Three figures stood before the crowd: a middle-aged wizard flanked by two young apprentices. The middle-aged man sported a prominent aquiline nose, his entire body swathed in a black hooded cloak that exuded an air of mystery from head to toe. This was Horn Cam, the wizard tasked with overseeing their assessment.
To the eye, Horn seemed no older than forty, but rumors claimed he was over two hundred years old. Such was the way of wizards—their lifespans far outstripped ordinary humans, making appearances a poor measure of age. Some wizards who looked barely out of their teens were older than the grandmothers of the common folk.
At the center of the square, a stone table and matching chairs had been set up. Horn strode over, took a seat, and spoke in a cold, crisp tone, his gaze sharp and detached as he surveyed the crowd before him. "Begin."
His frosty demeanor put the apprentices on edge, but they quickly formed a line. The first to step forward was a blond 少年 with a meticulously arranged cloak, his movements carrying an unspoken elegance. He bowed to Horn in a noble's gesture and began his introduction: "It is an honor to meet you, respected Wizard Horn. I am Jon of the Manchester family—"
Horn cut him off abruptly, his patience wearing thin. "Spare the pleasantries."
The blond 少年's expression flickered for a moment, but he immediately fell silent. From his sleeve, he drew an object: a brass-colored metal sphere the size of an egg, its smooth surface etched with a circle of runes. He placed it on the table, then took a short-handled wand from his belt and tapped the sphere twice.
Click-clack. Click-clack.
The sphere seemed to stir to life, emitting the whir of turning gears. The runes flared to light, and the sphere began to transform: eight small holes opened on its sides, from which thin, leg-like appendages extended. The front half split apart, forming a smaller sphere that morphed into a body and head, while the rear half stretched outward into a rounded abdomen. In the blink of an eye, a palm-sized metal spider rested on the stone table.
"An alchemical construct! He made an alchemical construct!"
"No way—already capable of crafting his own alchemy item?"
"That's incredible..."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Even Carter Bill turned his gaze toward Jon, though his reaction was more envy than awe. He recognized the material used to make the construct: runed copper, an expensive resource. Crafting such a small item would cost at least two to three hundred magic stones.
Carter thought to himself: My entire budget for modifying the fire salamander was only eighty magic stones—and that was every coin I'd saved over two years here.
"Truly, nobility has its privileges..." Jon was one of the few aristocratic apprentices in their cohort. Like Carter, he hailed from the Kingdom of Putan, but their social status kept them from crossing paths. In the wizarding world, nobles and commoners were theoretically equal—but old habits died hard, and their differing worldviews would take time to align.
Jon revelled in the amazed whispers around him, a proud smile tugging at his lips. He lifted his wand and waved it through the air; the spider on the table scurried about at his command.
"Enough," Horn said, his tone unchanged, his face still impassive. He pulled out a notebook and scribbled down a score with a quill. "Score: 76. Assessment passed."
Alchemy was a discipline that relied heavily on materials—their quality often determined the strength of the final product. While Jon's construct looked intricate, it owed much to the runed copper. Judging by his actual grasp of alchemy, Jon had barely mastered Basic Alchemy at Level 1—making the 76 a fair score.
"Tsk... Thank you, Wizard," Jon muttered, clearly dissatisfied with the grade. He clicked his tongue and stepped aside.
The assessments continued.
"Score: 53. Failed."
"Score: 68. Passed."
"Score: 36. Failed."
Two years was barely enough for apprentices new to the wizarding world to find their footing. Most scored between 30 and 50; even those who passed rarely exceeded 70. Only one apprentice scored above 80.
He was a young man with green hair, also specializing in creature modification—though his focus differed from Carter's. While Carter dedicated himself to modifying other creatures, this apprentice had turned his skills on his own body. On the back of his right hand, a gash had been cut, and within it, a petrification eye had been implanted.
Petrification eyes were parasitic by nature, making them relatively easy to transplant—but they were still classified as Early Apprentice-tier. Successfully integrating one required Basic Modification at nearly Level 2.
"Impressive," Horn said, a rare flicker of approval in his eyes as he looked up. "You've fully integrated the petrification eye. Your Basic Modification must be close to Level 2, yes?"
The apprentice nodded confidently. "Just a little more practice. I'll break through by the end of the month."
"Level 2 by the end of the month? How is that possible?"
"Did he get some kind of lucky break? I haven't even reached Level 1 yet..."
The crowd erupted into chatter. Two years earlier, when the apprentices had first arrived at the tower, each had been taught a basic wizardry discipline—and this assessment tested their mastery of that very subject. With most still stuck at Level 1, the idea of someone approaching Level 2 was nothing short of astonishing.
"Next," Horn called, gesturing for the line to move forward.
After a few more apprentices, it was finally Carter Bill's turn. Learning from the others, he skipped the formalities and placed a cage on the table, yanking off the black cloth that covered it.
By now, the assessment was drawing to a close, and Horn had grown restless, checking his pocket watch repeatedly. When Carter removed the cloth, Horn glanced casually at the cage and reached for his notebook, ready to scribble a hasty score.
"Arcane cultivation... Hmm?"
Mid-sentence, he froze. As if remembering something, he let out a small exclamation and looked back at the creature in the cage—this time, his gaze sharp and focused. "Open the cage," he ordered.
The other apprentices, noticing Horn's sudden shift, craned their necks to see what had caught his attention.
"What's in there?"
"Is it something special? Why else would Wizard Horn react like that?"
Curiosity hung thick in the air. Under everyone's gaze, the small creature in the cage inched forward, clearly nervous in the unfamiliar surroundings. It huddled low, its scales pressed tightly against its body, and scanned the crowd with its eyes—before fixing its gaze on Carter beside it.
Chirp!
Like a fledgling seeking its mother's protection, it let out a sharp cry. It reared up, kicked off the table with its hind legs, spread the large, silk-like wings on its back, and soared toward Carter.
In that instant, everyone got a clear view of it: wings as smooth as satin, glinting faintly in the sunlight; scales the color of burning flame; a slender, flexible tail tipped with a sharp point, like a finely honed sword.
A single word escaped the apprentices' lips, spoken in hushed awe:
"Dragon."