Chương 20: The Graduation Exam (7)

"I do not need perfect information. I need to know which ignorance will kill us first." – Pyram Farritz, War Marshal of Korsivir Aloric stumbled a few steps into the open air before catching himself. Open air had never felt so good. After the humid gloom inside the tent, the afternoon sunlight seemed almost too bright. The air was dry enough that he breathed in sharply, filling his lungs as if he had just escaped from underwater.

Beside him, Arla bent forward with both hands on her knees, breathing hard enough that her shoulders rose and fell with every breath. Aloric was breathing faster too, but his legs still felt steady. His side hurt.

His forearm stung. The shallow cut on his thigh burned every time his pants brushed against it. But he could still move. Arla glanced at him, sweat clinging to her short red hair.

"How are you not exhausted?"

"I am tired," Aloric said with a shrug.

"You don't look tired enough to me."

"I'll try harder next time." She gave him a look that said she might kick him if she had the energy.

"Scrolls," a voice said from nearby. Aloric turned. A Tarim-ranked examiner stood a few paces away from the exit flap, his yellow rank-marker glowing dully on his inner left wrist. A Nourim beside him held a logbook open, pencil ready. Neither of them looked impressed by the two students stumbling out of the tent. Arla straightened at once, trying to look less exhausted. Aloric fumbled with the pouch at his waist and started pulling out the scrolls they had gathered.

Arla did the same, placing hers on the small table beside the examiner. The Tarim counted them quickly.

"Fifteen," he said. Fifteen? Aloric blinked. He had known they had gathered a decent number, but he had lost track somewhere between the vine screen, the ditch, the countless branches, and the two examiners near the end. The Tarim made a note.

"Fourteen minutes and twenty-three seconds." Aloric stared at him. How did he know the time that accurately? There was no clock nearby that Aloric could see. No wall clock. No hand clock. Nothing. Maybe there was a timing rune somewhere? Or maybe one of the examiners had been counting. Somehow, that felt even more unsettling. The Tarim's expression gave nothing away as he continued, "Now answer carefully. Where was the civilian dummy, and what injury did it have?" Aloric froze. The civilian dummy.

He had noticed it. Mostly.

"It was near the fifth scroll," Arla said quickly.

"Beside the path. Half-hidden."

"Near the fifth scroll," the examiner repeated.

"And the injury?" Arla hesitated. Aloric closed his eyes for half a heartbeat, trying to pull the image back. The dummy. Torn clothes. Slumped beside the path. A red cloth tied around—"The leg," he said.

"Right leg. There was red cloth tied around it." The Tarim examiner made another note.

"Correct." Arla shot him a quick glance. Aloric did not know whether that look meant gratitude or annoyance that he had answered before her. The examiner continued.

"What was above the left-side door?" Aloric's mind went blank. Left-side door? He remembered seeing something like a door behind vines. A dark shape on the left. But right after that, the thrown skel had come out of the trees and forced him down.

"There was a door?" Arla muttered. Aloric winced.

"I saw it," he said slowly.

"Half-hidden by vines. But I didn't see what was above it. An enemy attacked right after that." The examiner's expression did not change.

"There was a blue rune tag above it." A rune tag...? Damn it! He had missed it. The Tarim did not comment further.

"Final question. How many rune tags did you notice inside the test area?" Aloric immediately thought of the small rectangular tag near the hollow stump. The one tucked between the roots.

"One," he said.

"No, I think two." Arla frowned.

"I saw one near the scroll on that branch. So... three?" The examiner looked at both of them for a moment.

"There were eight." Aloric's stomach sank. Eight? How the hell were they supposed to notice eight of those tags while running, fighting, bleeding, and searching for those damned scrolls? They weren't even told to count them! The Tarim must have seen that thought on his face, because his voice softened, but only slightly.

"This test is not designed to be completed perfectly. In a real mission, nothing goes perfectly. You choose what to retrieve, what to abandon, and what to sacrifice so the mission still counts as a success." Arla's expression changed. Maybe she was thinking about the scroll they had left in the ditch. Aloric knew he was. The examiner closed his logbook.

"You retrieved fifteen scrolls, exited in time, and answered one awareness question correctly with partial awareness on the other two. Proceed to the next test." You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. He pointed toward the next open area. Arla glanced at the still-bleeding cut on Aloric's thigh, then at the shallow line across her own arm.

"Is there a way we can get these treated before the next test?"

"Not for minor injuries," the examiner said.

"You are expected to continue until the end unless an examiner decides the injury is serious enough to stop you from completing the next test. Once all your exams are complete, there will be a mana healer for anyone who needs it." Of course. Aloric looked toward the white tent in a corner of the field. It suddenly seemed much farther away than it had before.

"Yes, sir," he said. Arla gave a stiff nod and started walking. Aloric followed. The substitution test area was set up in the open, between the large tent they had just exited and the smaller tent ahead of them. Several chalk squares had been marked on the ground, each with a short wooden training post standing some distance away, its base fitted into a heavy square block to keep it upright.

A few students from other classes were waiting nearby under the watch of a Nourim examiner, while two Tarim moved between the marked areas, testing one student at a time. Rank-markers glowed here. Dull yellow on the Tarim wrists, blue on the Nourim's. Out in the open, they were not playing enemies. They were examiners again. Aloric flexed his injured arm carefully. The cut on his forearm had dried, but the one on his thigh still stung. He tried not to limp. Arla noticed anyway.

"Still fine?"

"Yes."

"You keep saying that."

"Because I keep being fine."

"Hmph." Despite the sound, she did not look as sharp as usual. The coordination test had taken a lot out of her. Her breathing had steadied now, but her face was still flushed, and she stood with her hands on her hips as if refusing to let anyone see how tired she was. A student from another class stepped into one of the marked squares. The Tarim examiner gave a short instruction. The student formed the hand sign of Zeph, focused, and vanished from the square with a soft rush of displaced air.

Dust stirred around the spot where he had been standing. He appeared where the training post had been in the same instant, while the post appeared in his original place, wobbling slightly on its weighted base. Simple. Clean. The student stumbled only a little. The examiner made a note. Arla's eyes sharpened.

"At least this one should be easy." For her, maybe. Aloric swallowed. Unlike the written test, substitution was not something he could blame on bad memory. This was real mana usage. Not an advanced technique, not something forbidden to academy students, but still challenging enough that he had never been good at it. He knew the hand sign. He knew the feeling he was supposed to reach for. He knew the image he had to hold in his mind. He had managed it before. Sometimes.

The problem was that he failed almost as often as he succeeded, and even when it worked, nausea usually hit him hard afterward. The Nourim examiner glanced at his scroll.

"Arla Farritz." Arla stepped forward at once. Her confidence had returned almost instantly. She entered the marked square, rolled her shoulders once, and focused on the training post across from her.

"Substitute with the training post," the Tarim examiner said.

"Begin when ready." Arla formed the hand sign smoothly. Air rushed softly around her, stirring dust at her feet. She vanished. The training post appeared where she had been, still rocking on its base. He looked ahead and found Arla standing where the post had been, steady on her feet and wearing a satisfied expression. The examiner nodded at Arla once she jogged back to them.

"Good." Arla tried very hard not to smile too much as she walked out of the testing square. Aloric looked away. Of course she had done it perfectly. She belonged to a clan, with all the help and support that came with that surname. A different student was called next. A boy from one of the lower-ranked classes stepped into the square with a pale face, took a long moment to steady himself, and performed the technique well enough to appear in place of the training post without falling over.

He staggered, but stayed standing. The examiner marked his result without comment. Then the Nourim checked the list again.

"Aloric Sigast." His turn. Aloric stepped into the marked square. The ground beneath his boots was packed dirt, scuffed by the feet of students who had come before him. The wooden training post stood roughly twenty meters away, plain and harmless, its base fitted into a heavy square block to keep it upright. It looked almost ridiculously simple after the combat tent and the illusion forest. It wasn't. The Tarim examiner studied him briefly.

His eyes flicked to the cut on Aloric's forearm and then to his still-bleeding thigh.

"Perform the substitution technique with that training post," the examiner said.

"Begin when ready." Aloric took a breath. He could do this. He had done it before. Many times. It had just... ended badly afterward. He formed the hand sign of Zeph carefully. His palms were damp, and his injured forearm protested as he held the position steady. He closed his eyes. Feel the mana. Not the pain. Not the watching examiners. Not the fear that if he messed this up, his already average score would drop even lower. Mana. He found the faint thread of mana inside himself and focused on the training post.

Its shape. Its position. Its distance from him. Then he tried to push his mana outward, stretching it toward the post while picturing himself standing in its place. Nothing happened. Aloric's eyes snapped open. The training post was still there. He was still standing in the marked square. The Tarim examiner frowned. A cold weight dropped into Aloric's stomach. No. No, no, no! He clenched his hands tighter into the sign of Zeph and forced his eyes shut again. This time, he pushed harder.

He pictured the training post more clearly. The wooden body. The heavy square base. The space around it. He forced his mana outward toward that image, trying to make the post and himself trade places. For one dizzy instant, the world twisted. Air rushed past him. Then his stomach lurched. The ground vanished beneath his feet and returned in the wrong place. Aloric dropped to one knee. His hand hit dirt. A wave of nausea and dizziness rolled through him, sharp enough that he dry-heaved hard.

His eyes watered, and for a moment, all he could do was brace one hand against the ground and fight the urge to vomit. Nothing came up. Thankfully. Breakfast had been hours ago, and he hadn't eaten anything during the break after the written test. He looked back. The training post stood where he had been, inside the marked square. He had done it. Badly, maybe. But he had done it!

"Can you stand?" the Tarim examiner asked, coming closer. Aloric forced himself up. His legs wobbled for a moment, but he stayed upright. The examiner watched him carefully.

"Substitution—completed. Recovery—poor." Aloric winced. That sounded exactly like the kind of thing that would go into his score.

"Yes, sir."

"In the field, substitution is not useful if your squad has to protect you afterward."

"I know, sir."

"Then improve it."

"I will." The examiner held his gaze for a moment, then gave a single nod.

"Good. Proceed to the final tent." Aloric stepped out of the marked square, still feeling a little unsteady. Arla was already standing with a few other students, but she only glanced at him once before looking away again. Fair enough. The coordination test was over. They were classmates, even competitors for today—not partners anymore. Hovaru, who had apparently finished not long before him and now had a small field bandage tied over one shoulder, gave Aloric a thumbs-up from nearby.

Aloric managed a weak nod in return. Yibleen stood closer to the path leading toward the final tent, looking pale but not as miserable as she had before the written test. When Aloric passed, she gave him a small, tired smile.

"Good luck," she said quietly.

"You too," he said, then realized she might have already finished the substitution part.

"For the rest, I mean." She nodded as if she understood. Aloric glanced toward the final tent. It was much smaller than the tent for the coordination test but larger than the first combat tent, with dark cloth walls and a single entrance guarded by an examiner whose blue rank-marker glowed faintly on his wrist. A few students waited outside, some standing quietly, others sitting on the ground with the exhausted expressions of people who had already been through too much. This was it. The mana test.

His stomach tightened again. Physical tests were one thing. He could run. He could endure. He could throw skels decently. He could get cut and keep moving. But pure-mana control? That was different. The Nourim at the entrance was still calling students one by one, so Aloric had to wait with the others for a while. Each name made his stomach tighten a little more. Finally, the Nourim looked down at his list and raised his voice.

"Aloric Sigast." Aloric closed his hand once, then opened it. He walked toward the final tent.