The next day, I arrived at the academy just as the first light broke over the city.
Nyx was back in his card form. Pets weren't allowed inside the exam hall, summoned or not. And while everyone else saw him as a harmless companion, I couldn't risk any trouble on the first trial.
Having ringed beasts as pets was common in this world. If I really wanted to, I could've passed him off as one and brought him into the academy grounds without raising suspicion. But the exam hall had rules.
Yesterday, I officially registered my weapon-grimoire. This meant that I couldn't use my summoning grimoire in public anymore.
There was no going back now.
As for the written test?
I had studied everything I could get my hands on. With my psychic abilities, it was almost unfair. Information stuck in my head like glue. It wasn't quite like photographic memory, but close enough.
"Let me in. I'll ace this dumb thing for you," Nyx muttered from inside his card, his voice echoing in my head.
Being a psychic-type, he could still talk despite being in the card form.
"You'd eat the paper."
"It's called performance art."
I ignored him.
By the time I reached the East Wing, the hall was already buzzing. Students shuffled into their seats like condemned prisoners.
I quickly took the seat in the far left corner of the room beside the window.
Warm sunlight casted itself on my face as I waited for the examiners to arrive.
And then I saw her. Seated in the first seat of the center row.
She had curly brown hair with round glasses resting on her nose. She looked like she had fallen asleep in a library and evolved into a higher being made of caffeine and contempt.
Books were stacked around her in a perfect half-circle. They were open and bookmarked with a precision that made me uncomfortable.
She didn't fidget or glance around like other students. Her focus was solely on the books.
But her sharp amber eyes behind the soft frames weren't dreamy.
They were surgical.
She was Serena Nightingale of the Nightingale family, the rulers of the South. She was one of the three female leads of the story and an alchemy prodigy.
Serena was on the weaker side of the main cast when it came to combat. Yet even she possessed a seven-ringed grimoire of the summoning class.
But her academic contributions throughout the story were numerous. The potions she made saved millions of lives before meeting a tragic end at the end of the third volume.
If I needed to survive in this world, I must save her.
As if sensing my presence, she turned her head towards me. Our eyes locked for a second as another one of the female leads entered the exam hall.
She had blonde braided hair cascading down her shoulders. She wore a noble gown that screamed, I came to slay... and maybe take this test if I'm bored.
She strolled in like she owned the ceiling, ignoring the stares. She was taller than I expected. Broader in the shoulders. Built like a storm with legs.
And those eyes of hers were molten gold. They were just waiting for a reason to punch the exam in the face.
She was Freya Vermillion of the Vermillion Family that ruled the western dukedom. Her tomboyish attitude was her charm. She acted as the glue that kept the main cast together. In short, she was a loyal idiot with a heart of gold.
She possessed an eight-ring grimoire of the weapon class. She was a future powerhouse who would be regarded as a war hero throughout the Pendragon Empire in the future.
It was tragic. She lost her dominant arm during a Kali invasion at the beginning of the novel, dropping her combat power significantly.
But right now, she was whole and pissed.
She slumped into the seat beside Serena with all the grace of a falling log and let out a loud sigh that shook the ink pots nearby, "If I have to write more than one page, someone's getting dropkicked."
I leaned back in my chair and smirked.
'God save the test that tries to survive her handwriting.'
Then the clock struck.
A hush rolled across the hall like someone had pulled a veil over a riot. Conversations died mid-word. Even the overconfident ones—mostly nobles—sat up straighter.
Footsteps echoed from the main entrance.
The examiners had arrived.
Five of them in total, each moving with the kind of cold authority that only lifelong academia or serial killing could grant. Their robes were ink-black, lined with silver thread that shimmered faintly with enchantment. One look told you they didn't care about your background, your name, or your bloodline.
They were here to test your mind.
The one in front—an elderly man with bone-white hair and a long, jagged scar running across his cheek—stepped forward. His left eye was covered by a lens made entirely of blue crystal.
He was Professor Igryn Vel, the Head of Magical Theory. He was ruthless, humorless, and, according to the book, undeniably fair.
He stopped at the center and scanned the hall once.
"Silence," he said.
The room obeyed instantly. Even Freya didn't grumble.
"Today's written evaluation will determine your eligibility for the second trial. You will be judged not by your memory, but by your comprehension. By your insight. And by your capacity to think like an arcane."
Another examiner—a woman with slicked-back silver hair and long gloves enchanted with mana-suppressing seals—stepped forward and raised her hand.
Sheets of paper shimmered into existence in front of every student with a dull flash.
A soft, synchronized thump echoed throughout the large auditorium as dozens of pages landed on desks.
Mine arrived a second late.
I glanced at the cover sheet. It was filled with diagrams and theoretical scenario-type questions.
Professor Igryn's voice carried on.
"You have two hours. Use them wisely. Cheating will not be punished. It will be eliminated."
He didn't elaborate on his words. Everyone understood his intent.
The examiners spread out, taking positions around the hall, hands behind their backs. Their gaze swept across the room, scanning every inch of it.
The air thickened. I could feel the tension clamping down on people's minds like invisible vines. Even Freya cracked her knuckles a little more quietly.
I glanced at Serena.
She had already flipped to the second page and begun writing.
Of course she had.
Freya groaned and opened hers like it might explode.
I flexed my fingers once and picked up my pen.
"Let's begin," I murmured.
And with that, I wrote my name.
Not the one I was born with.
But the one I chose.
Loki.