After Stufon Kassandra left, I remained alone with the professor.
For a while, he studied me silently from head to toe, then gave a short nod, opened the door, and gestured for me to enter first.
The moment I crossed the threshold, he stepped in after me and closed the door behind us.
The corridor on the other side was noticeably different from the rest of the Academy.
In the other wings, paintings decorated the walls, and pale, almost white colors prevailed.
Here, everything felt much harsher.
Bare walls and black tones shaped the entire atmosphere, making the place seem colder and more severe.
Only a few stufons moved through the corridor.
As we walked, I noticed that most of the classrooms stood empty, which could mean only one thing—there were far fewer swordsmen in the Academy than mages.
After going a little farther, we stopped in front of a door with a plaque that read, “Assessment Room.” The professor opened it and once again motioned for me to enter.
Inside, I carefully looked around the room.
Various weapons and shields hung on the walls, while a massive table stood in the center.
Resting atop it was a stone that resembled the one used during the magical talent assessment.
The professor walked up to the table, then turned toward me.
“Do you know how the sword talent assessment is conducted, Stufon Trey?” he asked.
“No, Professor.
Please explain,” I replied, stepping closer to the table as I studied the stone.
At first glance, it was almost no different from the one used to test magical talent, yet the sensation it gave off was completely different—and far less pleasant.
The professor nodded, walked over to the wall, and removed a small knife from its holder.
Returning to me, he handed it over and began explaining how the swordsman assessment worked.
“The sword talent assessment is conducted in almost the same way as the magical ability test, but with one difference.
You must spill your blood onto the stone so it can determine your talent.
“If your style is oriented toward support and long-range combat, the stone will turn purple.
If you possess talent for close combat based on speed and stealth, its color will change to green.
And if you are suited for the role of a fighter who bears the main force of the enemy’s assault, the stone will take on a metallic hue,” the professor finished.
After saying this, he looked directly into my eyes, and for a brief moment, I felt an inexplicable sense of danger, as though the one standing before me was not a human, but an ancient dragon.
“Can the blood be taken from either hand, or are there specific requirements?
And how deep should the wound be?” I asked, examining the knife.
The metal felt unpleasantly cold against my skin, and that cold only deepened the unease growing inside me.
The professor shifted his gaze from me to the stone, then stepped aside, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes before replying in a bored voice.
“Blood is blood, Stufon Trey.
It can be taken from any part of the body.
A few drops on the stone are enough, and it will determine your swordsman talent.” After listening to his answer, I extended my hand over the stone and opened my palm.
Gripping the knife in my other hand, I pressed the blade to my skin and drew it sharply across my palm.
A flash of pain made me instinctively flinch, but I only clenched my teeth harder, refusing to pull away.
Soon, heavy drops of blood began to well up from the wound.
Setting the knife aside, I clenched my injured hand over the stone and felt the throbbing pain spread through my palm.
I wanted to finish the assessment as quickly as possible and heal the wound.
One drop of blood after another fell onto the stone’s surface.
For several seconds, nothing happened, but then its color slowly began to change.
White shifted into red, and soon a thick black shade mixed into it.
I watched the process without blinking.
A few moments later, the stone finally settled into a red and black color covered with tiny white specks.
Frowning, I tried to recall every color the professor had mentioned, but this one had definitely not been among them.
Turning around, I noticed that the professor was still standing by the wall with his eyes closed, as though what was happening did not interest him in the slightest.
“Professor, I don’t understand what my swordsman talent is.
This color doesn’t match any of the ones you listed earlier,” I said.
At the sound of my voice, the professor clicked his tongue in irritation, muttered something under his breath, opened his eyes, and walked over to the table.
“Step aside and let me see.
And take this pill.
Heal your hand before you flood my entire floor with blood,” he said, displeased, pressing a translucent white pill into my palm.
Stepping aside, I tossed it into my mouth and closed my eyes.
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