Isekai Dungeon Architect

Riddle collapsed onto the nearest bench the moment we stepped out of the exam hall.

Not the graceful kind of collapse… no, she slumped.

Her braid half undone, shoulders sagging, hand that had held the quill twitching like it was still scribbling in phantom memory. She looked less like Westford's Guard Captain and more like a woman rethinking every life choice that led her here.

'Poor little lamb.'

I slid onto the bench beside her and patted her broad back with exaggerated pity.

"Well, congratulations, Reddy-chan. You survived corporate hazing 101."

It was her first time with a test like this, and yet she did well; she sure was a resilient one.

"Aria…" She tilted her head toward me, blue eyes flat with exhaustion. "What was that?"

She was tired after that long scrabbling session, one unlike what she was expecting when she announced the surprise test.

If anything, this was the simple consequence of trying to mess with me, hehe.

"Reddy oh Reddy…"

I caught her ink-stained hand before she could rub her already stained face and started kneading the cramp out of her fingers.

She flinched at first, defensive, professional by instinct, but then melted, head falling back against the wall with a groan that belonged in a battlefield infirmary.

"That," I answered her cheerfully, "was called efficiency. You're welcome."

She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer to the gods of patience with a glare that wanted to dissect me right there, but a simple sigh followed.

Truth was, she hadn't expected to finish early. Nobody would, even in their wildest dreams.

The written exam was a notorious three hours of pure torture. Most candidates barely made it halfway. Many quit outright after realizing they weren't built for paper-and-ink survival.

But me? Thanks to too many years designing psychometric evaluations in my old world, I blew through the fantasy version: combat scenarios, survival ethics, even the "magic-related" questions (aka complex math puzzles in my dictionary).

The poor supervisor had handed me extra parchment nine times before finally giving up and watching me like a man staring at a flood creeping toward his basement: tired, horrified, defeated.

Now Riddle looked like she'd gone ten rounds with an ogre, and me? Not even sweating.

I gave her shoulder another pat. "Come on, proxy-chan. Round two awaits."

This was just the first round, something she remembered in that exact moment as her groan rattled the stone walls.

-Step. Step. Step.

The skill assessment chamber that we reached after following another instructor was nothing like the hushed exam hall.

Gone was the ink-and-parchment anxiety. Gone was the misery of a battle against riddles and words. Here, the air reeked of sweat, blood, and raw nerves.

-Shrrrrrrrrrrr…

The wide stone hall was stripped bare, chalk squares etched across the floor. Each square hosted an instructor: scarred veterans, sharp-eyed healers, robed mages who smelled faintly of ozone.

There were seniors of different races and different ages, but all wore the same expression: "I have seen too many rookies today, and my patience is gone."

Candidates milled nervously, clutching weapons too tightly, tugging robes, whispering to themselves or their partners… Unlike the quiet exam hall, this one was full of life and visible dread.

"Careful now."

Riddle straightened, posture snapping back into calm command, even if her fingers still twitched from quill fatigue. "This part is simple," she murmured while nodding at some of the seniors. "Candidates demonstrate their class skills. Most are raw. But those who refine their class abilities into something truly unique? Those are the ones who rise through the ranks faster than the generic slop."

"Ah, class skills evolving into unique ones," I muttered, tapping my chin. "Sounds just like the Pocket Monster."

She ignored me with the elegance of someone who had decided long ago to stop dignifying my nonsense.

Taking a seat in the waiting area, we watched the ongoing practicals.

The first candidate stepped forward: an armoured swordsman with a sword that had a 'just bought' shine to it.

He swung his blade like he was trying to shovel snow for the first time. His footing was garbage. His arms wobbled from the weight of an unfamiliar sword, and the whole display was a disappointment.

The proctor sighed loud enough to echo, kicking him out after only a few swings.

I folded my arms at the display. "That guy's supposed to marry that sword, and he's holding it like a toddler wielding a mop."

Riddle's lips twitched, but she stayed silent.

I could tell she was wondering whether I even knew anything about swords and swordsmanship— but who would tell her about the countless hours I had spent on games and historical documentaries about the swordsmen?

The next in line: a healer. A young girl wearing a near white gown with a pendant that seemed to be her energy medium. Mages had wands and staff, and the healers had these mediums.

The hulking instructor nicked his own arm at her arrival, standard procedure, I guess? However, chanting her prayers, the healer girl went white at the sight of blood gushing from the fresh wound… and then fainted.

I pinched the bridge of my nose at the unbelievable sight. "Hemophobia in this profession is like hiring a sysadmin who panics at 404 errors. Wrong career, sweetheart. Wrong profession entirely."

The proctors dragged her off, no reaction on them as they had seen many like her throughout their days here.

Finally, it was the mages' turn.

'Now this was fascinating.'

Thanks to my (F)-rank Mana Affinity, weak by adventurer standards, but a godsend for me, I could see it all: The way their chants pulled glowing motes of mana into patterns.

To everyone else, incantations looked like rituals. It was the same for all those who could not sense or see Mana, the specific kind of natural energy. To me and those who had an affinity with Mana? The sight was completely different— these were codes.

Each mage had their own "dialect": precise words, wide gestures, even breathing rhythms— but under it all was the same base syntax.

One and zero. Input and output.

The mana motes were binary. The spell structures were programs. Intuition and proficiency blended into programming languages nobody documented. Fireballs were like a messy C++. Ice shards were Python one-liners. Wind blades? Java spaghetti code.

When one spell fizzled, I almost applauded. Buggy program, bad compile, runtime error. I had seen it all, I had learned it all… magic was something new to me, but it may not be as unfamiliar as I had predicted.

I leaned forward, eyes shining. "Holy crap… They're coding in undocumented spaghetti languages. This is brilliant, keke."

The mages staggered away, exhausted. The Mana needed for the spell casting was limited to everyone, something I did not have at all, but there was nothing to be discouraged about.

I simply sat back, my mind racing once again.

Oh, I had to learn this. After the trial, after I had some breathing room, magic research was going to be our top priority.