Chapter 11: The Measurement of Power

The Bastion Seven Hunter Academy arena was built like an ancient colosseum, but fused with modern steel and glowing runic barriers.

The stands were packed with upperclassmen, wealthy Guild scouts, and journalists.

The applicants were grouped in the center. It was immediately obvious who belonged to the elite class and who did not.

Most of the applicants wore custom-fitted, enchanted armor bearing their family crests.

Draven and Estella stood near the back, wearing the plain, dark tactical cloaks they bought at the commercial district.

"Look at those two," a tall, sneering noble in silver armor muttered to his friend, loud enough for the surrounding crowd to hear.

"The girl is gorgeous, but why is she standing with that slum rat? Did he win a lottery ticket to get in here?"

Estella heard the whispers. She felt a familiar spike of anxiety and stepped closer to Draven.

"Ignore them," Draven said softly, his eyes scanning the arena.

"They are just kids playing dress-up. We are here to secure our resources, not show off. Remember our plan. Control your output."

"I will," Estella promised.

"ALRIGHT, RECRUITS! LISTEN UP!"

A booming voice echoed across the arena. A massive, heavily scarred man in a military uniform stepped up to a podium. Behind him stood a row of ten towering, enchanted steel golems.

"I am Instructor Graves," the scarred man barked.

"This is the destructive output assessment. You will strike the golem. The runic display will calculate your raw power. First up. Neville Hennesy!"

The crowd in the stands erupted into deafening cheers.

Neville stepped out from the group of applicants. He waved to the crowd with a blinding, perfect smile. He walked up to the center golem, drew a beautifully crafted silver sword, and closed his eyes.

A brilliant, holy white light enveloped his body. The air pressure in the arena dropped as he gathered a massive amount of mana.

"Divine Smite!" Neville shouted dramatically.

He swung the sword. A massive, flashy wave of holy energy slammed into the golem. The arena shook, and a cloud of dust kicked up.

The runic display above it flashed a bright red [S-RANK: 9,500 Points].

The crowd went wild.

Neville sheathed his sword, breathing slightly heavily, and bowed humbly.

"I apologize, Instructor,"

Neville said loudly so the cameras could hear him.

"I pulled my strike at the last second. I did not want to destroy Academy property."

Instructor Graves nodded approvingly.

"Excellent control, Cadet Hennesy! First place on the board!"

"Estella Everdawn!" Instructor Graves called out next.

Estella walked gracefully toward the golem. She took a deep breath. She locked down the massive ocean of mana inside her chest, letting only a tiny fraction of it flow to her fingertips.

A beautiful, concentrated beam of white-gold starlight shot from her hand. It struck the golem with a sharp hiss.

The runic board locked in: [A-RANK: 7,200 Points].

The crowd gasped. An A-Rank was incredibly rare.

A tall noble in silver armor immediately stepped forward, trying to intercept her as she walked back.

"Miss Everdawn, was it?" the noble smiled smoothly.

"My family is looking for a talented Vanguard. You should not be associating with commoners. Come stand with us."

Estella did not even look at him. She walked right past the noble and practically skipped back to Draven’s side.

"Next! Draven Mordis!"

Draven slipped his hands out of his pockets and walked forward. Instructor Graves looked down at his clipboard and sighed loudly.

"Mordis," Graves muttered, his tone dripping with bias.

"An orphan. A late bloomer with no formal training. Step up, boy. Just hit the dummy and try not to break your wrist. We have a schedule to keep."

The noble students snickered.

Draven ignored them. He walked right up to the massive steel golem. He did not draw a weapon.

He did not glow with a holy aura. He just stood there, looking completely bored.

’If I score higher than Neville, the government will be breathing down my neck,’ Draven calculated rapidly.

’I need to be second. High enough to get the elite perks, low enough to let the idiot Hero keep the spotlight.’

He raised his right hand and casually flicked his index finger against the golem’s thick steel chest.

There was no explosion. No flashy light. Just a dull, hollow thud.

The nobles burst into laughter.

But then, the runic display board blinked. The numbers skyrocketed in a blur before locking in with a sharp chime.

[S-RANK: 9,400 Points]

The laughter instantly died. The arena went dead silent.

Instructor Graves dropped his pen. He stared at the board, then at the golem. There was not a single scratch on the outer armor.

But as Graves looked closer, a cold sweat broke out on his neck. The heavy steel bolts on the back of the golem had all popped out.

Draven had completely bypassed the armor and sent a concentrated wave of kinetic force to destroy the internal sensors directly.

It was the strike of a master assassin.

Draven turned around and began walking back.

Neville Hennesy stepped into his path, his perfect smile looking slightly strained. The Golden Boy could not stand someone getting that close to his score.

"Incredible," Neville said loudly, making sure the reporters heard his sportsmanship.

"A very impressive showing, friend! You were only one hundred points away from tying my score. Do not feel bad. With a little more training and proper technique, you might just catch up to me!"

Draven stopped. He looked at Neville’s extended hand, and then looked up into the Hero’s bright blue eyes.

"Catch up to you?" Draven asked, his voice flat, but carrying an icy, piercing weight.

"Of course," Neville smiled warmly. "I can teach you."

"Your ’Divine Smite’ took three entire seconds to charge," Draven stated calmly, his voice ringing out in the quiet arena.

"You telegraphed your swing, and the flash of your holy magic blinded everyone in a ten-foot radius. If we were in the Dead Zones, a real monster would have ripped your throat out while you were busy shouting the name of your spell."

Neville’s smile froze. A dark flash of genuine anger crossed his eyes.

"I scored higher," Neville countered tightly, dropping his voice so only Draven could hear.

"You hit a stationary piece of metal," Draven replied softly, leaning in just a fraction.

"And you still had to try. I barely tapped it. Keep the first-place trophy, Hennesy. Just make sure you stay out of my way when the real fighting starts."

Draven did not shake his hand. He stepped around Neville, completely ignoring him, and walked back to Estella.

Neville was left standing in the center of the arena, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. He had won first place, but Draven had just made him look like an amateur.