The floor of the auditorium was covered with a red carpet. While the third test passers glanced at the groups across from them, I kept my eyes on the floor.
Limberton scratched his head and asked, “Weren’t they supposed to fail?”
I took my eyes off the floor and answered, “They’re going to the same dormitory as us.”
In truth, from the moment one passed the second test, admission was inevitable. The consent form we received upon passing the second test had a small clause: [We are not responsible for death during enrollment.]
They didn’t care if there were casualties during the third test. Signing that consent form was a tacit agreement to this reality.
“So, what about them? Where did all those people go, and why are there only five left? And why do they look like that?”
Limberton pointed to the donation admissions but couldn’t get an answer.
The elderly man on the podium clapped his hands, drawing everyone’s attention. The sound was so heavy it echoed through the eardrums. The murmurs quickly subsided.
The intimidating presence of the burly, muscular old man with a scar etched near one eye made even the distant onlookers feel like herbivores.
His name elicited gasps from various corners. They must have been from the north, astonished by the legend of the man who earned the title of Frost Sword for his efforts in repelling monster invasions from the northern border near the demonic lands.
“Many of you must be confused, not knowing much about Frost Heart or finding the entrance exam far removed from what you expected,” Arkandric continued as many nodded.
The first part of his explanation was about Frost Heart’s purpose and founding principles.
“Unlike other academies focused on producing civil servants, our Frost Heart aims to train the Demon Realm Suppression Squad. The test you underwent was to gauge your basic survival skills in the demonic lands. But didn’t you find it odd? Why is there a dungeon below and the academy built on top of it? It’s symbolic. The founder wanted to impart the noble pioneering spirit to future generations.”
“Excuse me,” someone interrupted, raising their hand high, cutting off Arkandric’s speech.
“Are graduates from here really going to the demonic lands?”
“If that’s the case, there’s no need to graduate from an academy, is there?”
“Right. Any adventurer can go if they want to.”
Arkandric glared at the three who spoke out.
“Do you really think where those adventurers go is the true demonic land? Land already trampled by others? Hah, that’s just a paved path. In a little while, the demonic lands you know will become a homeland. They’re practically conquered. But what does this academy produce? Not those trifling things but…”
Arkandric squinted and raised his voice.
“Pioneers who will tread unknown lands, Pathfinders!”
A hush fell over the crowd as he introduced the imperial institution, Pathfinder, a term familiar to some but unknown to most due to the Empire’s secrecy.
“Let me show you,” Arkandric gestured, and professors used projection magic to display a giant map in the air.
The sea covered the largest area, followed by a continent painted in black, and the smallest was the combined territories of all the world’s nations, barely a tenth of the total area.
“Human territory is significantly smaller compared to the demonic lands. As we enter an era of unprecedented prosperity, conflicts over land will only intensify. The mission of the Pathfinders is to conquer the demonic lands for humanity’s prosperity.”
The Empire and a few aware of this had kept it quiet to avoid international conflicts.
“The demonic lands hold immense value: ancient relics, secret magic tomes, elixirs of longevity, herbs that cure all diseases, and countless treasures. Revealing this would lead to internal competition.”
Thus, secrecy was maintained, driven by human greed.
“Fewer people know, the more they get,” he concluded.
“Excuse me!” A woman, raised in luxury, asked boldly, “Where do I file for withdrawal?”
Given the ongoing deaths in the demonic lands, asking to go deeper was akin to suicide, so rejection was expected.
Arkandric clenched his fist in anger.
“This is the second time someone dared interrupt me,” his voice was icy.
Hands quickly lowered, and he continued, “Remember, I let it slide the first time thinking you were unaccustomed.”
“Now, let me explain the benefits upon graduation. Frost Heart graduates will receive the Empire’s unwavering support and access to the maps recorded by previous Pathfinders.”
Some eyes lit up with interest.
Arkandric smirked, “Those keen enough realize the value of these benefits is immeasurable.”
Those benefits included information on hidden treasures.
I pondered the value of such benefits, almost memorizing the maps myself.
One of the donation admissions stepped forward, glaring.
“Oh, here we go. Limberton, were you wondering why the donation admissions looked like that?”
The man approached Arkandric and shouted, “Hey, you senile old man. You threw us into the dungeon without weapons? Are you kidding me? Do you know how much money my family d?”
Arkandric listened quietly before responding with a stern look, “You still don’t get it. You’re nothing but trash your family discarded for some money.”
This was the answer I wanted Limberton to hear.
Most donation admissions were family rejects: misbehaved individuals, illegitimate children, or unwanted heirs.
“I scour the Empire for such troublemakers and send them a notice, offering to resolve their issues here,” Arkandric continued.
The academy made money, and…
“I tell them they’re not trash. I’ll reward those who prove otherwise.”
Arkandric approached the man, who retreated but was grabbed by the shoulder.
Eventually, the man’s well-groomed head was forcibly patted.
“Ah! What are you doing! Stop it, old man!”
“Haha, such a shy child.”
The man was so embarrassed that he kicked and punched Arkandric, who didn’t flinch.
“Despite my warnings, you interrupted me. You need the rod of love.”
Arkandric lifted the man and threw him against the wall.
The man’s upper body was embedded in the wall. He might have survived, but to others, he appeared dead.
Students were terrified. What use were rewards if you could die?
“That crazy old man. I’m going home,” some murmured.
Arkandric turned to the professors, “Begin.”
The professors aimed their staffs at the red carpet, and a large magic circle glowed, swallowing the students.
A system window appeared in my vision.
[Threat detected. Type: Curse of Control]
[Attribute activated. 1-second invincibility cooldown: 59 seconds]
The curse was the Curse of Control. A demonstration would soon show its effects.
I waited for the first victim to try escaping the auditorium. To my surprise, it was Erucel.
Rockefeller blocked his path.
“There seems to be a misunderstanding. I didn’t intend to pass.”
“Return to your place.”
“I’ll follow the withdrawal procedure. Can you tell me where to do that?”
Erucel scratched his head and frowned. I thought he was an idiot.
“Are you ordering a Tenest? Aren’t you afraid of my father?”
“Second warning,” Rockefeller snapped his fingers.
Erucel screamed and collapsed, foaming at the mouth.
The curse was the Control Covenant.
Students were horrified, and Arkandric advised, “Follow the professors’ instructions. The curse left by the academy’s founder can only be lifted by becoming a mage on par with the faculty, graduating, or dying.”
I wasn’t cursed, but I planned to graduate, so it didn’t matter.
Rockefeller approached me with a sneer, “Are you displeased with your brother’s treatment, Hersel Ben Tenest?”
“Your eyes show defiance. Fix it.”
These are my natural eyes, always looking fierce. No matter how kindly I smile, it looks like a villain’s grin. What does he expect?
“Show respect to your teacher.”
“Second warning. Smile.”
Rockefeller smirked. I decided to fake being cursed as a sign of respect.
Standing straight, without flinching, I pretended to be in pain.
I couldn’t act as pathetically as that idiot on the floor.
Rockefeller seemed frustrated by my lack of reaction.
“Hmm, that concludes our introduction. Go to your assigned dormitory and rest. Classes begin tomorrow.”
As soon as Arkandric finished, Hersel left the auditorium.
Rockefeller, watching him, felt a vein throb on his forehead.
‘How does this guy endure pain from within?’ he wondered.
He knew Hersel survived a guardian’s strike. But that was external.
Internal nerve pain was different. He was eager to see Hersel collapse but got only a weak reaction.
He remembered Arkandric’s similar case, frowning.
“He said it tickled.”
Rockefeller watched Hersel’s disappearing figure.
“Is it the bloodline?”
Arkandric’s glare made Rockefeller’s heart pound. Ashamed, he looked down.
He had boasted about transferring Hersel to the knight division but had no results yet.
“Damn, I’ll get scolded again because of that guy… I’ll make him regret this.”
His method would be harsh.
Rockefeller plotted Hersel’s suffering as he left the auditorium.
I felt a prickling on my neck. I had sensed a strange gaze for a while now…
“Who’s glaring at me?”
“A woman in armor,” I motioned Limberton and Aslay to go ahead.
“Uh? Okay, see you later.”
Limberton glanced back and left. Aslay followed, puzzled.
The woman spoke, “Why are you here?”
I turned to see a familiar woman with red hair and brown eyes, staring blankly.
But I sensed her underlying anger.
The unavoidable moment.
“You’re late. You could’ve asked before the third test.”
“I thought you’d fail.”
Her eyes twisted slightly.
I wanted to leave quickly. She was the character who hated Hersel the most.
And she was awkward for me, too.
– Hersel? I know him. We were forced into an unwanted engagement for our families. I hated it. He told me to wear dresses instead of armor.