Chương 15: The Graduation Exam (2)

"Korsivir was not founded by one clan. It was founded the moment many clans chose one future." – Rawatoraa Hagnaar, the First Vazaag of Korsivir.

It had been more than an hour since the written test had started, and Aloric was just about ready to start pulling his hair out in frustration. Most of the questions didn't make sense to him at all. Had Teacher Daisor even taught those topics in class? Aloric knew he had a habit of daydreaming about going on exciting missions and staring out the window whenever the teacher started talking about boring subjects, but still... could anyone in the class actually solve this stuff? Nemirie and Arla didn't count.

Those two were stupidly good at academics anyway. Aloric glanced around the classroom for a moment, hoping the others looked just as lost as he felt. Nemirie Qanza was lazily leafing through the pages of her test booklet as if she were checking whether the person who had written the exam had made any mistakes. Arla Farritz, on the other hand, was scribbling furiously on her answer sheet, her short red hair bobbing every time she bent lower over the page.

Velron Rudox was glaring at his paper like he wanted to challenge it to a fight. Some of the clanless students looked even worse. One boy was staring at the same page with growing panic, while another had both hands buried in his hair as if he could squeeze the answers out of his skull. A few others were either scratching their heads, staring helplessly at the questions, or writing slowly with the desperate expressions of people who were no longer sure whether they remembered how words worked.

That made Aloric feel a little better. He wasn't alone in this. Teacher Daisor walked between the rows of seats, his gaze moving steadily over every student to make sure no one tried to cheat. He did not look like the same teacher who had joked with them two days ago or gently scolded them for their usual classroom nonsense. Today, he wore his combat attire instead of the usual academy clothes, and the rank-marker rune on his inner left wrist gave off a dull, steady glow of yellow.

During routine classes, Teacher Daisor was just their teacher. Today, with that Tarim rank-marker active on his wrist, he looked like someone who had fought in the Second Great War and helped keep Korsivir standing through it. No one whispered. No one laughed. Even the Rumiosi twins had been quiet since the test began. This was not a normal class. This was the graduation exam. Aloric forced himself to stop wasting time and looked down at the next question.

A caltrop has been thrown toward an enemy running sideways at a steady speed. One second later, a second caltrop must be thrown at the same speed so that both strike the enemy at the same moment. Compared with the first throw, how should the second throw differ in its arc, and how far ahead of the enemy should it be aimed? Explain your answer. Aloric stared at the question. Then he stared at it some more. His mind went blank. Was this trigonometry? Applied mathematics? Some kind of torture disguised as a question?

Am I supposed to solve something like that in the middle of a battle? Even if he somehow managed to calculate the angle here, with a pencil, paper and desk in front of him and more time than he would ever get in a real fight, what was the point? There was no way anyone would have time to do complicated mathematics while an enemy was trying to stab them, burn them, drown them, or cut their head off. He skipped the question.

Then he skipped the next one too, because it had a diagram with three different angles, two curved lines, and a note about projectile speed. If he stared at that question any longer, he was definitely going to get a headache. He had already answered whatever he could in the mathematics section. No point in staring at the rest until his skull split open. The answers probably still wouldn't come. With a grimace, he turned to the survival section.

The first question there was at least written in words instead of numbers and complicated diagrams. Name three edible plants found in the arid regions of Vamir, and explain how they can be used for emergency survival if a manaweaver becomes separated from his squad. Bonus marks if you can name more than three of them. Aloric blinked. In Vamir? He knew some of the common edible plants around the city of Korsivir.

Teacher Daisor had even taught them how to identify a few useful survival plants found in the wilds of Varrenia. But Vamir was a whole other kingdom, all drylands and desert, and most of what he knew about it came from vague maps, rumors, and complaints about the heat. He wrote down the name of one plant he vaguely remembered from a lesson months ago, then stopped. Had that one been edible, or was it the plant that caused stomach cramps if boiled wrong? He scratched it out. Next question.

Describe the proper first-aid steps for a deep bleeding wound caused by an enemy air-mana technique, assuming the injured manaweaver cannot immediately reach a healer. This one, at least, he had some chance of answering. Not because the academy lessons had stayed in his head properly, of course. But because Perilia had taught him basic first aid years ago, back when he was still young enough to fall, scrape himself, and panic about bleeding while she was away at the academy.

She obviously hadn't taught him how to handle an air-mana wound specifically, but she had told him how to clean a wound, sterilize cloth with alcohol if it was available, press hard enough to slow bleeding, and wrap the injury tightly without cutting off circulation completely. It probably wasn't the exact answer the exam wanted, but it had to be close enough to show he knew the basics. Aloric bent over the answer sheet and started writing.

A few minutes later, he reached the section on Korsivir's Standard Manaweaver Code of Conduct. List and briefly explain seven duties expected of all the manaweavers of Korsivir when operating outside the city walls. Seven? Why did it have to be seven? He remembered a few immediately. Protect civilians. Obey assigned squad command unless the order violated city law. Relay any sighting of enemy manaweavers to the proper authorities.

Report if the rune-barriers around a dormant rift site showed signs of failing, or if civilians nearby had seen mutated beasts beyond the containment fence. After that, his mind began to wobble. He silently cursed his useless memory, and the headaches that always seemed to arrive right when he needed his head to work the most. He had tried to revise the Code of Conduct last night, but the more he had stared at the page, the worse the pressure behind his eyes had become. It wasn't that he had refused to study.

He had tried. He really had. But after a while, the words had turned into a blurry mess, and every line had felt like someone was driving a nail behind his forehead. Still, he knew some of it. He wrote what he remembered and hoped the examiner would be generous. Moving on, he reached the political section. Describe the basic political relationship between Korsivir and the Kingdom of Varrenia. Aloric relaxed a little. This was simple enough. Korsivir was the only manaweaver city inside the Kingdom of Varrenia.

Korsivir was led by the Vazaag, while Varrenia itself had a king. The city defended the kingdom from enemy manaweavers, rift threats, and other mana-based dangers, while the kingdom provided land, resources, and civilian support. At least, that was the general idea. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

He had never gone beyond Korsivir's walls in his life, and politics had never been his favorite subject anyway, so everything past the basic relationship between city and kingdom quickly became messy. He wrote a cautious answer and moved on before he could start second-guessing himself. The next few questions were worse. One asked about taxation in manaweaver cities. Another wanted him to describe how authority should pass down a chain of command if a squad leader was injured or incapacitated during a mission.

A third asked him to compare emergency powers granted when a rift became active near a population center with powers granted during war mobilization. Aloric stared at that one for several seconds. Then he turned the page. The geography and history section came next. He skimmed through the questions, already bracing himself for disaster, when one of them caught his eye.

Name the major trading town in southern Varrenia that serves as a transshipment hub for goods arriving by the Daravas River and the southern coast before they are transferred onto ox-wagons for transport to Korsivir as well as the capital. Wait. He knew this. He actually knew this! It had been a few months since he had heard the name—back when Perilia had mentioned a case she was working on for the City Police. She had been trying to catch members of a smuggling ring operating from that trading town.

They had apparently been sneaking counterfeit mana cores through grain caravans and selling them to people in Korsivir at ultra-low prices. People bought them thinking they were getting a good deal, only to realize later that they had been swindled. What was the name of the town though? Aloric tapped the end of his pencil against the desk. Rin... Rin something. Rinwagi! That was it. The town of Rinwagi. He quickly scribbled down the answer, feeling absurdly proud of himself.

He had no idea that listening to Perilia grumbling about her work would help him in the graduation exam. Maybe he should have listened more often. Next question. Which country invaded Varrenia during the construction of Korsivir's city wall, triggering the First Great Continental War? Aloric almost wrote the answer immediately, then stopped. No! This was a trick question. It had not been one country. It had been a combined invasion from three countries. He mentally patted himself on the back for catching that much.

One of them was obviously Arkazaan, which never had good relations with Varrenia. Everyone knew that. But the other countries... He frowned. Nidokov? No, that felt wrong. Vamir? Maybe...? Or was Vamir busy with something else back then? His mind refused to give him the answer. After a few seconds of frustration, he wrote Arkazaan and left space for the other names in case it came back to him later. It probably would not. He moved on.

During the early decades of the Third Era, several old kingdoms fractured into smaller countries or lost territory as manaweaver cities rose across the continent. Why did Varrenia remain largely untouched during this period? Aloric stared at the question for a moment. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face. This he knew. Varrenia had remained safe because of Rawatoraa Hagnaar, the First Vazaag of Korsivir.

While other kingdoms were being torn apart by border conflicts and the rise of new manaweaver cities, no neighboring power had wanted to provoke a city protected by one of the strongest manaweavers to have ever lived. Rawatoraa had been more than just the founder of Korsivir. His name alone had been enough to make neighboring powers think twice before turning their ambitions toward Varrenia. Aloric wrote the answer quickly, trying not to sound too excited. The next question made his grin grow wider.

Why was the Advisory Council formed after the reign of the Third Vazaag? That was easy. Because the Third Vazaag had been from the Rumiosi clan, and the Rumiosi had always been money-grubbing snakes. Aloric paused. It was probably better not to write it that way — just in case the examiner who graded the written test turned out to be from the Rumiosi clan.

Instead, he wrote that the Third Vazaag's reign had shown the danger of leaving too many administrative decisions unchecked, which led to the formation of an Advisory Council made up of major clan heads and representatives from important city institutions, so the Vazaag could receive regular guidance and delegate authority more effectively. That sounded much better. Perhaps less satisfying, but more politically correct. The next question was even better.

Why is Shazharon Rudox, the Fourth Vazaag, often called the Architect of Korsivir? Relief washed through Aloric. Shazharon Rudox had taken power after the city's trust in the Vazaag's office had been damaged by the Rumiosi. Instead of ruling only through personal loyalty, he had built systems. Proper administration. Clearer council procedures. City departments that did not collapse whenever a leader changed.

He had founded the Mana Academy so any children who showed potential for using mana could be trained under one system instead of every clan teaching only its own. He had also overseen the completion of the city wall during the early years of his reign, turning Korsivir from a powerful settlement into a true fortress city. Aloric wrote as much as he could before stopping himself. This was only one question. He did not need to write a whole essay on him. But he could have.

For some reason, questions about Korsivir's past rulers had always stayed in his head better than dates, treaties, or dull political charts. Back in the orphanage, when he was a child, he had found a thin, battered booklet about the city's past leaders. He had read it so many times that the pages had nearly come loose. Not because he had ever imagined becoming one of them. Even a thought like that would be absurd. He was just Aloric Sigast. Clanless. Average. Barely able to remember half the things he studied.

But reading about the Vazaags had always felt different. They were giants. People so powerful and important that the world seemed to bend around them. Rawatoraa Hagnaar. Shazharon Rudox. Ganisaar Hagnaar. People whose names still echoed through the city decades after their greatest deeds. For an orphan who had grown up feeling ordinary in every way, there had been something fascinating about that. Something impossible. Something almost unreachable. He shook the thought away and looked at the next question.

Name the manaweaver who, while still a Nourim, saved an entire platoon of Korsivir's manaweavers after a failed mission in the Battle of Cidolan Town during the Second Great Continental War. Bonus marks for naming the year in which the incident happened. Aloric froze. He knew this one too. Some of his classmates had been talking about it just two days ago after the last class ended. Sivaro Filo. Of course it was Sivaro Filo!

The man had done something extraordinary when he was just a Nourim and then gone on to become one of the most powerful manaweavers in Korsivir, even if people these days seemed to know more rumors about him than facts. Aloric wrote the name quickly. As for the year... He frowned. The Second Great War had happened around two decades ago. That much he remembered. It was the year 98 of the Third Era right now, so maybe the answer was 78 T. E.? No, wait.

Perilia had once told him that the Second Great War had started early during the reign of Ganisaar Hagnaar, the Sixth Vazaag, and that the king had given Ganisaar the title of Sir after the war ended. The war had lasted six years, hadn't it? Or was it longer? If Sivaro had been a Nourim during that incident, then maybe it had happened closer to the beginning. Was it 75 T. E.? 76? 77? Or maybe it was earlier? Aloric gritted his teeth. Why did anyone need to remember the exact year anyway?

Knowing what had happened should be enough! After another moment of frustration, he left the bonus space blank and moved on. Better to get the simple marks than waste precious time chasing a date he probably wouldn't remember. The remaining history questions were not all so friendly. One asked him to list three major consequences of the collapse of the mighty Kingdom of Sartrene during the early decades of the Third Era.

Another wanted him to describe the effects of rift closures on the academy's graduation standards. A third asked him to compare the official duties of a newly registered Nourim assigned to the City Police versus one assigned to an external mission. He answered what he could. He guessed what he could not. And when he truly had no idea, he wrote something that sounded vaguely sensible and hoped the examiner would be too tired to notice.

By the time Teacher Daisor called out that only half an hour remained, Aloric's fingers ached from writing, and his answer sheet was covered with scratched-out guesses, cramped explanations, and answers he could only hope were close enough. But it was not empty. That was much better than what he had feared. He glanced once more around the room. Yibleen looked like she was fighting the urge to cry over her paper. Hovaru was chewing the end of his pencil, probably wishing he had been allowed to bring snacks inside.

Ralovit was muttering curses under his breath, looking like he would rather balance a skel on his finger than answer another question.

"Eyes on your own paper, Aloric," Teacher Daisor said without even looking at him. Aloric jerked his gaze back down.

"Yes, sir." A few students snickered quietly. He ignored them and forced himself to read the next unanswered question on his sheet. Explain why manaweavers are required to report relic discoveries immediately to the city armory, even if the relic is found while they are off-duty. Aloric let out a slow breath. He could answer that. Mostly. Being as rare as they were, relics were dangerous, valuable, and important enough for people to kill over them.

If a squad tried to hide a relic instead of reporting it, the city needed to intervene before greed over its ownership led to theft, ambushes, or dead bodies. He wrote a cleaner version of that. Teacher Daisor's voice cut through the tense silence a few minutes later.

"Time." A collective groan rose from the class.

"Pencils down," Daisor ordered. Aloric lowered his hand and stared at his answer sheet, his stomach twisting again. He had spent months dreading the written part of the graduation exams. Now it was over. The written test was finally over. Teacher Daisor began collecting the answer sheets row by row, the dull yellow glow of his rank-marker rune steady on his wrist as he moved through the classroom. Aloric sat back slightly, staring at the pages in front of him. He had done it.

And he had no idea whether he had done well enough. He watched the paper leave his desk and felt strangely hollow. The part he had feared most was over. But the rest of the day was still waiting for him.