The professor had expected to see one of the stone’s usual colors.
The boy standing before him seemed utterly unremarkable.
There was nothing noteworthy about his appearance, and the stufon himself gave off not the slightest aura that might suggest anything unusual.
The Faculty of Swordsmen trained warriors of every discipline, from ranged fighters to masters of close combat.
However, in terms of status, it still stood noticeably below the magical faculty.
Even the slightest talent for magic was enough to grant a child the opportunity to enter one of the six Academies.
Swordsmen, as mages dismissively called them, were practically devoid of magical talent.
Most could not even sense mana fluctuations unless those fluctuations were exceptionally strong.
And yet, it was precisely in situations where mages became helpless that the superiority of swordsmen began.
In close combat, mages often turned into easy prey.
They were too slow, too dependent on distance, incantations, and spells.
Throughout the long history of the Academies, many mages had died after overestimating the strength of their own gift and underestimating an opponent at short range.
After handing the stufon a healing pill, the professor waited until he stepped aside before shifting his gaze to the stone.
Its red-and-black surface looked unnatural, while faint white specks shimmered within, scattered throughout the entire volume of the stone.
For several seconds, the professor froze.
He slowly closed his eyes, as though hoping what he had seen was merely a trick of his exhausted mind, then opened them again.
But the same stone still lay before him.
“Impossible…” he muttered.
“The stone has never once shown such a reaction to anyone’s talent.
I need to contact the faculty dean immediately.” He turned sharply toward the boy.
“Stufon Trey, remain here and wait for my return.
Do you understand?” After receiving a brief nod, the professor cast one final glance at the stufon, then stepped outside and firmly closed the door behind him.
Watching him leave, I let out a long sigh.
The pain in my hand had completely disappeared after taking the healing pill.
As I looked around the room and studied the weapons hanging on the walls, my gaze kept involuntarily returning to the stone, which still retained the same strange color after coming into contact with my blood.
I understood that the test had not gone the way the professor expected.
What I did not understand was why.
Was it because of my talent, or had the stone simply displayed the wrong result?
I had no answer.
Letting my gaze drift over the weapons, some of which I recognized while others I was seeing for the first time, I tried to distract myself from my growing curiosity.
A few minutes later, the door opened again.
The professor returned to the room, followed by another man.
If the professor was still someone whose name I had yet to learn, then the newcomer was undoubtedly a light elf.
He wore a loose dark-blue robe, and his appearance almost perfectly matched the image one would expect from his race: blue eyes, golden hair, and flawless posture.
Every movement carried elegance and concealed strength.
If the professor gave off the impression of a dragon standing before me, then the newcomer’s presence felt different.
His aura was almost imperceptible, yet far more unsettling.
Being near him felt as though I had suddenly found myself beneath a vast mass of water that could close over me at any moment and drag me into the depths.
Walking up to the table, the dean touched his fingers to his chin and quietly muttered something to himself.
Then he took out a small vial and poured its contents onto the stone’s surface.
A moment later, the stone turned white again, as if nothing had ever happened.
“Stufon Trey, my name is Ama’Lein, and I am the faculty dean,” the light elf said in a calm, polite voice as he extended a knife toward me.
“Take it and spill your blood onto the stone again.
If you have any questions, I will do my best to answer them.” I shifted my gaze from the dean to the professor, then took the knife and approached the table once more.
Without another word, I pressed the blade to my palm and sliced the skin open again.
Once blood began to run down my hand, I returned the knife to the dean and held my palm over the stone.
I silently watched as drops of blood fell onto its surface.
A few seconds later, the color began to change, following the same path as before.
White turned red, then was gradually consumed by black, while tiny white specks emerged within the stone once again.
I could clearly feel the professor’s and dean’s gazes on my back.
When the process was complete, I stepped away from the table.
The professor silently handed me another healing pill.
After taking it, I almost immediately felt the wound begin to close at a rapid pace.
Turning my gaze back to the dean, I noticed his lips moving slightly, as if he were silently murmuring something under his breath.
“Stufon Trey, I assume you are interested in learning the name of your talent and why the professor had to summon me to confirm it,” the dean said, studying me with visible interest.
I nodded.
There was no point in hiding my curiosity.
I genuinely wanted to know what exactly he intended to tell me.
Ama’Lein touched the ring on his finger, and in the next moment, three chairs appeared beside him.
With a gesture, he invited both the professor and me to sit.
Once we were seated, the dean studied me silently for some time before turning his gaze back to the stone.
“Tell me what you know about the War of the Five Races,” he said calmly, looking directly into my eyes.
After a brief pause, he added, “Or, as it is also called, the Exodus of the Five Races.” Under his gaze, I instinctively lowered my eyes and paused for a moment, trying to gather everything I knew about that event from memory.
“The War of the Five Races began because of events connected to magic,” I began, organizing my thoughts.
“All those capable of using magic gradually began to feel it thinning.
With each passing year, it grew weaker and less perceptible.” I took a short breath and continued.
“The light elves, forest elves, dark elves, and high elves united to study this phenomenon.
Humans, noticing the alliance between races that had previously been hostile to one another, also began seeking allies among the orcs, dwarves, and Anuels.” “In time, humans also experienced the thinning of magic.
Suspicion then arose among them that the elves were somehow responsible.” “The peace between the two alliances was already fragile.
It only took one event to ignite the war, and that was exactly what happened.” I paused briefly, recalling the rest of what I had learned.
“During the war, the forest elves, high elves, Anuels, orcs, and dwarves vanished from the world.
After that, only the light elves, dark elves, humans, and a few scattered branches of orcs and dwarves remained.” “An agreement was made between the survivors: no race had the right to conceal knowledge of magic or any other information that could threaten the others.” After finishing, I realized my throat had gone dry.
The dean slowly nodded along to my words, his gaze fixed somewhere far away.
Taking a deep breath, Ama’Lein shifted his eyes from the stone back to me and began to speak.
“Everything you just said is true…
and at the same time, not.” His voice remained calm, but something in it had changed.
“Before the War of the Five Races, magic was far denser and more tangible.
Everything modern mages study now is merely a pale fragment of what once existed.” “All races worshipped their own gods.
The light elves had the goddess of healing and restoration, Teyn’Lu.
The forest elves revered the god of hunting, Meg’Shu.
The dark elves worshipped the goddess of death and decay, Shen’Mo.” He continued without looking away.
“The Anuels followed the god of wind, Lun’Gi.
The orcs worshipped the god of fire, Fel’Mu.
The dwarves revered the god of earth, Shin’Go.
And humans worshipped the goddess of chaos, Ges.” Then Ama’Lein fell silent for a moment.
“Then everything changed.
In a single moment, all races stopped feeling the support of their gods.” His expression remained composed, but his eyes darkened.
“That gave birth to panic.
And after panic came fear.” “Every race had its Chosen.
Those who received power directly from the gods.
Their titles differed, but their essence was the same.” “It was these Chosen who entered into a conspiracy with one another during the war.
Or perhaps they acted on the orders of the gods themselves.
We still do not know.” The room seemed to grow quieter as he spoke.
“Together, all the Chosen activated an ancient spell that allowed them to open a gate to another world.” “While the other races continued slaughtering one another, unaware of what was happening, one day the earth trembled and monstrous lightning tore across the sky.
Then a portal opened directly in the heavens.” Ama’Lein’s voice grew lower.
“The forest elves, high elves, dwarves, Anuels, and orcs were lifted into the air and disappeared inside it.” A faint chill ran down my spine.
“When the remaining races learned of the betrayal, a meeting of rulers was convened.
It was there that the bloody pact was formed.” “After the Exodus of the Five Races, the Chosen stopped appearing.
Everyone concluded that the gods had abandoned this world and turned away from their children.” The dean paused briefly before continuing in a quieter voice.
“If the gods rejected us, then we rejected their Chosen as well.” For a moment, only silence remained.
“Since then, they have been given a new name.” Ama’Lein looked directly at me.
“The Cursed Swordsmen.” After finishing his story, the dean fell silent.
There was sorrow and grief in his voice, yet deep within his eyes, I could clearly see anger.
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