The Royal Knights Academy

The Board of Directors Room

Only four figures occupied the stuffy yet warm room. The atmosphere was heavy with expectance.

Beyond the walls of the academy—no, beyond the walls of the capital, the examinees were undoubtedly fighting for glory and survival; and their trials were the machinations of the Third Prince himself.

The directors had adapted most of his proposed plan for the revamped Standardized Track, and they could only wait for the results of his plans with bated breath.

One of the directors, a middle-aged nobleman known as Lord Randolph, the Director of Public Relations, tapped the parchment before him, his eyes narrowing as he read each line that passed. “The Standardized Track examinees are to enter from the eastern side of the forest. In addition, they would have to gather a minimum of fifteen points as a requirement.” He sighed, pulling away his cigar. “I have to say, this plan of his seems harsh, even for me.”

“We already approved of His Highness’s designs,” Director Mayarre, the Headmaster, replied, her tone flat. She stood by the window, looking north towards the skies where the practical exam was taking place. “There’s no room for second-guessing now.”

“But the numbers here…” he persisted. “With these strict requirements, and not to mention a written exam that’s twice as long… It would be a miracle if we could have a dozen passes from that track.”

“Indeed,” a third voice chipped in with her opinion. It was Lady Glenn, the Grand Marshal of Training. “The eastern part of the forest is reserved for intense training only. Shouldn’t the Third Prince know that?”

“Of course, he knows,” Lord Randolph replied once more. “Rather, I believe that’s the reason he sent them there in the first place.” He bit down lightly on the cigar, drawing in a lungful before releasing a gray cloud.

“The profit margins, however, are not to be ignored,” the fourth voice joined in, his tone calm and smooth. He was Lord Verran, the Director of Finances. “With the lower exam fees, the number of participants this year is unprecedented. If we maintain the Third Prince’s business model, the treasury will see quite a boost.”

“Not all of this year’s participants are green, however,” Lady Glenn interjected. “I heard His Highness personally invited and even covered the costs for most of last year’s rejects.”

“Profit margins won’t matter if we have an examinee seriously hurt,” Randolph interrupted them.

“That is precisely why the Saint is stationed there,” Director Mayarre added, still facing out the window. “But Randolph has a point. If the Standardized Exam came across as too cruel to the common people, many of them would shift their focus to non-Royal academies instead. But what’s done is done. His Highness has provided us with the funds to fulfill his plans, and that is what we must do.”

Silence coated the room. Every director in the room knew that the exam was already underway.

Then, Lady Glenn broke the silence with a loud exhale.

“What changed the Third Prince’s mind? He once advocated for potential regardless of birth… or something along the lines of that.”

“That’s simple,” Lord Verran said. “It’s from that incident at that palace.”

“Incident?”

“Do you mean the mage attack at the palace?” Randolph added.

He nodded.

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Lord Randolph and Lady Glenn turned to him with expectant faces. Director Mayarre was the only one still staring out the window, as if already knowing what he would say.

“The mage responsible was common-born, was he not? A graduate of this very academy, no less,” Verran said, his tone still calm and smooth.

“I heard of that,” Glenn said. “I think I remember his name from somewhere. Hard to believe I trained a monster like him once.”

Randolph, meanwhile, held his forehead as if he recalled a painful memory. “The hit to our reputation once that news hit was… harsh. It was the hardest I had to work since I became a director.”

“The attack was directed at the First Prince, and when a nearby ducal family caught him, that pathetic mage blew himself up with a [Self Detonate] before they had a chance to interrogate him.”

Verran’s gaze drifted up toward the marbled ceiling, leaning back on his cushioned chair. “I’m guessing His Highness had some unsolved grudge against him. This exam of his… perhaps it’s just a way to vent his wrath.” He then turned towards Director Mayarre by the window. “Did I get things right, May?”

“Don’t call me that here, Verran.” A scoff came from her as she glared at Verran. She then let out a tired sigh. “Whatever his actual reason is, his plan is providing value to us. That should be your only concern on this matter.”

She finally turned from the window, her eyes sweeping across the table and landing pointedly on Lord Randolph. “And as for your concern, Randolph, about having too few passes… you’re worrying over a problem with a simple solution.”

“A solution?”

“The agreement with the Third Prince dictates the rules of the exam. But the final authority to grade and accept applicants still rests with us. If the number of those who genuinely meet the fifteen-point threshold is… disappointingly low, we are well within our rights to adjust the final scores. Give a point for creativity, a point for tenacity. Whatever we can come up with. We can ensure the Standardized Track yields enough bodies to fill the curriculum’s minimum quotas.”

“I…I see.” A slow, understanding nod came from Randolph. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. “That would mitigate any problems, you’re right.”

She shifted her weight, her gaze turning northward again, as if she could see the examinees fighting in the distance. “The Standardized Track is a question of quantity. The Gilded Track, however, is where we find the exceptional.” She turned to face Glenn. “Tell me, any truly promising candidates this year?”

Glenn straightened up, the topic clearly back in her area of expertise. “Fewer are willing to divulge their Talents this year, and I can’t say for sure without knowing that. Still, there are standouts.” She opened a ledger before her. “The most promising is, as you may have already guessed, Carine Sareid.”

There wasn’t any surprise in the room. The news of a ducal heiress entering the Royal Knights Academy was widespread by now, and no one knew that better than they.

“Her specific Talents remain her secret,” Glenn continued, “but with that lineage and training from Lord Kyrat, she could undoubtedly be exceptional.”

“A Sareid in our halls…” Director Mayarre pondered, her gaze tracing the ceiling. “I was still a student in Royal Governance the last time that happened. Time passes so quickly.”

“I look forward to testing her mettle myself,” Lady Glenn said, a rare, sharp smile touching her lips. “But the Third Prince’s design… I wonder if she can handle them.”

“She may be exempt from the eastern forest,” Lord Randolph cut in, his voice low. He tapped his cigar ash into a silver tray. “But she will still encounter… them. I worry that if she were harmed in the exam, things might get out of hand.”

“They should already know her face. They wouldn’t dare go too far,” Director Mayarre opened her eyes, her gaze sharp and clear. She turned to Glenn once more. “The instructors, I’m certain that you’ve informed them of the next step? Do any of them hesitate?”

“None.” Glenn shook her head, her own gaze drifting toward the window and the grayish skies beyond. “However, when I gave the order to Cornellia…” She paused, and a faint, almost imperceptible shudder went through her shoulders. “I have never seen her that excited before. I fear she may take it too far.”

Randolph shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Let us just hope the Sareid girl has the sense to avoid her.”

Director Mayarre’s breath hitched for a moment. Then, she turned her sharp gaze back to Glenn. “You didn’t, by any chance, give Cornellia a list of the most promising candidates, did you?”

Glenn froze in her seat, her hand hung in the air, her gaze still stuck on the skies beyond the glass.

“A-Ah…”

Her silence was answer enough.

The silence that fell this time was thicker, the earlier tension now turned into a specific, shared dread.

The financial calculations, the political maneuvering, the acceptance quotas… all of it suddenly felt trivial against the prospect of an overzealous instructor hunting down someone who technically outranks even them.

Director Mayarre turned back to the window, her reflection a pale, stern mask against the glass.

All they could do now was watch the gray skies and hope for the best.

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