The crowd’s low, expectant murmur dies into a profound, anticipatory silence. The entire Library is watching.
Yulian, still a bit shaken but resolute, takes his place in the line of recruits. Sir Agamor steps forward, his deep, resonant voice echoing across the training ground.
“The practical demonstration will now begin,” he announces.
“Each of you will demonstrate your mastery of a Direct, a Complex, and a Mixed spell. Your performance will be judged on power, control, and tactical application.”
His wise, golden eyes scan the line of nervous faces before landing on the prodigy.
“Mr. Kendo. You have set a high bar for yourself. You will be first.”
Akira strides confidently to the center of the field. His hand rests on the hilt of his katana, Akimaru.
He moves with a fluid, arrogant grace, the very picture of a warrior born and bred for this moment.
He gives the straw dummy fifty feet away a look of pure, undisguised contempt. Its mere existence is an insult.
In the audience, Miguel leans over to Killian. A low, appreciative whistle escapes his lips.
“So this is the one they’re all talking about. Akio Kendo’s boy. He’s got the same fire in his eyes as his old man. Let’s see if he lives up to the hype.”
Ruby, sitting next to Killian, just smiles. Her pink eyes sparkle with a mixture of pride and exasperation.
“Oh, he will,” she says, her voice a confident murmur.
“He’s been waiting for a chance to show off in front of a crowd like this his entire life. He’s probably going to overdo it.”
Down on the field, Akira draws his blade. The katana is a masterpiece. Its perfectly polished steel gleams in the bright, clear light of the Sky Dimension.
He doesn’t waste a moment. He raises the tip of his blade. His focus is absolute.
He speaks his first command, his voice a sharp, commanding bark.
“AKIMARU! BLAZE!”
- Spell Tag On Grimoire: Akimaru + Blaze{火}
- Phonetic: (Akimaru + Hi)
- Japanese Base Spell Translation: “Fire”
A condensed, white-hot fireball, no larger than his fist but radiating intense, shimmering heat, erupts from the tip of his katana.
It streaks across the field, not in a straight line, but in a slight, elegant arc. It is guided by an unseen hand.
It strikes the dummy dead center in the chest. For a fraction of a second, there is only a brilliant, silent flash of white light. Then, the sound hits them—a deafening, concussive “BOOM!” that echoes off the stone walls.
The entire top half of the straw dummy is instantly incinerated. Its form dissolves into a cloud of superheated ash and smoke.
The crowd lets out a collective gasp of awe. The sheer, casual power of the display is breathtaking.
Carter watches. His expression is a mask of cool, analytical focus.
Damn. He’s good.
Fast, powerful, and not a single wasted movement.
That’s what six months of relentless training looks like on a prodigy.
Okay, Cross. That’s the bar. Let’s see if you can reach it.
Akira, however, is not finished. He shifts his stance. His movements are fluid and seamless, flowing from one spell to the next without a moment’s hesitation. He holds his katana in a two-handed grip.
The blade is held low. He speaks his next command, his voice a low, dangerous hiss.
“AKIMARU! SCREAM!”
- Spell Tag On Grimoire: Akimaru + Scream{刃を稲妻で覆う}
- Phonetic: Akimaru (Grimoire name) + Ha o inazuma de ōu (base)
- Japanese Base Spell Translation: “Coat the blade with lightning”
A crackling sheath of pure, white lightning envelops Akimaru’s blade. The air sizzles with the scent of ozone.
The light is so intense it forces some of the spectators to squint, casting sharp, dancing shadows across the training ground.
Akira doesn’t pause to admire his work.
He becomes a blur, a black-clad whirlwind of motion, as he closes the distance to the scorched, headless training dummy.
He unleashes a furious, ten-strike combination. His movements are deadly, controlled violence.
Each slash is a perfect, precise arc. It is accompanied by a deafening crackle of displaced air and a brilliant flash of white light. He is not just cutting the straw target; he is dissecting it.
His electrified blade leaves deep, sizzling gashes in its wake.
The smell of burning straw and ozone now fills the air, raw, untamed power he commands.
He finishes the combination with a final, powerful downward slash. It cleaves the smoldering remains of the dummy in two. The two halves fall to the ground. Their edges are cauterized and glow with a faint, residual energy.
“Show-off,” Ruby mutters under her breath. A fond, exasperated smile is on her face.
Killian just grunts. His expression is unreadable.
“His form is clean. Too clean. He leaves no openings, but he also takes no risks.”
Down on the field, Akira is not finished. He takes a deep, centering breath. His entire demeanor shifts.
The arrogant, showy prodigy is gone, replaced by a warrior of pure, cold focus. He raises his katana high above his head.
The blade points towards the endless blue of the sky.
He speaks his final, most powerful command, his voice a raw, elemental roar that seems to shake the very foundations of the floating city.
“AKIMARU! HEAVENLY PILLAR!”
- Spell Tag On Grimoire: Akimaru + Heavenly Pillar{火と稲妻の渦巻く柱 + それは地球そのものを焦がす}
- Phonetic: Akimaru (Grimoire name) + Hi to inazuma no uzumaku hashira (base) + sore wa chikyū sonomono o kogasu (effect)
- Japanese Base Spell Translation: “A swirling pillar of fire and lightning”
- Japanese Effect Spell Translation: “that scorches the very earth
The sky above the training ground darkens. A swirling vortex of angry, gray clouds gathers directly over the remains of the training dummy.
The air crackles with immense, terrifying power.
A colossal pillar of swirling fire and white-hot lightning, easily ten feet in diameter, descends from the vortex.
It does not just strike the target; it annihilates it. The ground erupts in a shower of molten stone and superheated steam.
A deafening, rolling thunderclap shakes the entire platform, forcing the spectators to brace themselves.
The light is blinding. The heat is a physical, oppressive wave. The sheer, untamed power of the display is awe-inspiring.
When the light finally fades, all that remains is a twenty-foot-wide crater of blackened, glassy rock where the dummy once stood.
But Akira isn’t finished. Before the smoke has even cleared, he lunges forward. His katana is held in a perfect thrusting stance.
He speaks his final command, his voice a sharp, clean report in the sudden, ringing silence.
“AKIMARU! PIERCING WIND!”
- Spell Tag On Grimoire: Akimaru + Piercing Wind{風の弾丸}
- Phonetic: Akimaru (Grimoire name) + Kaze no dangan (base)
- Japanese Base Spell Translation: “Bullet of wind”
A piercing, invisible shot of compressed wind, so fast it is visible only as a faint distortion in the air, erupts from the tip of his blade.
It strikes the center of the molten crater. The superheated rock explodes outward in a shower of razor-sharp shrapnel.
The demonstration is over.
In the audience, Wulan lets out a sharp, appreciative laugh.
“Hah! The boy has power! His form was perfect. He will be a fine addition to the Combat Branch. I will take him for my own team.”
Gendric just chuckeles. His expression says “unimpressed.”
“His form is too perfect,” he rumbles, his voice a low counterpoint to Wulan’s enthusiasm.
“He fights like he’s in a painting. It’s clean, but it’s predictable. He’s performing for a crowd, not fighting for his life.”
“Well he isn’t in a battle just yet, that’s the point of this test. To show what you’ve got.” Killian replies.
“We should reserve judgement until the final test.”
“I agree.” says Miguel.
Damien, ever the analyst, makes a final note on his datapad. “The spell construction is flawless. His energy expenditure is incredibly efficient, even for a Mixed Spell of that magnitude.”
“From a technical standpoint, he is already operating at the level of a seasoned field agent.”
Freya’s red eyes narrow. A cold, calculating light is in their depths.
“He’s powerful, arrogant, and aggressive,” she says, her voice a low, precise murmur.
“A valuable asset, but a volatile one. He’ll need a firm hand.”
Gabriel, who has watched the entire display with a serene, almost paternal smile, finally speaks.
“His control is undeniable,” he says, his voice a calm, steady anchor in the sea of expert opinions.
“He wields his power with the confidence of a master. A rare sight in one so young.”
The recruits watch, stunned, as Akira sheathes his sword with a sharp, definitive click.
The air is still thick with the smell of ozone and burnt earth.
The molten crater in the center of the field is a testament to the devastating power he just unleashed. He stands there for a moment. His chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm.
His expression is a mask of pure, arrogant satisfaction. He has not just passed the test; he has set a bar so impossibly high that none of the others can hope to reach it.
Carter looks at the destruction, then at Akira. He feels no jealousy, no intimidation.
Only a quiet, analytical respect.
That’s the benchmark, he thinks, his mind already dissecting Akira’s performance.
Raw power, perfect control, and flawless execution. He didn’t just cast spells; he wove them together into a single, seamless attack.
That’s the level I need to reach.
Akira turns from the smoldering crater and walks back towards the line of recruits.
He doesn’t look at any of them, his gaze fixed on a point in the distance.
But as he passes Carter, their eyes meet for a fraction of a second. There is no warmth in Akira’s gaze, no camaraderie.
Only a cold, hard, and undeniable challenge.
Sir Agamor steps forward. His expression is one of quiet, scholarly approval.
“A… vigorous demonstration, Mr. Kendo. Your mastery of your affinity is undeniable. Take your place.”
Akira gives a curt, almost imperceptible nod. He takes his spot in the line, his arms crossed, his face a mask of bored indifference once more. The show is over.
A heavy, anxious silence falls over the remaining recruits.
They have just witnessed the pinnacle of what a young mage can achieve.
Now, they must follow it. The weight of that expectation is a palpable, crushing thing.
Agamor’s deep, resonant voice cuts through the tension. His gaze moves to the next recruit in line.
“Mr. Reyes,” he says, his voice a calm, steady anchor in the sea of their anxiety.
“You are next.”