“Survive was all I ever asked of you. But don’t survive out of other people’s lives!”

The words cut through the morning air like a blade, carrying the weight of hard-earned wisdom. The instructor’s voice echoed across the training arena, each syllable deliberate and unforgiving.

Two months had passed since the last evaluation, and the atmosphere at Ranoa Magic Academy had transformed into something altogether more serious—more deadly.

The scent of sweat and determination hung heavy in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of practice weapons and the ozone-like residue of countless spells cast in mock combat.

Students who had once treated their education as an academic pursuit now moved with the careful awareness of those who understood that knowledge without experience was worthless—and potentially fatal.

Each month, instructors selected by Clara from Arbalest’s ranks would test the students. This time, the Division U members had been chosen—specialists whose very presence seemed to drain warmth from the training ground.

These weren’t the typical academy instructors who favored theoretical discussions over practical application. These were killers—refined, controlled, but killers nonetheless.

“Cast the barrier more quickly! I’ve already killed you by stabbing you in the eyes!”

The Division U member’s critique was delivered with the casual tone one might use to discuss the weather, but the student on the receiving end crumpled to their knees, clutching their face where the blunted practice blade had found its mark.

The pain was real—dulled enough to prevent permanent damage, but sharp enough to teach lessons that books never could.

From the sidelines, students awaiting their turn watched with expressions ranging from determination to barely concealed terror.

The lucky ones had already experienced these “lessons” and knew what to expect. The newcomers still harbored illusions about the genteel nature of academic combat training.

“They did their best to train us how to deal with them, isn’t it strange?” Luke asked, his voice carrying a note of bewilderment as he stretched beside Rudeus, preparing for their team’s turn in the arena.

Luke had always possessed a certain naivety that contrasted sharply with his companion’s more complex perspective.

Where Luke saw the world in terms of noble obligations and straightforward challenges, Rudeus carried the weight of memories from another life—experiences that made him acutely aware of how quickly circumstances could turn deadly.

“No, this is not even close to their maximum capacity,” Rudeus replied, his gaze tracking another student’s “death” by throat strike. “I assume these are Claude’s mentees who are capable of doing much better.”

The observation carried more weight than Luke could fully appreciate. Rudeus had experienced firsthand what happened when Claude—his supposed junior disciple—decided to demonstrate the gap between them.

It hadn’t been a fight so much as a systematic deconstruction of everything Rudeus thought he understood about magical combat.

Their relationship had evolved considerably since Rudeus and Sylphy had begun dating. Strange how romantic entanglements could strengthen unexpected friendships.

Perhaps it was because they both now had something precious to protect, something that gave weight to these brutal lessons.

“Your father has probably taught you about the Cloud God, correct?” Luke asked, using Claude’s more formal title with the reverence it commanded.

Rudeus couldn’t suppress a rueful smile at the irony. “Yes, he is being instructed after me. One may say that he is my junior disciple… However, he is so competent that he has already defeated his master without showing any mercy.”

The memory remained vivid—Claude’s patient expression as he systematically dismantled every spell Rudeus threw at him, turning the older student’s own magical knowledge against him with surgical precision.

It hadn’t been a fight; it had been a lesson disguised as combat, and the lesson was humility.

“In spite of the fact that I am his master, he defeated me in a fight of spells. This is why I dislike geniuses…”

Luke chuckled, recognizing the self-deprecating humor that had become Rudeus’s default defense against uncomfortable truths.

Both young men understood what it meant to be overshadowed by someone whose natural gifts made their own efforts seem pedestrian by comparison.

“You look down too much on yourself, Rudeus. Well, that may be the reason why you can reach this level on your own…”

The comment struck deeper than Luke probably intended. Self-deprecation had become Rudeus’s armor against the crushing weight of expectations—both his own and others’. In his previous life, he had been worthless.

In this one, he was supposedly gifted. Yet somehow, he still felt like that pathetic shut-in, pretending to be someone worthy of respect.

“I don’t think that I do though,” Rudeus deflected, his internal monologue a tangle of self-doubt and determination. The dark memories from before his reincarnation continued to haunt him—gloomy days, family abandonment, the slow death of hope. He had spent years trying to forget those experiences, but they clung to him like shadows, threatening to undermine every achievement.

At this moment, he was attempting to forget those dark and tragic days, but the effort was futile. The past had a way of reasserting itself at the worst possible moments, usually when confidence was most needed.

Nonetheless, this approach would continue to hold him back and would likely prove catastrophic in the future. To move forward, one had to accept the past rather than flee from it—but that was a lesson Rudeus had yet to learn.

The signal came from the arena, interrupting his brooding. “Oh, it’s our team’s turn. Let’s go!”

As their group approached the combat zone, the spectator stands buzzed with anticipation. Word had spread about their team composition, and for good reason.

After achieving the highest scores in previous simulated battles, both Rudeus and Luke had been granted the privilege of selecting their own teammates and forming a collaborative unit.

The result was impressive on paper: Princess Ariel as their strategist, her tactical mind already legendary among the noble houses.

Rudeus himself, the supposed magical prodigy whose spell mastery exceeded even some instructors.

Zanoba, the Blessed Child whose strength could shatter stone but who had learned—through Claude’s influence during previous mock exams—to control and modulate his devastating power.

And Sylphy, masquerading as Fitts, whose wind magic mastery was breathtaking to witness.

Zanoba’s transformation had been particularly remarkable. The Miko of strength had arrived at the academy as little more than a walking catastrophe, capable of tremendous destruction but utterly lacking in control.

A single mistake could easily result in accidental death for anyone nearby. But Claude’s actions during earlier evaluations had opened Zanoba’s eyes to the marvel of weapons and the necessity of controlling one’s own strength.

Now, Zanoba could distinguish between strong and weak applications of his power output despite his naturally overwhelming strength.

He could deal with enemies without having to kill them, though losing control against weaker opponents remained a constant risk.

The instructors understood when to strike and when to defend, which prevented accidental fatalities during training.

Even the weakest instructor from Arbalest’s contingent could easily overcome Zanoba despite his full strength and fury.

This demonstration of superior skill had helped him realize how vast the world truly was and how much he still had to learn.

Although he still enjoyed creating Rudeus statues and action figures, he no longer devoted his complete attention to them.

By exercising control over the creation of these detailed works, Zanoba had begun to comprehend how his power functioned on a fundamental level.

The academic environment had undergone a dramatic transformation since the Arbalest training program began.

Not only had the primary combatants evolved, but students from support divisions—herbology, crafting, even culinary arts—had discovered their potential contributions to survival situations.

Poison, medicinal herbs, and even cooking spices could be utilized in numerous life-or-death scenarios.

A boom of knowledge had swept through the university as students cooperated with one another, devising methods to survive against instructors who represented the pinnacle of practical combat experience.

The learning wasn’t unidirectional—even the Arbalest operatives found themselves adapting to challenges they rarely encountered in their professional activities.

Strategy, awareness of human psychology, and the capacity to assess rapidly changing situations became essential skills when fighting against large numbers of opponents simultaneously.

This was a position in which the assassins and special operatives rarely found themselves. The Undertaker’s Division, which specialized in elimination missions, discovered that dealing with people who were already aware of their presence and capabilities was significantly more difficult than anticipated.

Fighting against average students presented no challenge for them, but Rudeus represented a completely different category of opponent.

Although he wasn’t as monstrous as Claude in terms of raw capability, his approach to problem-solving differed significantly from typical combat paradigms.

His magical mastery grades exceeded those of his instructors, and his methodology for overcoming tactical challenges helped them recognize gaps in their own training.

The arena itself had been modified to accommodate the intensity of these encounters.

Reinforced barriers contained the worst of the magical backlash, though even outside the institution, the booming sounds and trembling ground could be felt after the protective enchantments had mitigated the effects.

Without those safeguards, the shockwaves would have already destroyed the spectator benches and possibly damaged surrounding buildings.

As Zanoba positioned himself within their formation, he reflected on how much his perspective had changed.

The arena felt different when you stood at its center rather than observing from the sidelines.

What had seemed manageable from a distance now felt vast and full of hidden threats.

Shadows that could conceal death at any moment stretched across the combat zone, each one a potential source of lethal surprise.

Months of brutal training had taught him that strength without precision was merely destruction waiting for a target.

He remembered the humbling day when a slight instructor—a woman who couldn’t have weighed more than half what he did—had used his own momentum to send him crashing through three practice barriers.

As he lay gasping in the wreckage, she had offered a simple observation that changed his entire approach to combat.

Since then, figurine creation had become more than a hobby—it was training for the fine motor control that separated warriors from berserkers.

Each delicate feature carved into wood or stone taught his hands the difference between overwhelming force and surgical precision.

The patience required to craft perfect miniatures translated directly into the patience needed to modulate his strength in combat situations.

Princess Ariel took her position at the formation’s center, her mind already calculating probabilities and contingencies.

Strategy required seeing the battlefield as a living entity, not just a collection of obstacles and opportunities.

From her vantage point, she could observe the subtle interplay of positioning that would determine their survival in the coming minutes.

Her teammates represented both tremendous assets and significant vulnerabilities.

Rudeus’s magical capacity had grown exponentially under the Arbalest training regimen, but raw power meant nothing if it couldn’t be applied effectively.

The instructors had proven that point repeatedly by defeating him through superior positioning and timing.

Luke maintained his protective stance, understanding that his primary role was keeping Ariel alive long enough to coordinate their responses.

Simple in concept, potentially fatal in execution, especially given that Arbalest instructors specialized in eliminating command structures before their opponents could organize effective resistance.

Zanoba represented their primary combat asset, but also their greatest liability.

His strength could turn the tide of battle if properly directed, but unleashed without coordination, he was as likely to harm teammates as enemies.

The key was maintaining communication and clear directives even under extreme pressure.

Fitts commanded the wind itself, providing crucial battlefield control capabilities.

However, maintaining those complex spells while under direct attack required concentration that their enemies would certainly attempt to shatter through targeted harassment and misdirection.

“Formation delta,” Ariel called softly, using coded terminology they had developed over weeks of intensive practice.

Each member shifted slightly, creating overlapping fields of protection while maintaining tactical mobility.

The formation appeared casual to outside observers, but every position had been calculated to maximize mutual support and minimize individual vulnerability.

The spectators fell silent as the evaluation began. In what should have been a fight between ten instructors and seventy students, the mathematical advantage clearly favored the larger group.

Reality, however, had a way of making mathematical projections irrelevant when skill gaps reached certain thresholds.

The first attack materialized without warning—a shadow among shadows, moving too fast for conscious reaction.

Only Zanoba’s enhanced reflexes saved Luke from a blade that would have opened his throat in actual combat.

The Blessed Child’s counter-strike shattered stone where the attacker had been moments before, demonstrating both his improved control and the continued lethal potential of his abilities.

“Five contacts confirmed,” Ariel announced, her voice carrying despite the sudden explosion of movement around them.

Years of noble education had taught her to project authority even under extreme stress. “Rudeus, area denial pattern three. Fitts, visibility enhancement. Zanoba, mobile defense priority on Luke and myself.”

The arena erupted into controlled chaos as their practiced responses activated. Rudeus’s spells carved luminous paths through the air, forcing their attackers to reveal themselves or risk incineration.

The magical energy release was tremendous—enough to illuminate the entire combat zone and eliminate the shadows their opponents preferred to use for concealment.

Fitts’s wind magic cleared artificial darkness while simultaneously providing cover for their movements.

The complexity of maintaining multiple spell effects simultaneously while under attack demonstrated just how much the students had improved over months of intensive training.

Zanoba moved like a controlled avalanche, his strikes precise enough to disable without killing but powerful enough to shatter defensive positions.

The balance he had achieved between overwhelming force and surgical application represented months of dedicated practice and self-discipline.

For a brief moment, their preparation seemed adequate. They had drilled these responses until they became instinctive, developed contingencies for various attack patterns, and learned to function as a cohesive unit under pressure. Pride began to bloom in several hearts—perhaps they truly could match the legendary Arbalest operatives.

Then reality reasserted itself with brutal efficiency.

The remaining instructors hadn’t been hiding in conventional shadows—they had been moving through them, using techniques that rendered traditional countermeasures useless.

Without warning, teammates began falling to precisely targeted strikes that exploited gaps in their formation they hadn’t even realized existed.

Students dropped with systematic precision, each elimination carefully calculated to maximize psychological impact on survivors.

The attacks didn’t draw blood or cause permanent injury—this was still a training exercise—but the pain they inflicted was exactly what the victims would experience in actual combat, potentially much worse.

“This attack did not maim or bleed us, but the pain… the pain is unbearable!” Rudeus gasped as simulated poison from a practice blade burned through his system.

His healing magic could neutralize the toxin, but not before experiencing the full effects. Around him, teammates writhed in agony, crying out as they experienced wounds that would have been fatal in genuine battle.

Within minutes, the seventy-person force had been reduced to fewer than forty.

Five instructors had eliminated half their number with clinical efficiency, demonstrating the vast gulf between academic preparation and professional lethality.

Cooperation between Zanoba and Fitts managed to thwart some attacks, their combined efforts creating momentary safe zones within the chaos.

Luke consistently guarded Ariel from harm, his dedication keeping their strategist functional despite the deteriorating tactical situation.

But the outcome had already been determined. An arrow pierced Ariel’s heart just as she was issuing another set of orders, the shot placed with supernatural accuracy despite the magical interference surrounding their position.

Luke, resembling a porcupine with practice arrows protruding from his body, had already fallen defending his charge. Ariel, gasping in pain, surrendered as she witnessed Luke’s simulated death.

Only Rudeus, Zanoba, and Fitts remained standing, surrounded by four instructors who showed no signs of fatigue despite the extended engagement.

Even worse, both spellcasters had exhausted their mana reserves and could only watch as Zanoba attempted to protect them with failing strength.

“This is insanity,” Rudeus mumbled while gasping for air and clutching his arm where phantom toxins continued to burn. “Is this how war looks?”

The question hung in the air like an accusation. None of them had experienced genuine warfare, but this demonstration suggested that their academic understanding of conflict was dangerously inadequate.

“I don’t know, but I doubt I can survive this battle by myself…” Sylphy’s voice was small and defeated, her usual confidence shattered by the systematic destruction of everything they had prepared for.

“Master, I can no longer hold on!” Zanoba’s cry echoed across the arena as multiple wounds finally overcame his defensive capabilities.

Blood—real blood, not simulated damage—flowed from cuts on his legs, shoulders, and ribs where practice weapons had found their marks.

In the end, they failed the mock examination, but succeeded in defeating six instructors—a respectable showing by any measure, but respectability meant nothing when translated to actual survival scenarios.

In a real battle, their “impressive performance” would have been a footnote in someone else’s victory story.

Unlike other teams who had been helplessly slaughtered, Rudeus’s group had managed to mount effective resistance and achieve tactical objectives.

Their performance was impressive enough to earn grudging approval from spectators and instructors alike.

The scoring reflected their relative success: Rudeus received the highest individual marks for eliminating three instructors single-handedly, followed by Zanoba and Fitts who had each defeated one opponent, with additional points awarded for Ariel’s leadership and Luke’s protective effectiveness.

As the pain gradually faded and feeling returned to their limbs, a sobering reality settled over the entire student body.

This bloody lesson had demonstrated exactly how weak they remained despite months of intensive training, and how terrifying an existence like Arbalest truly was.

The gap between academic theory and professional application had never been more apparent.

Students who had considered themselves accomplished found themselves confronting the uncomfortable truth that their education had barely begun.

The world beyond the academy’s walls contained threats that would make today’s exercise seem gentle by comparison.

In the stands, conversations turned to career reconsiderations and the sobering realization that graduation might not represent the end of their education, but merely the beginning of a much more dangerous learning curve.

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