Arthur stayed frozen on his knees as the last traces of light faded from the summoning circle. His heart hammered in his chest, not from fear—at least, that's what he told himself—but raw expectation.
'Holy shit. I really got isekai'd. This is it. I'm about to get that overpowered hero treatment. Magic sword? Milf queen? Maybe a goddess with back problems? Let's go.'
He didn't dare smile, but his blood was buzzing.
Robes swished. Boots clicked. The crowd around the sigils parted, and three figures stepped forward with the gravity of people used to being worshipped or avoided.
The first was an older mage, robed in deep violet trimmed with intricate gold runes that still faintly glowed with mana. His white hair fell past his shoulders, and his beard was sharp and neatly pointed.
Archmage Eldran. He looked like he'd kill you if your breathing pattern wasn't symmetrical enough.
Beside him came a priest, his ceremonial linen robes pristine—white and gold, marked with sun motifs along the hems. His head was shaved at the sides, the rest of his pale hair tied back. He held a polished staff topped with a radiant sigil shaped like a rising sun.
High Priest Garron. He had the exact face of someone who thought forgiveness was a resource better saved than spent.
The third man moved with the relaxed dominance of someone used to violence being the final word. He wore a dark blue officer's coat over a breastplate polished enough to blind a man at noon. A longsword hung at his hip, and a scar traced across his jaw from ear to chin.
Captain Rodrick. His posture said about his dominance and his scars said everything about his experience.
Arthur looked between them like a gamer identifying NPC classes. Wizard, cleric, fighter. 'Holy mother of tropes, I'm actually in a gacha banner.'
Before he could say anything, a voice called from behind the trio.
"Make way for Their Majesties."
The chamber shifted as people bowed, lowered heads, or stepped aside with silent reverence.
Two figures entered from the raised steps overlooking the ritual floor.
The King walked first—tall, broad-shouldered, his long dark hair streaked with gray near the temples.
King Aldric Valenfort. The kind of man who probably signed death in breakfast and conquered kingdoms by the dinner.
Beside him moved the Queen—regal, composed, and elegant in a deep plum gown embroidered with silver. Her hair was a cascade of luxurious dark brown curls, and a small silver coronet sat upon her head. Unlike the king, her expression held poise rather than judgment.
Queen Seraphina. Graceful, intelligent, and watching Arthur with a curious look.
Arthur's pulse sped, but he kept his head lowered. He'd watched enough fantasy to know that mouthing off now was a speedrun to public beheading.
'Okay. No jokes. No sarcasm. No "MILF achieved." Just be normal. For once in your life.'
Archmage Eldran lifted a hand, signaling the assistants to begin. His voice held authority like a blade hidden in silk.
"Stabilize the residual mana flow. Initiate primary assessment."
Ritual attendants moved in, placing crystalline rods around Arthur and redrawing temporary glyphs. Their chanting buzzed like electricity. A faint ring of light shimmered around his body, scanning him head to toe.
Arthur kept still.
'This is it. They're gonna scan me and see I'm secretly busted as hell. Maybe I've got hidden cheat magic or some perverted system.'
A nobleman in a dark velvet coat squinted at Arthur's clothes. "What strange garments."
A sapphire-fanned lady whispered to another, "There is no crest, no sigil, no silk marking."
A scribe scratched notes with a quill. "His dialect… foreign, but comprehensible. His dressing is like never seen before."
Arthur suppressed the urge to wave.
Priest Garron's brow creased in distaste as he examined him. "No sacred markings. His aura is… faint. Lacking divine trace."
Archmage Eldran drew a circle in the air with his fingers. A spiral thread of mana manifested, drifting toward Arthur like glowing mist—and then dissipating as though it had struck a void.
An assistant frowned at his rune-slate.
"My lord… initial mana sense shows no detectable pool."
Eldran didn't twitch. "Recalibrate the reading."
They adjusted the crystals and reactivated the scan. A second light wave circled Arthur—slower, more thorough. A third pass followed, then a fourth.
A junior mage's expression twitched into disbelief.
"Archmage… there is no mana flow to record. Not even a minimal core trace. He has no ambient absorption rate."
Conversations stirred in low murmurs.
Even the king finally spoke, voice like cold iron. "A summoning of this scale cost coffers, catalysts, and prayers. And it yields no result?"
Priest Garron's lip curled. "A shell claiming flesh. If he bears no spark, he is not chosen by the gods, but spat out by chance."
Captain Rodrick looked Arthur over like he was an unsharpened knife. "Even commoners have minimal cores. If he has none, he cannot wield sword or spell."
Arthur kept his expression neutral. Inside, he winced. 'Wait, wait, no mana at all? Not even tutorial-level magic? Where's my cheat system, my secret skill tree, my—damn it, I should've wished for a starting bonus!'
The queen finally spoke, her tone calm but edged with thought. "Does the summoning circle ever err so completely?"
Eldran hesitated—for the first time. "Rarely, Your Majesty. But it is not without precedent. A resonance could have been misaligned."
Garron scoffed. "Or the fates mock us with refuse."
Arthur's eye twitched. 'Call me trash again, and I will figure out necromancy just to haunt your bald-ass dreams.'
The king turned his gaze to Arthur directly for the first time.
"You. Do you come with any combat knowledge? Training? Arcana? Divine pacts?"
Arthur straightened his posture, speaking with measured respect. "In my homeland, I lived as a common laborer. I possess no formal training… but I can learn quickly."
Rodrick's arms folded. "A soldier without spark is a corpse waiting to be taxed."
Garron added with a faint sneer, "And a summon without blessing is a mistake begging correction."
Arthur glanced between them and the queen, forcing himself not to speak out of turn. Okay. Don't freak out. Stay calm. Someone reasonable has to exist in this room. Preferably one with breasts.
The king lifted a hand, and silence followed.
"We will proceed with a deeper assessment to ensure no false reading obscures a hidden trait."
Eldran nodded curtly and gestured. "Advance the spirit-seek and archetype threading."
Assistants adjusted the formation. New runes lit up under Arthur's feet. Lines of light spiraled up his body once more.
Arthur held his breath.
'Come on… give me anything. Demon king fragment. Milf summoner class. Titty-based enchantment. I'll take dark affinity, foot massage magic, whatever.'
The light pulsed—
And dimmed.
A second check. Nothing.
A third. No change.
A senior mage exhaled. "By ev
ery measurement… he contains no mana core, no archetype signature, no spiritual weave. He is, by arcane criteria… non-attuned."
*****
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