Standing silently in the deserted aisle of shelves, Alphonse stared intently at the cover of The Ballad of the Ten Stars in his hands. His fingertips brushed the dry, cracked leather texture on the book's spine.
This deterioration proved that the book in his hands was hundreds, or perhaps even thousands of years old.
Logically, Alphonse concluded that whoever the author was that engraved the name 'Eon' there must have died and crumbled to dust long ago.
However, something bothered his intuition. Someone had deliberately censored this person's work.
Carrying the book, Alphonse returned to the librarian's desk.
"Apologies for bothering you again," Alphonse said in a calm tone.
He placed the book onto the desk and opened the final section where the torn pages remained. "I noticed that the end of this book and the previous one have identical tears. It is as if someone intentionally damaged them to conceal information. Does this tower possess records regarding the missing information?"
The old librarian adjusted his thick glasses. He glanced at the torn section and shook his head slowly with an indifferent expression.
"Those books have been in that defective state since I was merely an apprentice here," he answered with a hoarse voice. "And my master, as well as my master's master before him, said the exact same thing."
"Who knows who tore them in the past, and what their motive was. Regardless, they are merely obsolete fairytales that few seek out," he continued softly.
Alphonse was unsatisfied, but he held back. He posed his final question. "Then, does the tower possess records regarding the author? Who is Eon?"
The librarian chuckled softly. A laugh that sounded dry and hollow.
"None. Not a single historical record of the Paxora Kingdom, noble family genealogy, nor the deepest archives of the Magic Tower records a person named Eon. That person's existence is proven only by the old books left behind on various shelves across this continent. He is like a ghostwriter."
Hearing that the source of information in this place had reached a dead end, Alphonse let out a faint sigh.
He glanced toward the outside window. The sky had changed color from blue to a dark reddish-orange, signaling that afternoon was fading, preparing to welcome the night. They did not have much time.
"Thank you for your time," Alphonse said politely, before turning and walking away.
While Alphonse dove into history, Vrischil had been sitting inside the assessment hall for hours.
The closed hall turned out to not be an ordinary classroom, but rather designed to resemble a medium-sized amphitheater. There were rows of wooden seats circling upwards like bleachers, where spectators, other examinees, and noble families sat waiting their turn.
Vrischil's focus was directed toward the open area in the center of the amphitheater.
That area was shrouded by a transparent magical protection dome that pulsed softly whenever struck by an impact.
That magical dome was clearly designed to absorb the impact of the examinees' attacks so that stray magic sparks would not injure the spectators in the bleachers.
Vrischil's mind dissected the ongoing assessment system.
Standing at the edge of the dome, a senior tower mage bearing an emblem of an eye surrounded by three magic circles on his chest oversaw the exam with a flat face.
After observing several sessions, Vrischil concluded that the requirements were incredibly simple. The examinees were only required to master a minimum of five different types of magic at the tier being tested.
The casting time could not exceed five seconds.
Furthermore, the examinee must continuously fire their magic at a dummy target inside the dome for a total of ten times before their mana reserves were depleted. Failing to meet even one of these conditions meant the examinee was declared failed.
In the spectator seats, just a few rows behind Vrischil, Arcus was leaning back in a highly disrespectful posture. His long legs were stretched forward, while his mouth yawned widely without bothering to cover it.
"Huuuuaaaah... this is worse than boring," Arcus complained.
For hours, he had only been treated to the sight of examinees casting basic spells like [Tier 1 - Cleanse] or at most firing a [Tier 2 - Magic Arrow] that only managed to leave a tiny scratch on the test target.
By Arcus's combat standards, those little elemental sparks were equivalent to Grade E and Grade D magic in the game. It was deeply embarrassing.
Arcus let out a long sigh, yearning for the guild battlefields of the past that were always decorated by the impact of Grade A magic or the stellar explosions of Grade S magic capable of altering the landscape in an instant.
Vrischil glanced at Arcus from beneath her hood. her eyes conveyed a warning.
"If you already knew from your fight that the denizens of this world are weak, you should have anticipated that the spectacle in this hall would be incredibly pathetic," Vrischil reprimanded with a piercing, cold tone. "Stop complaining and shut up."
Arcus groaned softly, rolling his eyes. "Even so," he grumbled stubbornly. "Isn't there anyone among them who has at least one good trick? Something that could make me laugh a little instead of putting me sound asleep?"
As if the universe answered his complaint, the doors of the amphitheater were suddenly kicked open roughly.
The exam atmosphere, which was previously dominated by tension and silence, instantly shattered into chaos by the sound of echoing footsteps.
A young man stepped inside. He had a handsome face with neatly styled brown hair.
His attire screamed wealth; he wore a magic robe made of expensive silk woven with golden threads, while his hand gripped a luxurious wooden staff adorned with a pure sapphire crystal at its tip.
The man did not come alone. He was surrounded by a group of followers and servants who marched with puffed-out chests.
Without caring for a poor examinee whose concentration was immediately broken inside the dome, one of the young man's followers stepped forward. With a loud and arrogant voice, he shouted.
"Halt this exam! Prepare the main hall and clear the dome!" the follower exclaimed, glaring cynically at the senior examining mage. "Young Master Caspian Astora has arrived! He has come to claim his Three-Circle Mage Emblem!"
That announcement successfully silenced the entire audience. The atmosphere inside the amphitheater turned tense from a mix of fear, annoyance, and awe.
In the bleachers, Arcus, who had been leaning back lazily with a sleepy face, slowly lowered his legs and sat up straight. On his lips, a faint smile began to form.
"Ah," Arcus murmured, his eyes glinting as he stared at the highly arrogant figure of Caspian Astora. "Finally. A spectacle that might actually entertain me a little."
Disregarding the rules and the other examinees, Caspian Astora walked haughtily, parting the testing area beneath the transparent dome. His shoes tapped the stone floor with a rhythm radiating pure arrogance.
An examinee—a young man in a Mage robe sweating cold trying to center his focus—felt disturbed. His concentration shattered instantly.
"Hey! What are you doing?!" the examinee snapped loudly, his face flushing red with anger. "It is my turn!"
Instead of replying, Caspian merely snorted dismissively. He raised his wooden staff. In less than two seconds, magical energy gathered at the tip of the crystal, radiating a heat that stung the air.
[Tier 3 - Fireball]
A fireball the size of a human head shot out at high speed.
The senior examiner's eyes widened. With reflexes honed by experience, he extended his hand and conjured a transparent protective shield right in front of the unfortunate examinee.
Booooomm...
A loud explosion occurred as the fireball slammed into the magical shield. The magical collision created a blinding flash of light. The examiner's shield managed to dampen most of the explosion's destructive force, but the shockwave and lingering licks of flame still managed to pierce the defense.
"Aaaahhhh..." The examinee screamed in pain. His body was thrown backward, rolling across the stone floor with scorched clothes and skin blistered by burns.
Lowering his magic staff casually, Caspian pointed at the examinee groaning in pain on the floor, then glared sharply at the senior examiner.
"Count that as my first spell, Old Man," Caspian commanded without the slightest hint of guilt. "Prepare my emblem now so I don't have to waste time waiting in this boring place."
Beneath his robes, a vein on the senior mage's forehead twitched softly. He drew a deep breath, forcing himself to swallow the anger boiling in his throat. Openly opposing a successor of the Astora family in Wealden was tantamount to suicide.
With stiff movements, the examiner signaled two guards to carry the injured examinee out of the testing hall.
Once the area was clear, the examiner turned back to Caspian, wearing a smile that looked incredibly forced.
"Young Master Astora," the examiner said, bowing his head slightly. "Your magic is truly powerful... so much so that my shield could not even fully withstand it."
That fake praise was met with a dismissive laugh from Caspian, accompanied by cheers of agreement from his servants and followers on the sidelines.
"Do not compare yourself to me," Caspian sneered, twirling his staff arrogantly. "Your potential has capped out as an ordinary Mage who can only guard testing rooms. Meanwhile I... I possess the aptitude of a high-tier Sorcerer. My path is still very long."
The examiner swallowed his pride and pointed toward the target dummy made of wood and stone at the end of the dome. "Please continue the rest of your exam, Young Master."
Caspian stepped forward. He began launching the remaining nine spells in rapid succession in an ear-splitting display of destructive power.
He cast [Tier 3 - Fireball] three times consecutively, creating a barrage of explosions that obliterated the wooden target dummy into flaming splinters of charcoal.
After the examiner paused the time briefly so the tower staff could replace the target with a stone block, Caspian attacked again. Two slashes of [Tier 3 - Wind Blade] shot out, cleaving the stone cleanly into two halves.
Followed by two strikes of [Tier 3 - Lightning] that struck down from the ceiling of the dome, leaving a sharp scent of ozone.
The ground surface suddenly shook violently before a [Tier 3 - Rock Spike] thrust sharply from underground, shattering the target from below.
As a finale, Caspian cast [Tier 3 - Frost Lance], hurling an ice spear that froze the remaining debris of the final target.
Every time a target was destroyed, Caspian's followers cheered joyously, praising the greatness of their young master.
However, from the spectator stands, Arcus and Vrischil could see what those sycophants did not. Behind that display of power, Caspian's chest heaved rapidly.
His breathing was ragged. Cold sweat began to seep from his temples and drip down his chin. That barrage of ten consecutive Tier 3 spells had nearly drained all the mana inside his body completely.
Covering his exhaustion by puffing out his chest, Caspian walked up to the examiner and held out his hand. "Give me my emblem."
The examiner smiled stiffly. He pulled out a metal badge from a velvet box and handed it over with both hands. It was the Three-Circle Mage Emblem—a badge engraved with an image of an eye surrounded by three intersecting magic circles.
"In accordance with the privileges granted by the Magic Tower, Young Master," the examiner said after handing over the emblem. "You are entitled to choose one free magic spellbook corresponding to your new rank."
Without needing to think, Caspian answered immediately, "[Tier 3 - Magic Inscription]."
Hearing that choice, the examiner's smile widened, this time accompanied by slightly more genuine respect. "A brilliant choice, Young Master. We will look forward to the birth of a new Scroll Master in the Magic Tower."
That praise instantly inflated Caspian's ego to the ceiling.
A female staff member in a tower uniform hurried in carrying the requested spellbook. Caspian took the book with one hand, while his left hand brazenly wrapped around the female worker's waist, pulling her close. Caspian laughed arrogantly, utterly enjoying the peak of his glory and dominance in that room.
However, that little celebration did not last long.
The amphitheater doors opened once more. This time, there was no sound of a rough kick. An old, neatly dressed butler walked quickly through the crowd. His footsteps were efficient and soundless, demonstrating a high level of discipline.
The butler approached Caspian, bowed his head slightly, and whispered a few words directly into his young master's ear.
Caspian's arrogant laughter vanished. His handsome face turned tense and serious. He immediately released his embrace on the female worker's waist.
Caspian turned quickly to the senior examiner. "Pass my regards to the Tower Master. I must leave immediately."
Without waiting for a reply, Caspian turned around and walked swiftly out of the room, leading his confused entourage trailing behind the old butler. The amphitheater atmosphere fell silent once again, leaving a massive question mark in the minds of everyone who witnessed the sudden departure of the Young Master.