Chương 17: Chapter 16: The Graduation Exam (3)

"Panic is what happens when preparation runs out." – Seiran Farritz, the Second Vazaag of Korsivir.

For a while after Teacher Daisor collected the last answer sheet, no one in Classroom One said anything. The silence felt heavier than it had during the test. Aloric sat back in his chair, staring at the empty space on his desk where his answer sheet had been only moments ago. It was strange. For months, he had dreaded the written part of the graduation exams more than anything else. Now it was over, but instead of relief, he only felt hollow. Had he done enough? He had answered some questions.

More than he had feared, maybe. The Vazaag questions had helped. So had that trading town Perilia had mentioned during one of her work complaints. Even a few first-aid answers had come from things she had taught him years ago. But that did not mean the test had gone well. If he passed the written test at all, he probably would not score anywhere near the average. That meant the remaining tests had to carry him. Sparring. Weapon throwing. Pure-mana control. Whatever else the academy had prepared for them today.

He had to do well. There was no other choice. Teacher Daisor stacked the answer sheets together at the front desk, tapping the edges against the wood until the pages were even. A moment later, the classroom door opened, and another teacher stepped inside. She wore the same combat attire as the exam supervisors outside, with a blue rank-marker rune glowing dully on her inner left wrist. A Nourim. She exchanged a brief nod with Daisor, took the stack of answer sheets from him, and left without saying a word.

Somehow, that made the whole thing feel even more consequential. Teacher Daisor turned back to the class.

"Wait here for a few minutes. I'll check the status of the next test and return shortly." Then he walked out as well. The moment the door shut behind him, the classroom finally breathed again. Whispers broke out in every direction.

"What did you write for the rift-closure question?"

"There was a rift-closure question?"

"You didn't see that one?"

"I think I messed up the political section."

"Only the political section?" Someone groaned into their folded arms. Near the front, Arla Farritz leaned back with forced confidence, one hand resting on her desk as if she had conquered the test through sheer will.

"That wasn't so bad," she said loudly enough for half the class to hear.

"I definitely did better than I thought." Her eyes still flicked toward Nemirie Qanza. Nemirie did not react. She had already taken out another scroll and was reading it with the same calm focus she had shown before the test, as if the most important written exam of their academy life had been nothing more than an interruption. Arla's confident smile twitched. On the other side of the room, Ralovit Vayot had both arms crossed over his desk and was glaring at the wood in front of him.

"Stupid table," the Vayot boy muttered.

"Damned test. Damned room! Damned everything." Meanwhile, Hovaru Yaboli had started eating again, somehow. Aloric had no idea where the bulky boy kept finding snacks, but by now he had stopped questioning it.

"How did you do?" Aloric asked him. Hovaru chewed for a moment, then shrugged.

"Good enough to pass, I guess." That sounded nice. Aloric wished he could say the same with that much confidence. Yibleen Delacie had her head in both hands. Her long blonde hair fell forward around her face, hiding most of her expression, but her voice was miserable enough.

"I'm going to fail," she whispered.

"I'm actually going to fail..."

"You don't know that," Aloric said.

"I do. I absolutely do!" Several other clanless students looked the same way. Pale faces. Tight shoulders. Fingers tapping nervously against desks. The written exam had not been kind to them. Velron Rudox, meanwhile, looked angrier than usual. That should not have been possible, but somehow it was. He sat with his arms crossed, glaring toward the front of the room as if the test papers had insulted his clan. Aloric knew Velron usually did well enough in written exams, even if he was nowhere near Nemirie or Arla.

Maybe he was just angry that he had been forced to sit still for three hours instead of fighting something. That sounded like Velron. Sikkar Rumiosi was whispering something to Sulia with a smug look on his face. Knowing those two, they had either done well enough to brag or badly enough to pretend they had done well. It was impossible to tell which. The door opened again before the whispers could grow any louder. Everyone quieted at once. Teacher Daisor stepped back inside and looked over the class.

"Alright. The next part of the exam is ready. Gather your things and follow me." Chairs scraped against the floor as the students rose. Aloric picked up his bag and slung it over one shoulder, his stomach tightening again. The written test had been bad, but at least it had been sitting, thinking, and writing. The next test would probably be physical. That should have made him feel better. It did not. Teacher Daisor led them out into the corridor.

Other classroom doors were opening as well, and students from Classroom Two, Classroom Three, and several others were already filing out under the watch of their own teachers. The usual chatter of academy students was still there, but quieter now. Tighter. More strained. No one ran ahead. No one shoved past another class. Each group moved behind its teacher, descending through the stairwells in orderly lines like recruits being marched toward inspection rather than students going to another test.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it. Aloric followed with the rest of Classroom One, his footsteps echoing against the brick walls. After exiting the building, they passed the familiar academy training ground behind the red building, the same packed-dirt field where they had sparred two days ago. For a moment, Aloric thought that was where the next test would begin. Teacher Daisor did not stop.

Instead, he led them past the training ground toward a back gate Aloric had rarely seen used. The gate stood open today, with two Nourim posted beside it, both wearing combat attire and both watching the passing students with serious expressions. Beyond the gate, a narrow dirt path led through the trees. Aloric stepped onto it with the others, glancing around. The academy grounds were familiar, but this path was not. Tall trees rose on both sides, their branches shifting faintly in the noon wind.

Shrubs grew thick near the roots, and the path twisted just enough that the trees and bends blocked most of the view ahead. It was not dark, exactly. Sunlight still filtered through the leaves. But it felt separate from the academy. As if they had already left the safe part of their student life behind. The path continued for several minutes before the trees finally opened. Aloric slowed without meaning to. A wide open field spread out ahead of them. He had always known Korsivir was huge. Everyone did.

But he had never realized there was this much open space so close to the academy. The field was wide enough to hold thousands and thousands of people if needed, with trampled grass and packed dirt underfoot. Groups of students were already gathered across one side of it, while more classes arrived from the tree-lined path behind them. And beyond the waiting groups stood the tents.

Rows of dark green and gray tents had been raised across the field, each one made from thick, heavy cloth that looked sturdy enough to survive a storm. Some were medium-sized, with only a single entrance facing the waiting area. Others were much larger, broad enough that Aloric could imagine an entire classroom running inside. A few white tents stood farther away near the end of the field, their entrances open and busy with movement. Medical tents, probably.

Manaweavers of Nourim and Tarim rank moved between the tents, carrying equipment, checking lists, speaking to one another in quick, clipped voices. Most wore combat attire. Many had active rank-markers glowing dully on their inner left wrists—blue here, yellow there. Then Aloric saw a red glow on one wrist. A single manaweaver stood near the center of the field, speaking to two Tarim beside one of the tents. His rank-marker glowed a steady red on his inner left wrist. Siurim. Aloric's breath caught for a moment.

The man did not need to shout. He did not need to wave his authority around. The red glow was enough. Everyone nearby moved like they knew exactly who was in charge. Teacher Daisor had once told them that Siurim were rare, even in a city as powerful as Korsivir. Seeing only one here made that feel true. Not because the city lacked them, but because people at that rank had far more important things to do than watch academy students stumble through graduation tests. High-level missions. Command duties.

Border patrols. Classified work that students like Aloric could barely imagine. And yet a Siurim had still been sent to oversee this exam. That made the field feel even more serious. Teacher Daisor guided Classroom One to an open waiting space near one of the testing lanes. Other classes were already seated or standing in groups nearby, each gathered around its own teacher. Aloric looked over the field and felt his confidence shrink a little. There were so many of them.

He knew the Mana Academy had thousands of students spread across all four years, but knowing that and seeing it were very different things. At a glance, there seemed to be something like sixty or seventy final-year classes gathered across the field, most of them with only twenty to thirty students left after years of failed exams, dropouts, and transfers. Some groups had more clan kids than even Classroom One did. Aloric spotted some red-haired students from the Hagnaar clan in the lower-numbered classes.

That made him pause. There were kids from the Hagnaar clan who had not gotten into Classroom One? Then how had someone like him been placed there four years ago? He was not the only clanless student in their class, of course. Yibleen was clanless too, and there were a few others. Maybe being born into a clan was not the only thing the academy cared about when sorting students. Or maybe he had simply done better back then than he gave himself credit for. Either way, it did not matter now. That was four years ago.

Today was what decided his future. Teacher Daisor turned to face them.

"Listen carefully. There are many students being tested today and only a limited number of examiners at each tent, so several testing sequences, or lanes, have been set up across the field. Each class will move through its assigned lane one tent at a time." He pointed toward the nearest medium-sized tent.

"Classroom One has been assigned this testing lane. When your name is called, you will enter that tent for your first test. After that, you will keep moving west through the remaining tents until all your tests are complete. Follow the examiners' instructions at each stop." The class stayed quiet.

"You'll wait right here until it's your turn," he continued.

"Once your tests begin, you will not have time to eat or take a break until they are complete. If you need to eat something, do it now." Aloric glanced at Hovaru, who had already taken that advice before it was even given. A few other students began searching through their bags for lunch, but Aloric could not imagine keeping anything down if he ate now. Daisor's eyes moved across the class.

"Do not wander. Do not disturb other classes. Do not try to peek inside the testing tents before your turn. The cloth is thick enough that you won't see anything useful anyway, and if an examiner catches you trying, you'll lose marks before your test even begins." That killed whatever curiosity had been rising in the students. Teacher Daisor gave a curt nod.

"Wait here. I'll go and confirm the order for Classroom One." He walked away toward one of the nearby examiners. For a few moments, the class sat in tense silence. Then the whispers began again, softer this time. Around them, other classes waited in their own groups. Some students stood. Others sat on the grass or on their bags. A few tried to eat, though most only held their food without taking a bite.

In the unfamiliar field, surrounded by combat-clad manaweavers and dark testing tents, even ordinary classmates seemed to cling closer together than usual. Familiarity felt like safety. Not that everyone was affected the same way. The Rumiosi twins were whispering and snickering again, although they still kept glancing toward the testing tents. Arla was sitting stiffly with her hands clenched in her lap, looking annoyed now that there was nothing left to revise. Nemirie, somehow, had found another scroll to read.

Hovaru munched steadily beside them, while Yibleen looked as if she might start muttering about failing again at any moment. Aloric flexed his fingers once. He was still worried, but it was different from the written test. The written exam had been full of things that slid out of his mind the moment he needed them. This would be physical. Movement. Reaction. Stamina. Things he at least had some chance of handling. Not perfectly. Maybe not even well. But better than politics and treaty dates.

He watched the nearest testing lane. From where Classroom One waited, he could see the first medium-sized tent ahead of them, its dark entrance closed by a heavy flap. Beyond it, farther along the lane, students from another class were being guided toward an open target-throwing area. Farther still stood a much larger tent, and beyond that, another smaller tent and one of the white medical tents. The whole thing was arranged like a path.

Once someone entered the first tent, they would keep moving forward from test to test until the end. No coming back. Teacher Daisor returned a short while later, holding a small slip of paper. His expression gave nothing away.

"Classroom One," he called. Everyone straightened.

"I'll begin calling names. When I call you, go to the first tent and follow the examiner's instructions. The rest of you stay here and wait for your turn." His eyes dropped to the paper.

"Nemirie Qanza." Nemirie rolled up her scroll calmly, stood, and walked toward the tent without hesitation. The heavy flap fell shut behind her. No one spoke for a few minutes, until the Nourim standing at the entrance of the tent nodded to their teacher. Then Daisor looked down again.

"Ralovit Vayot." The purple-haired boy cracked his neck once and headed for the tent, muttering something about cursed exams and miserable tents. Daisor continued calling names after short pauses, each time waiting until the Nourim at the tent entrance gave him a nod.

"Velron Rudox." Velron stood at once and strode forward, looking almost relieved that he had finally been allowed to do something other than wait. As he passed, Arla straightened a little and brushed a hand over her short red hair.

"Try not to make the rest of us look too bad in there, Rudox." Velron did not even glance at her. Arla's smile froze for half a second.

"Bastard," she muttered under her breath. A few nearby students pretended not to hear.

"Hovaru Yaboli." Hovaru shoved the last of his cookie into his mouth, wiped his hands on his clothes, and stood with a sigh.

"That's me, I guess." He lumbered forward.

"Arla Farritz." The short redhead jumped to her feet, forced a smile onto her face, and walked toward the tent. One by one, the students of Classroom One disappeared into the medium-sized tent, each name called only after a short gap. Aloric sat very still, listening to his own heartbeat. Then Teacher Daisor looked down at the list again.

"Aloric Sigast."