The courtyard of Flamecrest Academy was a sea of organized chaos.
Thousands of prospective students milled about the sprawling, stone-paved plaza, their voices a cacophony of nervous chatter, last-minute strategizing, and also a mix of complete arrogance.
"Man this is gonna be the easiest exam ever, don’t know why people are stressing."
"So true bro! But during the test, you think you could walk in front of me?"
"..."
Tristan dragged his suitcases to the nearest luggage depository, secured his token, and headed straight for the admissions booths lining the massive iron gates. He handed over his paperwork and received a stamped brass token with his testing slot.
According to the official Academy syllabus, the entrance exam was divided into two distinct sections: a practical trial and a post-exam interview. But everyone knew the interview was basically a formality. If you scored high enough in the practical, the interview was just the instructors making sure you weren’t completely insane before handing you a uniform. The practical was where people made their names.
As he navigated the crowds, waiting for his group to be called, Tristan kept his head on a swivel.
It was surreal seeing the 3D, flesh-and-blood versions of characters he had spent hundreds of hours looking at on a monitor. He spotted a few notable side characters holding court in the center of the courtyard, heirs to merchant guilds, minor prodigies, and future faction lieutenants. He didn’t spot Alexander, the game’s Southern protagonist, but Tristan knew the fiercely righteous swordsman was here somewhere. Alexander’s canon route strictly required passing the entrance exams.
The practical exams were run in massive, staggered batches. Every hour, several hundred candidates were herded into the testing grounds simultaneously.
After nearly forty minutes of waiting, a magically amplified voice echoed across the courtyard, calling the next block of numbers. Tristan glanced at his brass token. It was his turn.
He stepped up to the massive archway leading into the testing facility, handing his token off to a bored-looking proctor in Academy robes. The moment he crossed the threshold, the world lurched.
It wasn’t a physical walk, it was a localized spatial transport. The sensory deprivation lasted only a split second before Tristan’s boots hit solid stone.
He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dim, torch-lit lighting of a small, enclosed stone room. There were no doors, just four solid walls.
’This brings back bad memories.’
He wasn’t alone.
Four other candidates had been teleported into the holding room alongside him: two girls and two guys.
Tristan casually assessed them, immediately cross referencing his memory to see if he recognized anyone. Three of them were complete blanks, meaning they had absolutely no relevance in the game’s lore. If they weren’t in the game, it almost certainly meant they had failed this exact entrance exam.
But the fourth face he recognized immediately.
Leaning against the far wall was Oliver Trimveil, a minor character from the Northern Bastion. He came from a solidly middle-class family that served as retainers to a larger house. In the game, Oliver was characterized by his desperate, ruthless ambition, he was the kind of guy to do questionable things just to improve his family’s standing.
Oliver met Tristan’s gaze, and his eyes immediately narrowed into a sharp almost scornful look.
Tristan held back a sigh. Oliver definitely recognized him. The Verneuil family’s internal politics were supposed to be kept quiet, but human nature loved gossip. Great. The rumor of the North’s most powerful warlord having a drunken, mundane cripple for a son had apparently made its way all the way to the frozen North.
Before Oliver could say anything snide, one of the girls stepped forward into the center of the room, clapping her hands together with an earnest smile. She had the distinct, tanned complexion and bright clothing typical of the West.
"Hi everyone!" she said, her voice echoing slightly in the small room. "My name is Ella. Nice to meet you all. Since we were grouped in here together, this must be a team-based exam! Let’s try our best to get along and pass together, alright?"
She was radiating pure optimism, it was nearly painful to watch.
Oliver pushed himself off the wall, offering Ella a charming, calculated smile. "Oliver of the North. I look forward to working with you."
"Rowan," the other boy grunted, adjusting the leather bracers on his forearms.
"Lily," the second girl said softly, clutching a wooden staff close to her chest.
They all turned to Tristan. He offered a lazy wave. "Tristan."
Oliver’s smirk twitched, clearly noting that Tristan had conveniently left out his family name. But before the fellow northerner could out him, the heavy grinding of stone echoed from above.
A glowing, magical projection of the Academy’s crest appeared on the ceiling, followed by the crisp, prerecorded voice of an instructor.
"Welcome, candidates, to the Flamecrest Academy Practical Examination."
"The parameters of your trial are simple. Beyond the walls of this holding room lies the Labyrinth. Your primary objective is to navigate the maze and reach the central sanctum. However, merely surviving the walk is not enough."
The voice paused, letting the tension build.
"Within the Labyrinth, you will encounter puzzles, traps, and hostile entities. Overcoming these obstacles will yield low-grade essence stones. These stones represent your score. Only the top three hundred candidates across all active testing groups who collect the most points AND reach the center will be admitted."
"Take note of this final rule," the instructor’s voice warned, taking on a serious edge. "Any essence stones collected by your group will be automatically and equally divided between all members of your team... that make it to the center."
’That make it to the center...’
It was a brilliantly cruel mechanic. If a team of five collected a hundred stones, they each got twenty. But if three of them happened to tragically "die" to a trap before reaching the end, the surviving two would get fifty each, drastically improving their chances of making the top 300.
Oliver had clearly done the math, too. His eyes darted toward Tristan and Lily.
"One final warning," the instructor’s voice echoed, just as the stone wall in front of them began to slowly grind open, revealing a dark, sprawling corridor. "To ensure adequate pacing, a Fallen-class Minotaur has been released into the outer rings of the Labyrinth. It will hunt the slowest groups."
Lily gasped, the color draining entirely from her face.
Rowan swore under his breath.
’I mean I can’t blame them’ thought Tristan while grimacing, fallen monsters are no joke.
"The exam begins now. Best of luck."