Episode 33

The Knight Order entrance trials—held in the royal capital, Spirito—are the gateway for would-be knights. Each year, crowds from across the kingdom gather to take them.

“No matter how many times I come, the capital is amazing. So many people…”

“It’s a hub in more ways than one. I was just as wide-eyed back then,” Brink replied.

There’s no age cap for the exam. In the extreme, anyone with the skill may sit for it—though that doesn’t mean skill alone guarantees admission.

“You passed on your first try, right, Dad?”

“I did… but I was three years older than you are.”

Even if you fail, anyone judged “promising” can try again next year. One test doesn’t decide everything.

The trials are split into a first and second stage. Stage One is a mock bout against an examiner—weapon handling, footwork, mana control, and more are graded.

“This year’s different: a joint trial with the Mage Corps. Stage Two is harder to read,” Brink said.

“Sounds like they’ll test knight–mage teamwork,” Luke answered.

Pass Stage One and you headed to Stage Two: a live-combat exercise outside the capital against monsters. Candidates were grouped with an examiner into small squads. Beyond raw power, the test graded your responses to orders, composure before monsters, judgment, teamwork, and cooperation. With mage candidates embedded in each squad this time, the bar would be higher.

“It was on the calendar anyway, but… perhaps the timing is convenient,” Brink mused.

“Because we need stronger inter-org coordination… with so many incidents lately,” Luke said.

Luke had been a party to the Apion affair, after all—a mass-casualty crime. The curse that touched him left its mark.

“Maybe it’s just me… but the air feels tense.”

“You’re not wrong. A monster assault on the capital was unheard of.”

The rampage had scarred Spirito—citizens attacked, knights wounded, buildings damaged, logistics snarled. Once hailed among the continent’s safest cities—wall-and-barrier impregnable—the capital had been pierced. The crown took it gravely.

“Something’s coming. What can I do?”

“Focus on the trial. You can worry about the rest once you’re a knight.”

“…For now, yes. But it’s dangerous to assume peace comes free. We all have to work for it.”

Luke glanced at passersby. Some were grumbling at the knights—saying their missteps had worsened the damage.

“With many people come many opinions,” Brink said.

“I know. …Anything I say now is just talk.”

In the days since arriving, Luke had heard plenty—praise and blame. Most of the ire was for the Adventurers’ Guild—and the name Lagias was in the mix, too.

“Making ideals real is hard… which is why today is a first step.”

“You’re right. I’ll do what I can.”

Anxiety remained; there were almost no leads on the culprits. Even so, watching how far Luke had come, Brink couldn’t help but feel heartened.

Luke parted from Brink and reached the exam grounds. The crowd skewed young—and Luke was young even among them.

“Registration begins now! Form a line!”

A knight’s shout kicked off the check-in. It flowed smoothly; soon Luke’s turn came.

“Luke Hartmann. Age fifteen. From Rent Territory.”

He provided the basics. Even simple items could factor into scoring—they fed background checks.

“Adventurer experience too… and Rank B. If you were a capital adventurer I might mark you down, but coming from Rent, that works in your favor—their guild has a crop of promising up-and-comers.”

Please don’t lump me in with Zeke, Luke thought, smiling wryly. His modest, level tone won him points.

“That completes registration. …Given your age—and, well, your family—there’s a lot on your mind, I’m sure. Stay natural and you’ll be fine.”

The last line came in a murmur. Of course they knew he was the regimental commander’s son. Luke felt a little bad for making them tiptoe.

From there, candidates moved to the training field—broad, worn, steeped in tradition. Luke felt his back straighten just standing on it.

“Hey, you hear the capital rumors?”

“Which ones? The place is crawling with them…”

Two hopefuls, bored of waiting, started gossiping.

“That monster mess? I heard disgruntled adventurers pulled it to roast the current regime.”

“My version says Lagias did it.”

For years, every evil had been pinned on Lagias; now capital adventurers shared the blame. If Zeke heard this, how would he react?

“And the black-haired boy—supposedly cut down monsters left and right.”

“I heard that one. Running over rooftops and streets alike.”

A noble-looking black-haired boy who saved the city from the shadows. Plenty had seen him up close.

“Black hair stands out. He could be here… but I don’t see him.”

“Too bad the Lagias heir and ‘black-haired boy’ overlap.”

Black-haired, a boy, and a noble—most would jump to “Zeke.” Next time they met him, they’d rib him with the “hero tale.”

“All candidates, attention! We’ll now explain Stage One.”

The noisy grounds went silent. No one dared keep chatting.

“As you may know, Stage One is a mock bout with an examiner. Win or loss isn’t the point. Show us what you can do.”

They split into groups; assigned knights would fight each candidate in turn.

“Time cap: five minutes. Use whatever weapons you like. Healers are standing by.”

No need to hold back for fear of injury.

One by one, the matches rolled. Some were paralyzed with nerves; some swung like old hands; some spun their wheels. Not a single fight ended in a “win”—the point was to judge potential.

“Next.”

“Yes! Luke Hartmann. Pleased to face you.”

Luke stepped forward at last.

“The regimental commander’s son… I won’t be going easy. Show me.”

They raised blades and began. Overhand chop, sweep, thrust, reverse diagonal—Luke cycled the basics.

(Already has the Order’s fundamentals. His father’s teaching…)

“My turn.”

The examiner upped the tempo—still grounded in basics, but spiked with personal variants. He wanted to see how Luke handled sudden shifts.

(He sees well. Cool judgment.)

Luke parried without haste, every motion clean—like a kata performance.

“Last exchange. Break my guard.”

The knight set a mid-guard and gathered mana—an Order staple known as the Guarding Form.

“…Coming.”

Before he could blink, the sword flew from his hand—Luke stepped in with a sharp advance and swept it away.

“…Excellent. We may need to rethink what Stage One is for.”

Of course Luke’s name appeared on the pass list.

“Smooth so far?”

“So it seems. No issues.”

The examiners reported in their debrief. Some were field knights; others specialized in proctoring.

“This year has its wrinkles… but our job’s the same: find talent.”

The coordinator wore his long hair tied back; taller than the rest, he cut a striking figure—Harles Wilder, a regimental commander, and the hiring lead.

“If we mean ‘talent’—Luke Hartmann. Calling him a prodigy isn’t a stretch,” said the knight who’d sparred him. Heads nodded.

“Commander Brink’s boy. By the book or not, making him take this feels perfunctory.”

Recruit purely on strength and you’d fill ranks—but you’d miss the point of a knightly order. Power alone makes you brigands.

“One thing—this year’s pass bar feels lower.”

“Doesn’t matter. If that’s the directive, we follow it.”

A few felt a small wrongness. But once a current starts, it’s hard to turn; the small cogs can only do their part.

“…If you aspire to knighthood, you’d better be ready,” someone muttered. No one heard.

“This many should be enough.”

Antique-looking stones—dozens piled high, each one throbbing with mana.

“As an experiment, Spirito’s method was too gentle. Try to make it semi-permanent and you end up half-baked.”

A shadow spoke in an abandoned village. No one answered.

“Still—go big or go home. They died, but what we gained was huge!”

Heaps rose nearby—what had once been people: former capital adventurers.

“If it means revenge on Zeke Lagias, they’ll die happy! Now, time to get our end ready…”

In the dark, the shadow began inscribing a magic circle. Malice rolled toward the kingdom like a tide.