NOVEL NEXT Chapter 45: Result (1)
Michael waited as what felt like an endless stream of teens were called before him, his worry growing with every passing moment. Doubt had already begun to worm its way into his heart, pushing him closer to the edge.
He'd noticed that many he thought would pass were instead sent through the right-most door. The sight only deepened the uncertainty rippling through the grand hall, where the air hung so heavy it felt as if one could slice it with a knife.
But perhaps no one felt that weight more than Michael.
"You there—what's your name?" A sharp, high-pitched voice cut through the murmur, making him flinch.
Michael glanced around, searching for the youth the examiner was addressing—only to realize there was no one else near him.
Eh!? I'm the last one left?
He'd been so lost in his spiraling thoughts that he hadn't even noticed.
"Michael Ellis, sir," he replied, voice catching in his dry throat.
"Hmm." The tall examiner flipped through the pages of a thick registry book, brows knitting together.
"Professor Stark," Charles called from behind the desk, "Michael is part of the Winterborne household."
"Oh, I see." The man turned a few more pages before stopping. "Here it is—Michael Winterborne. Why didn't you say so from the start?" He raised an eyebrow.
They registered me with their last name… Michael's brow twitched. He knew they intended to marry him into the family, but this felt far too presumptuous.
"Excuse me, Professor… could my family name be recorded correctly?" he asked, keeping his tone polite.
The man looked down at him with an impassive expression. "You'll only be properly registered if you pass the examination. Otherwise, what's the point in changing it now?"
Ah… he's got a point.
It was difficult to argue with logic that simple.
"So? Will you begin your exam, or are you waiting for a formal invitation?"
"R-right." Michael flinched again, striding toward the first orb with a nervous energy.
He placed his hand above the glass sphere and drew a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Then he made contact.
The surface was unexpectedly warm.
"Remember," the examiner prompted, "open your inner palace."
Michael obeyed, nudging aside the invisible barrier that guarded it—a task that came surprisingly easily. Through his mind's eye, he peered inward, waiting for something to happen.
A faint sensation stirred In his palm. Something foreign was seeping into him, traveling up through his meridians—an unfamiliar yet gentle flow, like colorless mana. It wound its way through his own red mana without resistance.
Unlike the oppressive, tyrannical mana he'd once felt from the violet mage, this substance carried no malice.
Even so, he couldn't shake the tension coiling in his chest.
He tracked its movement carefully as it drifted toward his inner palace and slipped inside without hesitation, strolling as if it belonged there. His gaze shifted to his soul—a pure white likeness of himself, seated in the lotus position at the center of that sacred space.
The colorless mana coiled around his soul, circling like a predator assessing its prey. Its probing touch sent a sharp throb through his skull, nearly forcing a groan past his clenched teeth.
Then, without warning, his once-still soul stirred. The pure white figure lifted its head, a radiant light surging from within. It moved one hand in a dismissive wave—like brushing away an irritating fly. The gesture alone made the entire inner palace quake.
"ARGH!"
Michael's cry rang out, raw and pained.
Beneath his hand, the orb reacted violently. A deep violet mist churned inside, spinning into a raging vortex. It expanded with alarming speed until it filled every inch of the sphere.
A deafening thundercrack split the air. In its wake, a single resplendent white ring flared into existence, orbiting the glass sphere like a moon around a dying world—a stark, impossible contrast to the darkness within.
The professor and three nearby students froze, their disbelief plain.
"A white birthright ring!? That can't be right!"
"Professor, is the orb broken?"
"ARGHHH!"
Michael's screams only grew sharper.
Professor Stark watched him for several tense seconds before stepping forward. With a flick of his hand, he forced Michael back from the pedestal.
The sudden release made Michael stumble, breath hitching as cold sweat beaded down his spine. His soul's sudden defiance had dredged up memories of that strange episode when he'd first met Charles.
Bent over, palms braced against his knees, Michael caught the ominous stillness that had settled over the grand hall.
"Michael Ellis, was it?" The professor's voice broke the silence as his footsteps echoed toward him.
"Yes, sir…" Michael's voice came out strained.
The tall man stopped in front of him, his presence towering. Though Michael was tall for his age, Professor Stark made him feel like a child caught in a giant's shadow.
The professor stroked his long chin thoughtfully, brown eyes narrowing. A faint shimmer of magic flickered in them as if they could pierce through flesh and bone to the very core of his being.
"I can sense the Arcana on you, boy," he said at last, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"What!?" Two of the students blurted in unison.
Only Charles remained unfazed.
"Professor," Charles spoke evenly, "I tutored Michael for some time at the Winterborne manor. He has indeed entered the Arcana and ascended from Ember Mage to Crimson Mage."
"Hmm? And you did not advise against it?" Professor Stark turned, one brow arching.
"I'm afraid this was three years ago—on the very day we first met."
"I see…" The professor's gaze returned to Michael, weighing him carefully. "Those who have touched the Arcana can no longer be measured by the soul density evaluation orb." His tone was calm, yet carried a certain gravity.
"It seems I'll have to conduct the test myself."
Before Michael could react, the professor's hand clamped down on his head. Long, sharp fingernails bit into his scalp, sending a jolt of pain through his skull.
Michael tried to cry out, but his body refused to obey—locked rigid in the professor's grip.