Somewhere below, voices rose and fell in the murmurs of servants preparing for the day.

Leo sat on the edge of his bed longer than usual, his thoughts still lingering on what he had learned yesterday.

He gotup and washed quickly, changing into a fresh shirt and trousers. When he stepped into the corridor, Jack and Ralph were already waiting.

"You ready?" Jack asked, his voice carrying the kind of nervous excitement.

"As ready as I can be," Leo replied.

The Draxler estate's carriage waited at the gates ti was a black coach trimmed in gold, the imperial crest painted boldly on its side. Four tall white horses pawed at the cobblestones, their silver barding catching the light like small suns. Lyra speaking to a retainer. Mira joined a moment later.

Leo's eyes were involuntarily searching for a certain figure. She wasn't there.

The city grew more alive as they rode toward its heart—vendors calling out the freshness of their wares, the smell of ripe fruit clashing with hot oil, the tang of iron from the blacksmiths' quarter. The streets grew narrow, then widened as he reached the military district. The air was colder. No shouting vendors, no bargaining—only the steady rhythm of soldiers on patrol. Some carried guns slung at their sides, but the guards posted along the walls still wore full armor.

Then the road curved, and the Empire Fortress came into view.

 It dominated the horizon—blackstone walls rising like the spine of a mountain. Banners snapped in the wind, the sound low and heavy. Sunlight slid along the sheer stone and caught on bits of metal and armor.
A deep moat ringed the fortress, its water dark and unmoving. The drawbridge was down, its thick chains groaning as soldiers passed. Above the gate, the imperial crest with a phoenix and twelve stars was carved deep into the stone, gilded just enough to glint in the sun.

As they crossed into its shadow, Leo felt the weight of centuries settle over him. This was more than stone and steel.
Inside, the courtyard opened wide—a parade ground lined with soldiers, their boots perfectly aligned. Beyond them, the central keep towered over everything, pale granite framed by four watchtowers bristling with siege engines.

They were led toward the Examination Hall, a long, solemn building with carved archways and stained-glass windows that caught the light in shards of crimson and gold. The great iron doors opened with a groan that echoed like a tolling bell.

The hall inside was cooler, the air thick with parchment and polished wood. Rows of desks stretched beneath a vaulted ceiling painted with constellations from the Twelve Ages. At the far end, an elevated dais waited for the examiners in black and gold robes.

Lyra's voice was soft but carried an edge of command. "This is it. Once you enter, there is no leaving until the written trial is complete."

Lyra and Mira stepped out as the candidates entered. Each desk bore a small brass plaque with a name engraved in neat block letters. Leo found his and sat, the wood smooth and faintly warm beneath his hands. Jack was to his right, Ralph to his left.

The bell rang, and the exam began. The first questions focused on battlefield judgment—retreat, defense, and command decisions. After that came geography, imperial law, and legion history. The hall stayed silent except for quills moving across parchment.

When the final bell rang, Leo stretched his cramped fingers. Jack leaned over, grinning. "Not too bad."

Ralph gave a small shrug. "We'll see."

They were making their way toward the exit when a voice from the dais halted them. "Practical examinations will be conducted on the training grounds at the rear. Follow the others."

Jack glanced at Ralph. "Do you even know where that is?"

"Nope," Ralph replied.

"Then we follow the crowd," Leo said.

They stepped into the sunlight again, joining the flow of examinees toward a wide archway. Beyond it lay the training grounds—a vast space of packed earth and scattered sandpits, ringed with sparring circles and weapon racks. Instructors barked orders as candidates formed into groups.

That was when they met Ethan, Noah, and John.

Ethan was tall, broad-shouldered, his hair tied back in a short tail. Noah was leaner, quick-eyed, already assessing everyone in sight. John looked calmer than both, his arms folded, his posture relaxed in a way that somehow still suggested readiness.

"Looks like we're in the same group," Ethan said with an easy grin.

The sparring began in pairs, group against group. Steel rang, the air filling with the thud of boots and the sharp hiss of blades sliding against each other. Dust rose from the packed earth, catching in the morning light.

Leo faced an opponent from another group—quick but reckless. He stayed patient, blocking and sidestepping until the other overreached. One twist, one precise push, and the match was over.

Their group won more rounds than they lost, and by the time the sparring ended, they were speaking like friends. Laughing at close calls, replaying moments where luck had favored them.

But the atmosphere shifted when a commotion rippled across the grounds. Heads turned toward the elite ring at the far end.

Leo caught only a sliver of motion at first—a flicker of white against the sun. The crowd shifted, and the scene opened before him.

She was there.

The golden-haired figure moved like the air obeyed her. Every strike was deliberate. She didn't swing—she placed the blade where it needed to be, each movement chosen a heartbeat in advance. Her feet slid across the ground in short, controlled steps, heels never lifting too high, balance never breaking. Her hair moved with her, tied tight, never drifting into her line of sight.

Steel rang as their blades met. The impact jolted up her arm, but she absorbed it through her shoulder and turned with it instead of resisting. Her opponent came in hard, pressing forward with strength and momentum. She gave ground only when necessary, shifting aside by inches, letting his force carry past her. It looked effortless, but every motion was exact.

Then he overreached.

She stepped inside his guard. One sharp turn of the wrist, a quick cut meant to disable rather than kill. The strike landed clean, precise, and final. No wasted movement followed—she was already resetting her stance, eyes up, blade steady.

This wasn't the rigid cadence drilled into soldiers. It was something refined through repetition and intent—technique sharpened until it became instinct. Sunlight flashed along her blade as she moved, then was gone, swallowed by motion.

Around her, the noise of the crowd seemed distant. Leo noticed the way her boots landed with no wasted motion, the way her balance shifted a heartbeat before each attack. The rhythm of it—steel, step, turn—was like a dance no one else could join.

Ethan leaned toward him. "You know who that is?"

Leo's silence was answer enough.

"That's the second daughter of the Draxler family," Ethan continued. "people say their name can change the tides of the Empire...."

Noah gave a crooked grin. "Think she's got a boyfriend?"

The match ended not in triumph, but in stillness—her blade resting at her opponent's throat, her breathing unchanged, her eyes unreadable. She stepped back, saluted with the same precision she had fought with, and left the ring.

Wherever she passed, space opened—not because people moved aside, but because her presence was something that could not be crowded. The murmurs followed her like the wake of a ship, each voice unsure whether to admire or fear.

Leo didn't speak. His gaze stayed on the empty ring long after she was gone, as though trying to hold onto the image before it could dissolve into the ordinary noise of the training grounds.

"Hey." Jack's voice cut through, light but probing. He and Ralph had returned from another sparring circle, both a little dusty, both wearing matching smirks. "What are you thinking about so hard?"

Leo blinked, shaking himself back into the present. "Nothing," he said, though the word felt too small for the truth.

"Uh-huh. Sure." Jack gave him a knowing look, then glanced at the three standing nearby. "And you're not gonna introduce us to your... what, new team?"

Right—Leo turned slightly. "Jack, Ralph—this is Ethan, Noah, and John. We were grouped for the sparring trials."

Jack gave a short nod. "Good fighters?"

"Better than the people we faced," Noah answered before Leo could speak, his grin quick and easy.

Ralph chuckled. "That's what I like to hear."

For a moment, the two groups mingled, trading quick comments about the matches, replaying certain moments with sharp gestures and bursts of laughter. It felt... natural, as though they'd fought together far longer than just one morning.

But before the camaraderie could settle, a horn's deep call rolled across the training grounds, its tone commanding silence. The instructors turned, their eyes sweeping over the gathered candidates.

A senior examiner, robed in black and gold, stepped forward. His voice was not loud, yet it carried, unshaken by wind or distance.

"The final phase of the trial," he declared, "will be conducted here, on these grounds. There will be no written instructions, no set pairings. Your actions will decide your standing."

A ripple of unease moved through the candidates, the earlier laughter gone. The air seemed heavier, the bright sun now casting sharper shadows across the arena's packed earth.

Leo felt it too—that subtle shift, as though the fortress itself was watching. The noise from the crowd dimmed in his ears. 

A stir ran through the crowd, drawing every head toward the far end of the grounds.

Two figures approached.

They walked with measured steps, their silhouettes outlined by the noon sun. Both wore long black robes stitched with curling silver symbols that shifted in the light, as if alive. Whatever those markings were, they weren't ornamental — they pulsed faintly, like breathing.

The air changed before they reached the center of the arena.

A sudden weight slammed down, invisible yet merciless, driving knees toward the dirt. The packed earth itself seemed to groan under it.

"Wh–what is this pressure?" Ethan gasped, his voice strained. "I can't... even stand properly..."

The two strangers stopped in the middle of the grounds and set down a small, cloth-draped bundle. The pressure intensified in slow, deliberate pulses, making every breath an effort.

One of them spoke, his tone calm yet heavy as a hammer. "All candidates — step back ten meters."

The crowd obeyed, boots dragging as if through water. Leo's own legs felt twice their weight.

The second figure raised his voice, carrying easily over the field. "This is the final part of the examination. Your task is simple—" he paused, letting the silence stretch "step forward and claim the object marked with your nametag."

Then four more figures emerged from the shadows, each stepping into a cone etched into the ground. In unison, they raised their hands and cast into the air. A barrier flared to life around the ground, sealing the area.

The first figure bent, unwrapping the bundle.

When the cloth fell away, the ground seemed to tilt.

A dagger lay on the ground. A name tag sat beside it.

The blade was not steel. It was dark, almost black, with dull red veins running through it. The light around it felt wrong. The hilt was carved with thin marks. They didn't form words. Looking at them made Leo's head hurt, so he stopped.

As soon as the dagger was exposed, something pressed down on the air. Knees buckled. Breathing turned heavy. To Leo's left, someone fell with a low sound and didn't get back up.

One by one, names were called.

One by one, most failed — some crumpling halfway there, others reaching the blade only to faint the instant they touched it.

"Ralph alger."

Ralph inhaled and stepped forward. He moved slowly, eyes fixed on the dagger. Leo saw him curl his fingers into his palm until his nails broke skin. Blood ran down and dotted the dust beneath his hand.

Step by step, he reached it. He knelt, his hand hovering over the name tag. After a moment, he took one last breath and picked it up.

Something passed through the air. No sound, just a shift. Ralph's eyes went wide. He collapsed, unconscious, and the name tag slipped from his hand.

One of the robed figures smiled faintly. "This year is going to be... interesting."

The trials continued. Only a handful managed to reach the name tag before collapsing. Most never made it halfway.

Then —

"Leo Vail."

The name seemed louder than the others.

He stepped forward. The weight in the air grew heavy with each step, as though the ground itself resented his presence. By the halfway through, it was worse than before — heavier, more suffocating, as if the dagger itself was aware of him.

His hands shook. His focus frayed.

Then—

"Leo..."

The whisper was close. Too close.

Leo froze and looked around. No one was watching him.

"Leo… come."

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