Chương 22: The Graduation Exam (9)

"A Rudox never loses in a staredown." – Shazharon Rudox, the Fourth Vazaag of Korsivir Aloric stepped out of the tent and into the open field. For a moment, he just stood there. The sun was still bright overhead, the noise of the exam field was still rolling around him in waves, but something inside him felt strangely quiet. The tests were over. His written exam, his combat assessment, the throwing test, the coordination course, the substitution technique, the pure-mana test—everything. Done.

Not passed yet, obviously. Not good enough, necessarily. But done.

A Nourim standing near the exit looked up from a logbook, his blue rank-marker glowing dully on his inner left wrist. His gaze moved over the dried blood on Aloric's sleeve and the cut on his thigh.

"Medical tents are that way," he said, pointing toward the white tents near the end of the testing area.

"Get anything treated if you need it. Then wait with your class until your teacher arrives."

"Yes, sir." Aloric turned toward the white tents. Now that the pressure of the exams had loosened a little, the cuts seemed to remember they were supposed to hurt. His forearm stung. His side burned faintly under his shirt. His thigh pulled every time he took a step. None of it was really serious. That did not make it pleasant. The white medical tent was busier than he had expected.

Students from different classes stood or sat near the entrance, some clutching arms, some holding cloth to shallow cuts, some looking more shaken than injured. A few had already been treated and were walking away, staring at their own skin as if they could not quite believe what had just happened. Inside, the air smelled faintly of alcohol, herbs, sweat, and blood. Several mana healers moved between the students. They wore combat attire like the other examiners, though their sleeves had been rolled up for work.

One of them, an older woman who looked to be around fifty, gestured for Aloric to sit on a low stool. The mana healer gave his injuries a quick look, her gaze moving from his forearm to his side and then to his thigh, as if deciding which one needed more attention.

"Arm first," she said. Aloric held out his forearm. The healer glanced at the cut, then placed one hand above it without touching the skin. Her palm began to glow white. Aloric just stared. He had seen mana techniques today. Illusions. Substitution. Examiners moving too fast for normal eyes to follow. But this was different. The white light spread softly from the healer's palm, sinking into the cut like warm mist. The sting faded almost instantly. The thin line of torn skin pulled together, closing before his eyes.

Within seconds, the wound was gone. Not the blood, though. The dried red line remained on his skin, along with the dirt and sweat from the exam. The injury had healed, but he still looked like someone who had been dragged through half a battlefield. He would need a proper wash later. The woman treated his side next, then his thigh. Both healed the same way. White glow. Warmth. Skin knitting shut in seconds. Aloric could not help staring. The healer noticed.

"First time seeing healing mana up close?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Try not to need it too often."

"I'll try." She gave a dry little huff and waved him away.

"You're done. Next." Aloric stood, flexing his arm once. No pain. The cuts were gone. His body still ached from being hit, running, climbing, and nearly vomiting during substitution, but the sharp pain of the wounds had disappeared as if it had never existed. Mana healers really were something else. He stepped out of the medical tent and looked properly across the waiting area for students who had completed their exams. Students had gathered there in loose groups, most sitting with their own classes.

Some leaned back on their hands in visible relief. Others stared at the ground, faces pale with worry. The clan students generally looked more confident, talking in low voices about how they had done, while many of the clanless students looked like they were still waiting for bad news to arrive. Aloric understood that feeling too well. Some students who belonged to the same clans had begun drifting between class groups, comparing results with cousins or friends from other classrooms.

A few Hagnaar students stood together near the edge of the field, their red hair bright under the late afternoon sun. Several students from the Vayot clan had gathered around an older boy, easy to recognize since every one of them looked like a walking armory. Even after the exams, clans found each other. Stolen novel; please report. Then someone waved at him. Aloric blinked and finally spotted Classroom One gathered near a patch of flattened grass some distance away from the medical tents.

Hovaru had raised one large hand to get his attention. Aloric walked over.

"You're alive," Hovaru said. Aloric snorted.

"Barely."

"Good enough, I guess." That was probably true. He looked around at the others. A strange mood hung over the group. Relief, mostly. The kind that came from surviving something unpleasant. But beneath it was worry, sharp and stubborn. No one knew their scores yet. No one knew whether they had done enough. The exams were over, but the result still waited somewhere ahead of them like a blade that had not fallen.

Someone from another class laughed too loudly nearby, probably trying to convince himself he was not worried. Sikkar Rumiosi, on the other hand, did not seem worried at all.

"I'm telling you, Sulia and I did better than almost everyone in that coordination test," he boasted, standing with his hands on his hips.

"Eighteen scrolls in eight minutes. That's what good teamwork looks like!" Sulia grinned beside him as if she had personally conquered the entire exam field. One of her ash beetles clung to her shoulder, wings twitching faintly, as if it agreed with her victory. Someone laughed.

"You call that teamwork? You two are twins!"

"That makes it better," Sikkar said.

"Natural coordination."

"Natural headaches," Hovaru muttered. Aloric snorted. Eighteen scrolls. That was better than his fifteen. But not so much better that he felt embarrassed. Considering how close he and Arla had come to running out of time, their count of fifteen scrolls wasn't bad. It was actually one of the better numbers he had overheard since entering the medical tent. Then someone turned to Velron.

"How many did you get?" Velron was sitting apart from the rest, arms crossed, looking annoyed that anyone had dared to speak to him.

"Sixteen," he said. Sikkar's grin widened.

"Ha! I got more than—""Completion time?" Ralovit asked from nearby, sounding like he already knew this was about to get unpleasant. Velron's eyes shifted toward him.

"Four minutes." The group went quiet. Even Sikkar stopped smiling. Four minutes? Aloric stared at Velron. Aloric and Arla had taken more than fourteen minutes. More than three times as long. And Velron had finished in four? That was insane. Then again, it also explained the number. Velron had torn through the course like it was a fight, not a search. Sixteen scrolls in four minutes was still ridiculous, but maybe he had moved too fast to notice everything.

Maybe he had missed the hidden scrolls, rune tags, the civilian dummy, all the little things the examiners had wanted them to see. Still. Four minutes...? There was a reason Velron was the best fighter in Classroom One. Someone asked, "Who was your partner?" Velron kept glaring toward the distant tents.

"Don't remember."

"He couldn't keep up with me," he added. No one spoke for a moment. Aloric stared at him. Had he left his partner behind just to finish faster? Ralovit clicked his tongue.

"Typical Rudox."

"How many did you get?" someone asked the Vayot boy.

"Thirteen," Ralovit muttered.

"In ten minutes... Useless vines! Damned box. Stupid fake forest..." Hovaru shrugged when a few eyes turned to him.

"Eleven. In twelve minutes, I guess." Sikkar looked delighted again.

"Only eleven scrolls?" Hovaru gave him a flat look.

"I finished without making my partner want to kill me. That should count for something."

"That's not a score."

"Should be." A few students laughed softly. Aloric sat down near them, feeling the tension in his chest loosen just a little. Fifteen scrolls. Fourteen minutes and twenty-three seconds. Not fast. Not impressive like Velron. Not better than Sikkar's eighteen. But respectable. He had noticed some things. Missed many others. He had made decisions. Left scrolls behind. Kept moving. Worked with Arla without falling apart. For once, he allowed himself to feel a little proud. Not too much. He knew better than that.

The physical tests had shown him exactly how far he still was from the clan kids who had trained with better resources, better tutors, better weapons, and more confidence from the start. Ralovit had probably done far better in the weapon sections. Velron had crushed the timing in the coordination test. Arla had performed substitution like it was nothing. Even Sikkar, annoying as he was, had likely scored well in the areas his clan had prepared him for. Aloric was not suddenly special.

But he had not collapsed either. For today, that was enough. Nemirie sat a little away from the others, reading something as if the entire exam field had nothing to do with her anymore. Yibleen sat a short distance away with her hands folded tightly in her lap. She looked calmer than she had after the written test, though still nervous enough to keep glancing toward the field as if another examiner might appear and announce an extra test. Someone finally asked her, "What about you?

How did you do in the coordination test? Didn't you pair up with Nemirie?" Yibleen glanced at the green-haired girl. Nemirie only gave a small smirk and turned another page. Yibleen straightened a little.

"Not great. We took nineteen minutes to reach the exit." Sulia laughed at once.

"Nineteen? You were late? I suppose we couldn't expect much better from a clanless girl." Yibleen's face reddened, but someone else asked before she could shrink too much.

"How many scrolls did you get?"

"Oh, uh... twenty-four," Yibleen replied with a low voice.

"And we spotted all eight rune tags."

"Wait, what?" Aloric looked at her in surprise.

"Did you just say twenty-four scrolls? And eight tags?" The group went quiet. Hovaru blinked.

"Isn't that nearly a perfect score?" Yibleen looked away almost immediately.

"We were too late... The examiner said that if it had been a real mission, and we had been carrying time-sensitive information that needed to reach a commander before an attack began, people might have died because we were late." No one laughed after that. Even Sulia looked away. Aloric stared at the ground for a moment. After hearing that their choices could affect real people, who might live or die depending on what they did, it felt like their peaceful academy days really were ending—assuming they passed at all.

Until now, a wrong answer or a missed strike on a wooden target only meant losing marks. After graduation, they would be trusted with missions where being late, careless, or choosing the wrong priority might decide whether someone lived or died. The thought settled heavily in his chest.

"Did they tell you anything? About what we're supposed to do now?" Aloric asked Hovaru after a while.

"Only to wait here until Teacher Daisor comes for us," Hovaru said.

"Everyone who finishes waits with their class." Aloric nodded and looked around. More students were arriving from the testing lanes now, some walking with relief, some with visible exhaustion, some with healed wounds and dried blood still staining their clothes. The white medical tents remained busy. The dark testing tents continued swallowing students at one end and releasing them at the other, one by one, class by class. The academy exam was still going. But for Aloric, the worst of it was finally behind him.

Now all he could do was sit with the others, wait for the teacher, and wonder whether his best had been enough.