EPISODE 12: Acknowledgment and Examination

The white blade slid back into its scabbard with a soft, precise click. But to Elara Rosecold's ears, that sound rang like a judge's gavel delivering the final verdict on every last piece of her pride and self-regard as a magical genius of the royal house.

The snow-haired girl remained on her knees over the frost-covered grass. Her shoulders had dropped. Her gaze was fixed on the ground, hollow and empty. The absolute, one-sided defeat she had just endured had demolished the walls of her arrogance without leaving a single stone standing.

Recognizing that the fight was truly over, Karham, Ziryal, Annesia, and Linaya quickly moved in. They broke formation and began cleaning up the aftermath of the battle. But not one of them dared say a word to the Princess. The aura of silent, heavy dejection radiating from Elara was far too dense to approach.

The remainder of that afternoon in the Crimson Forest passed in profound awkwardness.

Elara said nothing. The girl who ordinarily stood straight with her chin raised now sat hugging her own knees beneath a large tree, having separated herself from the group entirely. She refused to speak. She refused even to cast her ice magic simply to help cool their drinking water. She let Karham and Ziryal handle the Crimson Ape carcasses — harvesting their mana crystals and usable meat — while Annesia and Linaya busied themselves preparing firewood.

The ice genius sat alone, feeling no larger than a frog at the bottom of a well. She cursed her own arrogance for having believed herself at the summit of the magical world.

Elara's silence persisted until the sun set and night arrived.

Deep in the darkened forest, a campfire blazed with warmth. The aroma of mutant ape meat seasoned with herbs and roasted by Annesia was rich enough to draw the appetite. Everyone ate hungrily, exchanging quiet laughs and stories from their days back in the village.

Everyone, except Elara.

The Princess sat slightly apart from the fire's warmth. The plate of roasted meat in her lap had not been touched. Her eyes remained fixed on the dancing flames, revisiting her humiliation in the afternoon with unforgiving repetition. Shame continued to work its way through her chest like a slow poison.

Zenoda, who had been sitting cross-legged and eating calmly since the meal began, watched Elara from the corner of his eye. He set down his wooden plate, stood, and began walking toward the Princess with quiet, unhurried steps.

Sensing someone approaching, Elara looked up. When she saw it was Zenoda, her emotional defenses activated on reflex. She bit the inside of her lower lip and fixed him with a pointed, contemptuous look she was forcing specifically to conceal the depth of her shame.

"What do you want?" Elara said, her voice unsteady. "Have you come to laugh at me? To show off that you managed to humiliate a Royal Princess in front of a group of common adventurers? Go ahead. Laugh as much as you like."

Zenoda didn't answer immediately. He wasn't irritated by her tone at all. In the eyes of the former God, Elara's reaction was nothing more than the brittle defense mechanism of a human whose ego had just been wounded.

He settled onto a fallen log directly beside her. He looked at the campfire for a moment, letting the silence sit between them, before opening with a voice that was very calm, very deep, and carrying the weight of something ancient.

"Confidence is a good thing, Princess Elara," Zenoda said quietly. "And recognizing that you are not perfect is also good. But don't let that recognition become the thing that shuts your eyes to something greater."

Elara went still. She had expected mockery. What she received instead was the considered speech of an old philosopher.

Zenoda turned, meeting her sapphire eyes with a steady, unhurried gaze. "This world is very wide. There will always be people who are better, faster, and stronger than us. But their existence isn't evidence that we are lesser or without worth. Defeat is not the end of your world."

He gestured toward his katana, leaning against a nearby tree. "Defeat is supposed to be a lesson. A step up to something better than before. Focus on what you can control — which is the work you put in starting tomorrow to close that two-second weakness of yours. Not the grieving you're doing tonight."

Zenoda's words carried none of Linaya's soothing holy magic. Yet somehow, they reached directly to the foundation of Elara's heart. The stoic perspective he offered dismantled the remaining walls of both her arrogance and her sulking at once. The oppressive weight in her chest lifted as though it had never been there. She realized that Zenoda had never been belittling her — he had simply been delivering an unvarnished lesson in reality.

Elara's sapphire eyes softened gradually. A genuine smile — not the arrogant, dismissive kind, but an honest one — formed on her face for the first time.

"You... apparently have a mouth that's sharper than your sword," Elara murmured quietly, turning her face away to hide the faint flush of embarrassment at the memory of how she had behaved all day. "Thank you... Zenoda."

Zenoda gave a slight nod. "Eat your meat before Annesia yells at me for letting her cooking go cold."

Elara laughed softly. She finally picked up her plate and began eating. The stiff atmosphere that had hung over the Crimson Forest camp gradually dissolved into something warmer. The Princess found her footing again — but this time without the arrogance that had blinded her before. She even began joining Karham and the others in conversation, spending the rest of the evening in the kind of warmth and easy laughter she very rarely encountered behind the walls of the royal palace.

The following morning, thin mist still clung to the ground when the small group packed their things and made their way back toward Koreson.

At the city gate, the palace carriage was waiting to collect Elara. Zenoda's students — now proudly carrying a sizable collection of valuable hides and mana crystals from their hunt — said their farewells with high spirits. They would head back to the Guild hall to sell their haul.

Zenoda himself had no interest in joining the celebration. Once through the gate, he raised a hand in a casual wave.

"I'm heading off," he said, with a wide, unashamed yawn. "My Academy examination is in a few days. I need rest."

After confirming his students and the Princess were safely accounted for, Zenoda walked straight toward the eastern district. Back in his VIP room at the Silver Swan Inn, he kicked off his shoes, tossed his cloak over a chair, and dropped face-first onto the plush mattress. Indifferent to the noise of the city outside his window, he closed his eyes and slept. He genuinely slept for days, letting his human vessel rest completely before engaging with the complexities of a human educational institution.

That morning, the air surrounding the Royal Academy of Magic and Knights of Koreson was saturated with tension and ambition.

Thousands of young people from every corner of the kingdom had gathered in the grand main courtyard of the campus. The Academy complex resembled a massive fortified citadel — its observation towers plated with gold, its grounds adorned with statues of Archmages past, and its gardens filled with flowering mana plants that pulsed with a soft luminescent glow.

Zenoda stood in the middle of the sea of examinees. Most were children of noble houses in expensive silk, while a small minority were commoners who had obtained letters of recommendation — himself among them.

The Academy's acceptance criteria were explicit and unforgiving. There were three sequential examination stages: a Theory Test, a Physical Ability Test, and a Magic Ability Test. Scores ranged from A — perfect — to F — failed. The absolute minimum standard for acceptance was: an examinee must achieve at least two scores of C or higher across all three tests.

For Zenoda, the bar was laughably low. His biggest challenge today was not how to pass — it was how to avoid standing out.

Stage One: Theory Test.

Thousands of examinees sat in an enormous hall, facing parchment examination papers monitored by lie-detection spells. Zenoda read through the questions on his parchment with an expression of profound boredom.

Question 4: Explain the origin of 'Mana' particles and their relationship with the rotation of star constellations.

Zenoda nearly laughed. As the god who had created the universe itself, he knew with perfect certainty that the theory taught by humans in these textbooks was riddled with logical errors. If he wrote the actual truth — the absolute reality of cosmic thermodynamic law and the fragmentary essence of Zenith's void — the examiners would conclude he was deranged, or worse, have him escorted to a temple for purification.

And so Zenoda imposed complete restraint on himself. He recalled the contents of 'The Founding History of Koreson' he had read at the inn, and deliberately wrote textbook-standard answers throughout. For the more complex essay questions, he intentionally left several blank, or provided half-correct responses. He had no desire for an A.

Stage Two: Physical Ability Test.

This examination was held in an outdoor arena. Examinees were asked to strike a large magic monolith carved from black stone. The stone would light up and display the destructive physical force the examinee produced.

When Zenoda's turn came, he stood before the black stone and his mind ran very fast calculations.

"If I use even one percent of my Transcendent Physical Strength, this monolith will be reduced to dust and the shockwave will level half the Academy," Zenoda thought. "I need to replicate the punch force of a moderately hardworking teenage farmer."

He drew a breath, relaxed every muscle in his body until he felt genuinely feeble, and swung his fist in the most deliberately amateurish way he could manage.

Thud.

His fist connected with the monolith. The stone hummed faintly, emitting a dim green glow. The examiner made a note on his board with the disinterest of someone doing paperwork.

"Below-average impact force and physical endurance. Next!" the examiner called. Zenoda exhaled with quiet relief and walked away.

Stage Three: Magic Ability Test.

This was the most critical and decisive stage of all. Examinees were asked to channel their innate mana into a massive resonance crystal positioned at the center of the hall. The crystal would shift color according to elemental affinity, and radiate light proportional to the examinee's mana capacity.

Near the front, a young nobleman had just touched the crystal. It blazed a vivid red — Fire Element — its light illuminating half the room. The examiner nodded with satisfaction.

When Zenoda's turn arrived, he had to work considerably harder than during any previous stage. Concealing the cosmic mana ocean within his body was a challenge of an entirely different scale from suppressing physical force. He sealed, locked, and chained 99.9999% of his absolute energy at the very bottom of his soul.

He placed his palm on the cool crystal. He allowed precisely one drop of pure energy to leak through — and manipulated it to present as a perfectly unremarkable water element affinity.

The crystal flickered with hesitation. A pale, washed-out blue slowly emerged, so dim it could barely illuminate Zenoda's own face.

Several nobles standing behind him laughed under their breaths, muttering contemptuous comments about the pitifully weak mana capacity on display. The magic examiner exhaled with clear disappointment and scratched his pen roughly across the scoring parchment.

"Very low magic capacity. Basic single water element. You may go, son," the examiner dismissed him with a wave of his hand that carried all the warmth of someone shooing away a fly.

Zenoda smiled inwardly, not the slightest bit offended. His mission of restraint had succeeded with flying colors.

That afternoon, as the sun declined toward the western horizon, the enormous Announcement Board at the Academy's main gate was surrounded by thousands of examinees pressing in from every direction. Cheers of joy and cries of despair rang through the air in equal measure.

Zenoda stood a fair distance from the crowd and waited until the press of bodies thinned. When the way was clear, he walked to the board and found his name on the list of students accepted into the lower academic track.

There it was, near the bottom of the safety margin:

Name: Zenoda Blanco

Under the Koreson Academy's acceptance standards — a minimum of two scores of C or higher — Zenoda Blanco was officially declared accepted.

Zenoda nodded to himself with quiet satisfaction. A B in Theory, a C in Physical, and a D in Magic was the most perfectly calibrated result he could have achieved for the specific purpose of being noticed by absolutely nobody. He felt not the slightest frustration or embarrassment over the D in magic. His goal had been to enroll in school, not to invite public attention.

"Only a C and a D? It's honestly a miracle they didn't throw you out at the gate, Mister Evaluator."

A familiar woman's voice — carrying a tone of elegant, barely-restrained mockery — reached him from the right.

Zenoda turned. Elara Rosecold stood there. The Princess was no longer wearing her combat attire. She had changed into the official Koreson Academy uniform for the noble track — a deep-blue jacket tailored with gold thread, a crisp white shirt, and an elegantly pleated skirt. Her snow-white hair fell freely in clean, soft waves.

Looking at Zenoda's results on the board, Elara could not contain herself. She pressed one hand to her mouth, a wide, deeply satisfied smile breaking out across her face.

"My goodness, Zenoda," Elara laughed, pointing at his name. "After all those philosophical speeches in the forest, and that terrifying white sword of yours, I fully expected you to crack the Academy's testing monolith in half. And yet your scores are... catastrophic. Magic D?! I wasn't even sure the Academy still awarded marks that low to prospective students!"

Zenoda returned her gaze with his signature flat expression, unmoved by the teasing in the slightest.

Elara, in contrast, stepped forward with enormous satisfaction and held up a gold-stamped parchment square in front of him.

"Look at this and learn from it, commoner," she said with the smile of victory, displaying her own results.

Name: Elara Rosecold

As an ice magic genius, Elara had comprehensively dominated both the theory and magic tests. Her C in the physical test was simply a reflection of the reality that as a long-range mage, her physical endurance was on par with the average young woman her age. But with two As, she had entered as one of the top students of this year's cohort.

Zenoda looked at the parchment. His eyes blinked twice.

"Wow," said Zenoda, in a tone of such monumental, deliberate monotony that it could have described paint drying or watching a rock. The single least enthusiastic compliment in the history of the continent.

At that reaction, Elara's triumphant smile faltered. Her sapphire eyes narrowed as she looked at him with calculating suspicion.

Beneath the teasing and the laughter, Elara was not a foolish girl. She had felt firsthand, in the Crimson Forest, the terrifying speed and killing pressure emanating from the young man standing before her. Someone who could defeat her in a matter of seconds without breaking a sweat could not possibly possess a C in physical ability and a D in magic.

Elara stepped closer, closing the distance until she could speak in a low voice. A faint cold emanated from her presence.

"Stop playing games with me, Zenoda," Elara whispered, her brow furrowed with genuine confusion. "I know very well what you are and what you're capable of. So why are you hiding your strength? Why are you deliberately making yourself look like a failure with scores like these?"

Zenoda held her sharp gaze. He placed both hands into his trouser pockets, then shifted his eyes toward the tall classroom buildings visible beyond the Academy gate.

"Elara," Zenoda addressed her without title or formal prefix — which oddly enough, this time, did not seem to bother the Princess at all. "This Academy is a place for learning. A place for growing from a state of not knowing toward a state of understanding."

He looked back at her and gave the rare, unhurried smile that she had seen only a few times.

"I came here because I want to learn," Zenoda answered, and his tone was genuinely sincere. "I want to study history, tactics, and see how the people of this city live their lives. If I use my actual strength and obliterate every test with perfect scores from day one... what exactly is the point of attending school? There would be no challenge. The teachers would only flatter me, and I wouldn't learn anything except how to be bored."

To most people who hungered for power and recognition, that logic would have sounded deranged. But to Elara — who had felt directly the terror of Zenoda's ability and the depth of his wisdom at the campfire — it made complete sense. Profound sense, even.

This young man had no interest in worldly validation. He simply wanted to enjoy the process.

The suspicion in Elara's eyes faded away slowly. She exhaled quietly, surrendering to the strange way of thinking possessed by the person standing in front of her.

"Very well. I understand your reasoning, you strange person," Elara said, her elegant composure returning. She folded up her results parchment. "I'll tolerate your little performance. But remember — if you cause an embarrassing scene inside those walls, I will not acknowledge you as a worthy opponent."

"Of course. Your Highness has nothing to worry about," Zenoda replied with easy calm.

Elara turned away, beginning to walk toward the exclusive noble dormitory. But before she had gone far, she glanced back over her shoulder. A thin, genuine smile rested on her face.

"See you in class, Zenoda Blanco," Elara said, and walked on, accompanied by the palace knight who had been waiting for her in the distance.

Zenoda looked at the Academy gate — the place that was officially his new home.

With his identity as a low-scoring commoner student firmly established at C and D, his plan to quietly enjoy a peaceful mortal experience appeared to be proceeding smoothly. But he had not forgotten Mincilia's warning from that night. A calamity was watching Koreson from somewhere in its shadows. And for reasons he couldn't entirely articulate, his divine instincts told him that the days inside this Academy would turn out to be far more soaked in conflict than anything as simple as answering theory questions on a parchment.

Zenoda straightened his collar, then stepped forward through the enormous gates of the Koreson Academy with deliberate, unhurried strides.

The new life of the Cosmic God as an ordinary student had, at last, begun.