Arcane Heir: History's Strongest Mage

Michael watched as the three students were slowly lifted into the air, their limbs flailing helplessly. No matter how they screamed or struggled, they couldn't resist the pull of the headmaster's magic.

Chaos rippled through the crowd. Confusion spread like wildfire. No one understood what was happening.

"It seems your families take our humble Academy too lightly," Bartholomew said, his voice calm and composed.

Yet despite the tranquil tone, Michael could feel mana swirling through the air like a violent maelstrom. It pressed against his body, pinning him in place. He had the terrifying sense that if he so much as moved an inch, he would be pulverized on the spot.

It was impossible to reconcile the horror he felt with the headmaster's cordial demeanor. But one thing became abundantly clear—this man was powerful. Far beyond what Michael could comprehend.

"Since this is meant to be a joyous occasion, I will spare your lives today," Bartholomew continued, still void of emotion. With a simple wave of his hand, the space around the three students shimmered—and then they vanished.

Gone.

Michael had been watching the entire time, but he couldn't even begin to grasp the principles behind the spatial manipulation the headmaster had just used. The theory… the control… it all eluded him.

The suffocating pressure in the air began to dissipate. As the oppressive mana faded, everyone seemed to draw in their first full breath.

But the tension remained. No one felt reassured. If anything, the fear had only deepened.

"Now," Bartholomew said, his warm smile returning, "shall we begin the exam?"

Silence.

No one dared to speak.

Taking their silence as consent, the headmaster clapped his hands. Once again, the world shifted.

The disorienting sensation hit Michael hard. He instinctively reached out, grabbing Melody's arm to keep from losing her in the disturbance.

Then, everything stilled.

They were back in the same grand hall as before—at least, it looked the same.

"Was that… a pocket dimension?" Melody muttered. Her normally composed face was frozen in shock.

Michael flinched. A pocket dimension?

He'd sensed something strange earlier, but he hadn't been able to pinpoint it. If the previous grand hall wasn't real—but a constructed replica housed in a dimensional space—that would explain the subtle distortions he'd noticed.

Still, the thought of replicating such a complex and ornate space down to the finest detail was mind-boggling. It required magical mastery on a scale he'd never even imagined.

The headmaster didn't clarify. He simply addressed them again, his voice loud and clear.

"When your name is called, you'll step forward and be assessed before your peers. Afterward, you'll be directed to one of these two doors."

He gestured to a pair of identical doors situated along the wall behind him, spaced just a few feet apart. The symmetry was eerie.

But the implication was clear.

One door was a pass.

The other, a failure.

Footsteps echoed across the marble floor, drawing the students' attention.

The tall man who had accompanied the headmaster earlier approached. Flanking him were three students clad in the official Arcadia Academy uniform.

The two boys wore long black mage robes over crisp white shirts and dark plaid trousers. The lone female student was dressed in a white blouse and matching plaid skirt beneath her robe, her hair neatly tied back.

Michael's eyes lit up as he recognized one of the figures. The tousled brown hair, hazel eyes, and—most distinct of all—the elegant cane were a dead giveaway.

What's Charles doing here? Is he one of the examinees?

That didn't make sense. Charles should've graduated from Arcadia already.

Still, despite knowing he wouldn't receive any special treatment from Charles, just seeing a familiar face lifted Michael's spirits considerably.

The four new arrivals took their place behind the headmaster, facing the gathered crowd of teens.

Bartholomew cleared his throat and addressed them. "We'll begin by assessing your bone age, followed by your soul density. Once your name is called, step forward and perform the test."

What test?

The moment the question crossed his mind, the headmaster raised his hand. A desk materialized out of thin air before the students, positioned in front of the tall man from earlier. A moment later, two more items appeared beside it, eliciting startled gasps.

Twin glass orbs sat atop matching pedestals—nearly identical in appearance.

"Well then, I'll leave you all to it," Bartholomew said with a warm smile. "Best of luck, my little seedlings. I'll be awaiting your results."

With that, he turned and walked through the left-hand door at the side of the grand hall.

A ripple of energy passed through the students. Their eyes brightened, many realizing what the headmaster had just revealed.

He's just revealed which door is a pass…

"When I call your name, step up to the table," the tall man instructed. His voice, surprisingly high-pitched for his stature, carried an air of unshakable authority.

"Braydon Marbury."

Michael's ears twitched. Marbury… That was the family name of the pompous noble they'd encountered earlier—the one who'd tried to scold Melody. There was a good chance this boy was one of her suitors. Someone he'd need to keep a close eye on.

As the name echoed through the hall, a boy stepped forward. To Michael's surprise, he bore almost no resemblance to his father. Where the elder Marbury had a bloated gut and greasy aura, this boy moved with quiet confidence.

He calmly approached the table, stopping in front of the tall man. The instructor extended his hand and placed it gently atop Braydon's head.

After a moment of silence, he spoke. "Thirteen years and nine months."

"Proceed to the first orb," he continued. "Place your hand on it. Remove the barrier to your inner palace. Do not resist—it'll only hurt more if you do."

Open our inner palace? Isn't that dangerous?

Through his lessons with Charles and the old man, Michael had learned just how critical the soul was. It wasn't just a symbol of one's potential—it was the very foundation of a mage's ability to channel and refine mana.

Which was exactly why opening the inner palace and exposing the soul was considered one of the riskiest acts a mage could undertake.

He stole a glance at Charles, who now stood behind the desk with the others. The older teen showed no signs of concern. In fact, his relaxed expression suggested this was simply a routine procedure.

Michael exhaled quietly, his tension easing.

Braydon stepped toward the first orb with unwavering confidence, closed his eyes, and placed his hand on its surface.

The room fell silent.

All eyes locked onto the orb.