Chapter 13: Examination

The King looked at me—his emerald eyes glassy with tears, yet full of hope. It was as if a great weight, long carried in silence, had finally been lifted. The uncertainty of the crown’s future must have haunted him for years… and now, that burden had found rest.

Before a tear could fall, he stepped forward and embraced me.

His arms trembled with frailty, and beneath the elegant robes, I could feel how thin he truly was—bone and breath, clinging to life. And yet, his hug was warm. Sincere. The kind of warmth that spoke of family.

He released me with a small exhale, wiping at his eyes.

Then he turned to one of the nearby maids. “Please escort our guests to their rooms. It’s been a long journey—I’m sure they need the rest.”

He looked back at me and added, “Tomorrow is your entrance exam. Rest well, Arthur.”

Then, with a more serious tone, he shifted his gaze to the Duke. “Brother… we have much to discuss. Especially the… extra matters mentioned in your message.”

I gave a small bow and followed Rias as the staff led us down a long corridor of black stone and gold-trimmed pillars. The ceiling above was painted like the night sky—complete with swirling constellations that shimmered with faint enchantments. Massive paintings lined the walls: warriors locked in battle with monsters, kings riding wolves into war, and ancient mages weaving storms with raised hands.

Even without a crown, this palace held power.

My room was quiet. Luxurious. A soft bed awaited me, piled with blankets thicker than anything I’d ever known. And yet, despite the comfort, my thoughts spun like leaves in a storm.

I lay back and raised my right hand, staring at the signet ring now resting on my finger.

The crowned prince of Dival. It still didn’t feel real.

To think… I’d survived two years of hell in the mountains—starvation, fear, loss. Then came a week of memory implantation, where it felt like my mind had been cut open and stitched back together with burning thread. Then Stewart’s brutal training—day after day of beatings and mana overloads until my muscles screamed.

And through it all… the Duke.

My grandfather.

He had started off cold—stern and unreadable. But over time, something changed. I saw it in the way he spoke to Rias. In the way he looked at me. And others noticed too.

Henry, Elena, even the other staff would visit after training. They’d sit with me, sometimes bringing food, sometimes just words. Henry was the one who told me the most.

He spoke of how the Duke had once been full of life when Orpheus was born… but how that light dimmed after his son ran away. For years, the Duke had become someone else—cold, bitter, and driven by duty more than heart. But after we arrived… they said he started smiling again.

Henry even admitted something that stuck with me.

“The Duke,” he said one evening, voice low with regret, “the real reason Count Leto was already on his way… was because the Duke asked him to erase his memories of Orpheus. He wanted to forget the pain of losing his son.”

That truth hit me harder than I expected.

What kind of man would I have become, I wondered, if my father had stayed? If the Duke had welcomed him instead of pushing him away? Would I still be this version of Arthur?

Would I still have needed to survive?

But then Henry looked me in the eyes and said something I’ll never forget:

“You can’t change the past. So don’t waste your strength mourning the life you could’ve lived. The hardships you faced… they shaped you. Molded you into someone unique. Someone who knows what it means to fight, to suffer, and to protect.

Not everyone grows up in a palace. And not everyone survives the mountains like you did. But that doesn’t mean you can’t reach the same heights.

Dreams shape the future, Arthur. But only if you act on them—and believe they’re worth chasing.”

His words echoed in my head as my eyelids grew heavy.

And as I drifted off to sleep beneath foreign stars painted on a royal ceiling, I whispered to myself:

I believe.

A sharp knock stirred me from sleep.

I sat up groggily, eyes adjusting to the soft morning light spilling through the tall windows. Before I could answer, the door creaked open.

A woman stepped in—a maid, dressed in the deep blue and silver of the palace staff. She wasn’t anyone I recognized. Probably not one of the Duke’s.

“Good morning, Crown Prince,” she said with a graceful bow, her voice calm and clear. “I’ve been assigned to assist you in preparing for today’s events.”

I blinked. “Events?”

She offered a patient smile. “Your entrance exam, my lord. His Majesty and the Duke are already waiting in the dining hall.”

Right.

Today was the day everything started.

I swung my legs out of bed, only to realize too late what she meant by assist. She stepped forward with a folded set of elegant dark clothes and placed them on the bed. Then, without hesitation, she moved to help me change.

“I can do it myself,” I muttered quickly, turning slightly red.

She paused only briefly before continuing with practiced efficiency. “It is tradition, my lord. Formal events require formal presentation.”

There was no malice in her tone. Just duty.

Still, having someone else adjust the collar of my shirt and fasten buttons I could’ve easily done myself was… humbling. Or humiliating. I wasn’t sure which.

When she finished, she stepped back and gave a nod of approval. “You wear it well. Shall we?”

I exhaled slowly and followed her out.

The halls felt quieter today—calm before a storm. The same star-painted ceiling stretched overhead, and I passed another massive painting, this one showing a young mage raising a barrier as monsters crashed against it. Every part of this place reminded me of the weight I now carried.

When we reached the dining hall, the doors opened with a soft groan.

Inside, a long obsidian table stretched beneath hanging chandeliers that glowed with enchanted flame. Only a few were seated: King Oscar, pale and regal even in illness; Duke Durak, sharp-eyed and stone-faced as ever; Lord Grim, his gold eyes unreadable and fingers steepled in front of him.

And at the far end, Rias.

She turned her head slightly at the sound of my footsteps. “Arthur?”

“I’m here,” I said, walking over and taking the seat beside her.

The wolves weren’t present. Probably kept out for formality’s sake.

I looked around the table—so many empty seats.

“Is this… everyone?” I asked, glancing toward the King.

Oscar chuckled, his voice soft but still touched with warmth. “Yes, it seems the morning crowd is quite exclusive today.”

At that moment, servants arrived, placing steaming plates of food before us—flaky breads, honeyed fruit, roasted meat, and strong tea.

As I stared down at the feast, I couldn’t help but ask, “Forgive me, Your Majesty… but where is everyone else? Your family?”

Oscar paused, setting his cup gently down before answering.

“My daughters live in various corners of the kingdom,” he said, not unkindly. “They have their roles to play—ruling cities, managing estates, or tending to political matters abroad.”

He glanced toward the empty seats, then continued, “As for my granddaughters… some of them do reside here, within these walls. But it would appear they’re… less than pleased with recent developments. None of them chose to join us.”

I felt the weight in his voice.

“They’re not cruel girls,” he added with a faint smile. “Just proud. Conflicted. Perhaps even afraid. Change, after all, rarely asks for permission.”

Lord Grim stirred slightly at that, but said nothing.

I looked back down at my plate.

So… this was the first step. Not just toward the academy, but toward inheriting a legacy that wasn’t just heavy—it was contested.

But if they wouldn’t come to me…

Then one day, I’d make them see.

Why the king chose me.

As we ate, the King’s attention drifted from the meal to something more personal.

“So,” he said with a curious smile, “these dire wolves of yours… I’ve never seen creatures so majestic, let alone bonded so completely.”

He leaned forward slightly. “Which brings me to a question—do you plan on bringing them to the academy?”

I looked to Rias. She gave a small nod, the same thought clearly on her mind.

“I’d like to,” I said carefully. “They’re family.”

The King chuckled softly. “Spoken like a Fenrir.”

Then his expression sobered. “You’ll be allowed to bring one each. The academy dorms can’t house more without a special waiver—those who’s life are in danger are allowed more for extra protection. Unfortunately, neither of you qualify for that… yet.”

I nodded, a bit disappointed but understanding. “Understood.”

“For now,” he continued, “leave them here. I’ll see they’re cared for as my own. Focus on your exam first. The wolves will be waiting when you return.”

We thanked him. When the meal ended, Rias and I stood, bowed, and left alongside Henry. I gave one last glance at the palace before stepping into the carriage. Sköll watched me through the window until he was out of sight.

The roads to Dival Magic Academy were paved in smooth stone and lined with glowing crystals embedded in lanterns. The further we traveled, the more alive the city became—buzzing with carriages, students, and merchants.

Eventually, we arrived at the academy gates.

It was… massive.

Ancient stone towers stretched skyward, veined with glowing crystals that pulsed like heartbeat rhythms. The main building loomed ahead, crowned in silver banners that shimmered with moving constellations. It didn’t just look magical—it felt magical, like the place itself was breathing mana.

Crowds of students gathered near the entrance—some younger than me, others clearly older. All of them wore expressions that ranged from anxious to eager.

“Looks like we’re not the only ones hoping to get in,” I muttered.

We followed signs marked Newcomer Entrance Exams – This Way until we reached a large hall. Students filled it shoulder to shoulder, all waiting in relative silence until a tall man stepped forward to address the crowd.

“I am David Griffin,” he said, his voice carrying easily through the space. “Instructor of Combat Magic and a fourth-year class overseer.”

He gestured to a hallway on the right.

“If you wish to begin with the written exam, proceed through that door. If you have any concerns, including disabilities or special cases, speak with one of our staff members here and we’ll do our best to accommodate you.”

Henry leaned toward me. “Go on ahead, Arthur. I’ll take Rias to speak with the staff about her testing arrangement.”

I hesitated, but she nodded confidently. “I’ll be fine.”

I joined the group heading to the exam room. It was a large lecture hall built into a descending slope. Wooden desks with attached benches followed the incline down, with a professor stationed at the bottom near a large hourglass.

Each seat had a paper and a quill already waiting.

“Take any seat,” the professor said. “Begin when ready.”

I sat, picked up the quill, and stared at the paper.

My name.

Easy, right?

I wrote it—Arthur Fenrir—slowly, the letters uneven and slightly crooked. Count Leto’s memory spell had filled my head with knowledge, but… not practice. My hand moved awkwardly, unsure. This was the first time I’d ever really written anything.

Muscle memory didn’t come from magic. It came from living.

Still, I pushed through. One question at a time. Thirty minutes passed, and I finished—though my handwriting looked like a Dire Wolf had done it.

The professor finally looked up. “If you’ve completed the written portion, exit to the left. Follow the signs to the training grounds for your magic aptitude test.”

I stood, stretched my back, and followed the others out.

The path took me through a set of archways lined with glowing blue crystals. When I stepped onto the training field, I spotted Rias and Henry standing to one side. I jogged over.

“They had me take it in a separate room,” Rias said. “A teacher read the questions out loud, and I just had to answer.”

I smiled. “That’s good.”

A voice called out across the field, “Everyone, please form a line for mana testing!”

Students gathered into rows. When it was our turn, we stepped forward.

“Name?” the professor asked.

“Arthur Fenrir.”

“Rias Fenrir,” she said softly beside me.

“Place your hands on the crystal. Both of you.”

We each laid our palms on the glowing stone.

A pause. Then another.

The crystal… flickered. The words mana capacity appeared with three question marks beside it.

The professor frowned, then leaned closer. “That’s… strange.”

She tapped the side of the device. “Again, please.”

Same result.

“Mana capacity: Unknown,” she muttered, scribbling a note. Her expression had shifted from professional to visibly intrigued. “It couldn’t read either of you.”

She straightened. “Demonstrate your strongest spell. If it’s offensive, aim at the boulder behind me.”

“I don’t have any offensive spells,” Rias said gently. “I use mana to change my size and to… see. Around me.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you use mana to see instead of your eyes. How fascinating.”

Rias nodded.

“That’s… incredible.”

Then the professor turned to me. “And you?”

I stepped forward. “I’ve been working on a physical enhancement technique.”

She nodded to an assistant who handed me a wooden training sword. I looked at it, confused.

“No metal?” I asked.

“It’s a normal practice sword,” she replied. “We want to see how strong your enhancement is.”

I took a breath, let mana fill my arms, and focused. My veins pulsed with warmth as the familiar hum of mana surged through my limbs and into the weapon.

Then, I struck.

The wooden blade smashed into the boulder with a sharp crack—and split it in two.

The professor’s mouth fell open in stunned disbelief. “You… actually broke it? That boulder’s been reinforced with mana all day—and no one else has even cracked it.”

She scribbled frantically into her notes. “You two are finished. Please wait in the courtyard. Results will be posted after the remaining tests are complete.”

I glanced at Rias, who nodded again. Together, we followed the signs until we stepped into a wide courtyard.

We stood side by side beneath the rising sun, its light casting long shadows behind us.

And we waited.