Reborn With A Technology System In A Fantasy World-Chapter 40: Academy Examination (3)

Adrian stood in the silent arena, the weight of every gaze on him, but his mind was calm. He knew the Gun’s power and its ability to end fights before they began.

This duel tournament was child’s play for him. The knights-in-training around him, despite their disciplined stances and practiced grips, were unascended, their bodies no stronger than a baseline human’s.

They’d come to the Royal Zarion Academy to awaken their potential, to learn Ascension and rise above mortal limits.

For now, they were skilled but vulnerable, and Adrian’s gun was a predator in a field of prey.

His eyes flicked to the ground, where the girl lay, clutching her shoulder, her face twisted in pain.

The singed bruise marked where his low-intensity shot had struck, disabling her without breaking the rules.

’I hope she’s not hurt too bad,’ he thought, a twinge of guilt surfacing. ’Next fight, I’ll dial it down further.’

The silence shattered as the examiner’s voice boomed, echoing the question on everyone’s mind.

"What the hell is that thing?"

Adrian shrugged with a casual tone. "It’s my weapon."

The examiner’s face reddened, disbelief etched in his scars. "No way. How? What even—?"

Adrian met his gaze. "You said the rules are canon, right? No magic, no enchantments, any weapon’s fair. I didn’t break a single one. This is my weapon."

The examiner’s jaw tightened. He knew Adrian was right — the gun had passed inspection, its mana dormant.

With no grounds to disqualify him, he spat out the words like they burned. "Winner, number eighteen."

The declaration dripped with resentment, but Adrian only smiled, turning to walk back to the sidelines.

Officials helped the girl up, her arm limp as they led her out. ’She’ll be tended to,’ Adrian thought, his focus already shifting to the next fight. ’Medics are probably on standby.’

The remaining seven fights unfolded predictably, lacking the shock of Adrian’s display. Swords clashed, spears jabbed, and axes swung, each duel a test of skill or endurance.

A boy with a longsword outlasted his mace-wielding opponent in a grueling exchange. A girl with a bow landed a precise shot to her foe’s leg, forcing a surrender.

No other surprises emerged — no strange weapons, no rule-bending tactics. The crowd’s murmurs settled into a rhythm, cheers rising for clean victories, groans for close losses.

Adrian watched, analyzing each fighter’s style, but none posed a threat to his gun’s efficiency.

After the twenty-fifth fight, only twenty-five winners remained, their faces a mix of relief and tension. The examiner stepped forward, his voice cutting through the arena’s hum.

"Before we move to the next round, there’s one final fight. Two of you will duel for the twenty-fourth spot."

Nervous glances darted among the winners, each praying they wouldn’t be called.

The examiner’s eyes scanned the group, landing on a lanky boy who’d barely scraped through his fight — the longest of the round, a sloppy affair of missed swings and stumbled footwork.

"Number seven, step up."

The boy paled, gripping his axe, but no one was shocked. His victory had been a fluke, his stamina barely outlasting his opponent’s.

Then the examiner’s gaze hardened, locking onto Adrian. "Number eighteen, you’re up."

Whispers erupted and heads turned to Adrian. Pitying looks fell on the axe boy — nobody envied facing the kid with the mystery weapon.

Some muttered about "cheating," resenting Adrian’s gun, but others shook their heads, knowing his fight had been the fastest, his victory undeniable.

Adrian didn’t flinch as his mind already on something else.

’Weaker shot this time,’ he thought, stepping onto the arena’s stone platform, the gun loose in his hand.

The axe boy climbed up with his weapon trembling slightly, fear flickering in his eyes. He was taller than Adrian, but his hunched posture screamed dread.

The examiner placed a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder, a gesture of encouragement that made it even more known that he had something against Adrian.

’’Doesn’t matter. This ends quick.’

The examiner raised his hand. "Ready? Begin!"

The boy hesitated, his axe half-raised, but Adrian didn’t wait. He lifted the gun, dialed the intensity even lower than before, and fired.

~ZAP~

The blue pulse streaked across the arena, striking the boy’s shoulder with a muted crack. The force, though reduced, was enough to knock him off his feet, his weapon clattering as he hit the ground with a yelp, clutching the bruised spot.

Adrian stepped forward, the gun’s barrel aimed at the boy’s forehead making the boy to gulp in terror.

The examiner sighed, his teeth grinding again, but he waved a hand.

"Winner, number eighteen." Adrian lowered the gun, stepping back as officials rushed to help the boy up.

The crowd’s whispers, meanwhile, grew louder —some awed, others bitter — but Adrian ignored them, returning to the sidelines.

The examiner, barely pausing, barked, "Second round, now!" He distributed new parchments, assigning fresh numbers. Adrian’s read ’1,’ placing him first.

The fights kicked off immediately, and Adrian’s duel was over in a blink. His opponent, a boy with a short sword, charged with confidence, only to crumple under a low-intensity ~ZAP~ to the chest.

The crowd’s shock had dulled — Adrian’s gun was now a known threat, its efficiency terrifying. The second round whittled the group to twelve, each winner more skilled than the last.

One fight stood out: the brown-haired spear boy from the first round. He faced a burly kid with a mace, but his skill was surgical.

With fluid steps and precise jabs, he disarmed his opponent in under a minute. The mace boy never landed a hit, stumbling into a trap of feints and strikes.

Adrian’s eyes narrowed, impressed. ’He’s a cut above,’ he thought. ’Doesn’t even look like he’s trying.’

The spear boy’s grin never faded, his movements effortless, as if holding back a deeper strength.

’As long as I’m not paired with him, he’ll be fine,’ Adrian thought, a rare flicker of caution surfacing. ’But if we clash, I’ve got the gun.’

No new parchments were issued for the third round. The examiner’s voice was curt: "Number one fights number two, three fights four, five fights six, seven fights eight, nine fights ten, eleven fights twelve. Move!"

Adrian, as number one, stepped up first, facing a girl with a staff. Her stance was solid, her eyes wary, but it didn’t matter.

Adrian raised the gun, dialed low, and fired—

~ZAP~

The pulse hitt her thigh and she collapsed. Another clean win for him.

The third round flew by, each fight more intense as the pool narrowed.

The spear boy dominated again, and by the end, six fighters remained, their faces a mix of exhaustion and determination.

The examiner stepped forward, his voice heavy with finality. "Final round. Three of you will claim the academy spots. Make it count."