The Throne and the Test

  The massive double doors creaked open, their low groan echoing through the grand hall.

  Silence shattered beneath the sound of approaching footsteps.

  Towering marble columns reached toward the ceiling, where a crystal dome refracted sunlight into a thousand beams. The floor, made of white ceramic stone, reflected everything — even footsteps looked like shadows of the past.

  At the foot of the throne stood a man in a long robe traced with golden runes.

  He stepped forward and knelt down.

  > “Your Highness, King of Arcanum, Orien de Lacour.

  I thank you for granting me audience.”

  His voice was deep and steady.

  It was Selveran, the headmaster of the Academy of Magic — one of the oldest mages in the kingdom.

  Upon the crimson throne sat an older man, his steel-gray beard glinting faintly in the fractured light. His gaze was heavy but not cruel — the kind of gaze forged by witnessing war, betrayal, and miracles alike.

  He rose slowly.

  > “Raise your head, brother.”

  Selveran obeyed. Their silence lingered like a spell between them before the mage finally spoke again:

  > “Do you remember the task you gave me?”

  The king nodded, his eyes narrowing in interest.

  > “How could I forget? Have you found anyone worthy?”

  > “I have,” Selveran replied, stroking his beard. “A few are strong in will and power... but one stands apart.”

  > “But?” the king prompted, tilting his head.

  Selveran allowed himself a faint smile.

  > “He’s a first-year student.”

  The king raised an eyebrow, then let out a short laugh.

  > “A first-year? You must be joking!”

  But the laughter died just as quickly.

  He looked at Selveran sharply — and knew the man never joked.

  > “…You’re serious.”

  > “Always,” Selveran said calmly. “The boy possesses power beyond comprehension. But the most dangerous thing about him — is that he doesn’t yet understand what he truly is.”

  The king paced slowly across the shining floor. His steps echoed beneath the dome until he stopped before a tall window that overlooked the sprawling Academy. A soft breeze stirred the velvet curtains.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  > “His name,” the king said quietly.

  > “Hiro,” Selveran answered. “Hiro Nakamura.”

  Silence filled the hall again.

  The mage’s expression did not change.

  > “I’ll test him,” Selveran said. “Push him in every way possible. If he endures, he’ll become the key to what you seek.”

  The king approached and placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

  For a brief moment, their mirrored silhouettes — light and shadow — became one in the polished marble floor.

  > “So be it, brother. I await your report.”

  Selveran bowed and left the hall. His steps faded until the massive doors closed behind him — and silence reclaimed the throne room once more.

  ---

  A loud clang! broke the morning calm.

  Metal rang out — something spun through the air.

  A sword flew straight into Hiro’s room.

  Startled awake, Hiro caught the blade between two fingers — the steel halted inches from his face.

  Standing in the doorway was Rosalyn, her lavender-silver hair slightly messy, her expression sharp enough to cut glass.

  > “Still sleeping?” she said coldly. “Get up. I’m waiting.”

  Hiro blinked at her, then placed the sword aside with a sigh.

  > “Now that’s what I call a good morning.”

  She rolled her eyes, refusing to answer.

  As Hiro yawned and stood, spinning the sword lazily in his hand, he muttered:

  > “You could’ve killed me. I swear, next time you—”

  Her eyebrow twitched.

  > “Don’t act weak. That swing wouldn’t have killed you.”

  > “Sure,” Hiro said dryly. “Just a casual flying sword to the face. Totally normal. You royalty types are wild.”

  Rosalyn turned away, chin held high, walking toward the corridor.

  Hiro followed, scratching the back of his head.

  > “What’s this about? It’s Sunday.”

  > “All male students from third to sixth year were summoned,” she said curtly. “I was told to bring you. That’s all I know. And—take the sword. You’ll need it.”

  Hiro groaned.

  > “Of course. Nothing says peaceful Sunday like potential death.”

  The morning sun blinded him as they stepped into the courtyard. Dew dripped from the trees, voices echoed from afar, and the air smelled faintly of stone and mana.

  Hiro walked lazily, hands in his pockets, while Rosalyn stiffened with every step beside him.

  > “Can you at least try to behave normally?” she snapped.

  > “What? I am behaving,” he replied innocently.

  She clenched her fists, biting back her irritation.

  > Why him? Why did they send me to fetch this insufferable slacker?

  And why does it feel like I’m talking to an equal... or worse — someone who already knows how this all ends?

  Hiro watched the sunlight scatter across the academy towers.

  > “If this is how my mornings are gonna start, I should probably start sleeping with a sword under my pillow.”

  > “What did you say?” Rosalyn shot him a glare.

  > “Nothing. Just... thanks for the wake-up call, princess.”

  Her eyes burned with irritation, but she held her tongue.

  They reached the training grounds.

  Rows of students stood in formation — most older, some already equipped with weapons, others whispering incantations under their breath.

  The air shimmered with excitement.

  As Hiro and Rosalyn entered, a wave of heads bowed — all the male students lowered their gazes.

  Hiro blinked, smirked, and said:

  > “Wow. I know I’m handsome, but bowing already? That’s a bit much.”

  A few students chuckled nervously.

  Rosalyn crossed her arms, unimpressed.

  > “You really think that’s for you?”

  > “Of course not,” Hiro said, though a small grin tugged at his lips.

  Then, Selveran appeared.

  His presence silenced the crowd instantly — his voice deep, calm, and powerful enough to ripple through the air.

  > “Good morning, students. Today, you will face a test — of swordsmanship.”

  Murmurs spread. Among magicians, sword training was seen as secondary.

  > “I know many of you specialize in magic,” Selveran continued, “but a true Aricoran must master all disciplines.”

  > “Ari...what now?” Hiro muttered.

  Rosalyn leaned closer.

  > “The royal title for the King’s elite knights,” she whispered. Then added, half to herself:

  “But why recruit new ones when the old ones still live…”

  Selveran seemed to hear her — and smiled faintly.

  > “You will fight using only swords,” he said. “All details are posted at the registration stand.”

  The crowd stirred.

  Hiro sighed and started toward the stand, sword resting on his shoulder — but then Selveran’s voice stopped him.

  > “Hiro,” he said warmly. “I’m glad you came.”

  > “I didn’t really have a choice,” Hiro replied with a smirk. “A sword flew into my face.”

  The headmaster ignored the jab.

  > “For you, I have a special task.”

  Rosalyn, standing beside them, raised an eyebrow.

  > “Then I’ll be going,” she said with an elegant shrug. “Have fun, boys.”

  But she had barely taken a step when his voice echoed again:

  > “Rosalyn de Lacour. You’ll be joining him.”

  She froze.

  > “Me? Why me!?”

  Selveran’s smile turned mischievous.

  > “Because you can wield a sword. And because... this test is for both of you.”

  Hiro looked between them.

  > “Special, huh? That already sounds shady.”

  The air grew denser around them, vibrating faintly with magic.

  > “You will fight me,” Selveran said.

  “The entire field — five square kilometers — is your arena.

  Your goal is simple: strike me once.”

  Gasps rippled through the students.

  Rosalyn stepped forward, her face pale.

  > “Fight you? That’s insane! You’re the Headmaster — one of the most powerful mages in the kingdom!”

  Selveran smiled gently.

  > “Exactly. That’s what makes it interesting.”

  She sighed, exasperated.

  > “Fine... I’ll fetch a sword.”

  As she turned away, Selveran spoke soft

  ly — only for Hiro to hear.

  > “Your task is different. Don’t defeat her enemy.

  Just guide her — and make sure she reaches me.”

  Hiro narrowed his eyes.

  > “Got it.”