Chapter 4: Appraisal of Gifts
July 15, Year 543 – New Calendar
The day of the Gift Appraisal had arrived.
In this world, every child was tested around the age of three or four. The test revealed your Gift—your fate. Gifts were ranked from F to SSS, and that rank determined everything: your job, your status, your future.
Especially for commoners like us.
Most people received F or E-rank abilities. Rarely did someone reach B-rank. Nobles were typically born with B or higher.
As a precaution, I had concealed all of my blessings and six of my seven gifts using Conceive. The only one I revealed was Detection—a respectable B-rank gift. Impressive for a commoner, but not suspicious enough to draw unwanted attention.
I'd already seen all of my gifts through Appraisal, an A-rank gift in itself. But no one knew that.
I was the first to ever cheat the appraisal system.
Because unlike the others…
I knew how to lie to the gods.
⸻
We walked to the center of Laelyn, our rural town. The Appraisal Hall stood at its heart. Families lined up with their children, their faces a mix of pride and dread.
I stood with my parents—my mother silent, my father rigid beside her. Around me, children whispered. I caught one voice in particular:
"Look—it's Kendrick Pallate!"
Sure enough, at the front of the line stood a boy with golden hair, dressed in a pristine white jacket trimmed with gold. Kendrick Pallate, son of Duke Gerald Pallate—the only noble child in our town. He looked just as arrogant as I expected.
I felt a light tap on my shoulder. Then another.
Turning, mildly annoyed, I found a girl with crimson-red hair and defiant, steady eyes.
"You're awfully quiet," she said, arms crossed. "Are you scared?"
"No," I replied flatly.
"Then why do you look like you're about to stab the air?"
I didn't answer.
"I'm Dawn," she said. "Dawn Isolde. You?"
"…Zaeden."
"Nice name—like something out of a blade-and-sorcery tale."
Her smile was too bright, too practiced—like someone trying to hide something fractured inside.
"You need something?" I asked.
She shook her head. Her voice dropped. "Just figured you looked lonely."
She pointed to the crystal podium. "Hope you get a good Gift—but not too good. Or they'll take you."
My eyes narrowed. "You know about the Requisition Law?"
Her face darkened. "My brother had healing hands. A-rank. He was taken last year."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
"I'm sorry," I said softly.
She gave a small nod. "It's okay. You didn't know."
Then she smiled again. "Art thou thinkin' 'bout me."
I stared at the wall. "No."
"Are you sure?" she tilted her head, playful.
I met her gaze, cold. "Do you really think that?"
Her smile faded. She flinched.
"N-no… it was just a joke."
"Then stop joking."
She went quiet.
Maybe that was a little harsh. But I couldn't afford softness today.
⸻
The Appraiser—a man robed in black and gold—stepped forward.
"Today is the day where you will find out the gift you were born with. This will determine your future."
"We will begin. First, Kendrick Pallate, son of Duke Gerald Pallate."
Kendrick strode up, one hand resting on the crest stitched into his shirt. The Appraiser placed a hand on his head, and the crystal flared with radiant blue light.
"…Incredible," the Appraiser murmured. Then raised his voice for all to hear:
"Kendrick Pallate has received the S-Rank Gift: Speed Swordsmanship—enhancing agility, sword technique, and precision beyond natural limits!"
The hall erupted.
"Truly a noble's talent!"
"Amazing!"
Kendrick smirked. "Naturally. Only one of noble blood could bear a gift of such elegance. Power chooses its vessel wisely. It's the bloodline, you see—it refines talent, elevates it. Others may stumble into power, but only we are born deserving of it."
Arrogant brat.
Still… Speed Swordsmanship was no joke. He'd be a dangerous opponent one day.
⸻
More children stepped forward. Most received weak gifts:
• F-Rank Taster (immune to bad food)
• Clean Eye (sees dirt)
• Tree Cutter (enhanced axe swings)
A few hit D or C-rank, like Plant Grower, which sped up vegetation growth. Then came Barry Day, who received C-Rank Iron Skin—a gift that hardened the skin instinctively when under attack.
Then Dawn's name was called.
She turned to me before walking forward.
"Wish me luck, Zaeden."
I didn't say anything.
Because she didn't need luck.
She needed mercy.
⸻
The Appraiser placed his hand gently on her head. The crystal flared—a deep, vibrant gold, brighter than it had for anyone else.
He stepped back, stunned.
"Dawn Isolde has received an A-Rank Gift: Flame Infusion—when channeled through the body, it enhances physical abilities with explosive bursts of fire. Exceptionally rare."
The room froze.
No applause. No awe.
Only silence.
Then came the whispers.
"A-Rank?"
"That's a noble's gift!"
"From a commoner?"
But Dawn didn't smile.
Her expression faltered the moment armored men entered the hall—Royal Guards, clad in black and silver.
"No…" she whispered.
Two moved toward her parents, who stood frozen in dread. Their eyes were hollow. Not from shock—from memory.
They'd seen this before.
The Appraiser continued, voice cold and clinical:
"Under the Crown's Law of Talent Requisition, Article IX, Subsection A: all children born with A-Rank or higher abilities must be transferred into Royal Service—for the protection and advancement of the kingdom."
The guards seized her.
"No! Let go of me!" Dawn screamed, her voice raw.
Her mother lunged forward. A guard shoved her back.
"Please—not another child!"
"She belongs to the kingdom now," one of the guards said. "You'll be compensated."
He tossed a pouch.
Five silver pieces.
Five silver…
For a daughter worth entire armies.
Dawn's mother collapsed. Her sobs weren't loud. Just… broken.
"This isn't right! This is unfair and cruel!" her father shouted, as guards restrained him.
Then Dawn turned to me—eyes wide, pleading.
"Zaeden!"
Her voice shattered.
"Please—don't let them take me!"
I opened my mouth.
I wanted to scream.
To run.
To tear through them all.
But I didn't.
I stood still as stone.
Yet inside, I was fracturing.
Even though we'd just met… she was the first person in this world I truly considered a friend.
And I was just watching her disappear.
⸻
This was the cost of power in this world:
You don't own your talent.
The Crown does.
Dawn kept thrashing, screaming. Her voice echoed through the chamber.
And I did nothing.
Then, just for a moment, her eyes met mine again.
They weren't pleading anymore.
They were disappointed.
Not in the guards. Not in the nobles.
In all of us.
⸻
As she was dragged away, something ignited inside me.
My fists clenched. My jaw tightened.
Helplessness.
Anger.
Shame.
I hated it.
I need to grow stronger.
I need knowledge. Power. Control.
For my kingdom. For those I care about.
But emotion wouldn't save her.
Not her.
Not me.
Not the next.
So I did what I had always done best.
I analyzed.
I endured.
I adapted.
This world had revealed its truth:
Power isn't yours. It's owned. Auctioned. Controlled.
And intelligence—alone—is just potential.
If I want to change anything, I'll need more than brilliance.
I'll need leverage.
Influence.
Command.
A kingdom not just built on strength—
—but designed to outmaneuver the corrupt.
So the next time they come for someone I care about…
They won't find a child.
They'll find a king.