The formerly dark and stifling tunnel was now a lot brighter and airier, being open from end to end. I returned the way I’d come, back to the chamber with the professor dressed as a monk. The man was gone, his job done, and I climbed the dark steps back up to the arcane department, and backtracked through the hallways towards the lobby and the front entrance.

  On the way, I ran into another illusory guide pixie, followed by a very confused female student, and stopped, surprised to recognize Emily Troyard.

  “Oh, Hope.” The girl stopped to blink at me. “What are you doing out here?”

  “On my way home.”

  “Huh? Now? What about the exam? You’re not giving up, are you?”

  “No. I'm finished for the day.”

  “Already? I saw you leave barely half an hour ago.” Emily looked dazed for a bit, but soon melted into a broad smile, sighing loudly in relief. “Ah, thank goodness. So it’s nothing too hard then? Geez. The others were saying it takes six hours! I was breaking into cold sweat imagining the devilish things they'd have in store for us! Maybe I still have hope—I mean, a chance!”

  Was I going to hear a lot of bad puns?

  I glanced at the pixie floating a few steps off. Such apparitions could probably be used to spy on the examinees too. I didn’t want to get us disqualified by tattling too much about the test. Instead, I held out the paper bag in my grip.

  “Want candy?”

  “Huh? Candy?”

  “Yes. You can have one.”

  Emily stared at me blankly for another beat with her button eyes, but was soon sunshine again and happily accepted the offer.

  “Wow, thanks a lot! I’m starving, actually!” The girl took out a goldroot candy from the bag, tossed it in her mouth, and rolled it around on her tongue for a bit with a look of utter joy. “Mmm, it’s so good~!”

  To each their own.

  “You know, you’re a lot nicer than you look!” she added.

  What was that supposed to mean?

  “No, sorry! I didn’t mean it like that!” she hurried to correct, seeing my expression. “You look real good! Just, how should I say? ‘Merciless?’ You've got such a stone-cold look in your eyes. No, uh, not that it's a bad thing, necessarily! Guess it's a sign of inner composure, or just, uh…”

  “It might be better to stop talking now.”

  “Right. Thanks again for the candy.”

  “You're welcome,” I said and rolled the mouth of the bag shut. “But...going hungry might not be such a bad idea, just for today.”

  “Hm? What do you mean?”

  “Just saying. Good luck with the exam.”

  I went on. I’d done what I could. We’d meet again, if destiny so allowed.

  But I didn’t reach too many steps down the hallway before Emily’s voice called after me.

  “Hey, Hope.”

  I paused and glanced back. “What?”

  The girl stood awkwardly, gaze wandering, in the light of the windows at the end of the hallway.

  “I just wanted to say sorry, if I saw you again. About the other day. You know, when I kinda lost it and took it out on you. You were an orphan and had your circumstances, but all I could see was my own problems…That was pretty crappy of me. So, sorry.”

  “There’s no reason to apologize. I wasn’t bothered. Just think about the exam now and forget about other things.”

  “Right. Thanks. Guess I'll see you at school then!”

  Emily continued on, waving, widely grinning.

  My feet were leaden. It took conscious effort to get them moving again, and the beat of my heart rang hollow. Maybe I overexerted myself in the corridor?

  Seeing each other again—that might not be so bad.

  * * *

  Friday. The fourth and final day of the entrance exam marathon. Last but not least. One more time, I would enjoy an early morning drive across the waking country to Grimons with our hard-working maid.

  “Well done getting this far, Ms Hope,” Charlotte told me in the car. “The last day only involves one part. The applicants will be interviewed individually by a board of examiners.”

  “An interview?” I repeated and frowned. That sounded like a pain. “What do they want to hear?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Your motivation for applying, I would reckon. Why do you wish to learn magic, what do you expect from the school, and what do you have to offer them in exchange for investing in you. The sorts of things that will help determine if you're the kind of material they seek. Making a good impression on this part will take you far. Conversely, even if you did well on the previous days, upsetting the staff could still get you shut out today. They wouldn’t want obvious troublemakers in an elite institute.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “Damn. How can I convince them I want to be there, when I can’t even convince myself?”

  “Why don’t you apply some of those mentality tricks you talked about the other day?” the maid proposed with an impudent smile. “You've done a good job playing an adorable niece to Lady Asseylum, haven't you? Just keep up the same way and you'll have them charmed for sure.”

  Really, where did she get her endless optimism?

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Our starting point was the entrance hall of the main building, from which they would summon us one by one. Or, so the instructions said. But I’d barely left the garage and marched down the path across the grass fields towards the front yard, when I met a strange figure. A tall swordsman stood by the path, in the shadow of a wide oak, leaning his back on the trunk.

  A man maybe thirty years old or a little over, of average height and average weight, dressed in a dark coat with the academy badge on the chest above the heart. A masculine jawline unshaven, heavy-lidded eyes with the keen stare of a veteran combatant. As I came closer, he detached from the tree and came forward to stop me.

  “Ms Ruthford,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “Follow me, please.”

  I didn’t move. In what universe would a young lady obediently reply, “Yes, sir!’ when ordered like so by an unknown, scruffy-looking man with a broadsword sheathed at the hip? Was I in trouble? He had to explain a little more, starting with a proper introduction. And, in case he refused, I'd be asking a different way.

  “Oi, could you rein in the bloodthirst a little?” the swordsman asked, frowning, and raised his hands. “I'm a staff member, alright. Robin Howard is the name. The headmaster will conduct your interview in person, and asked me to bring you to him.”

  I was surprised to hear that.

  “The headmaster himself? Why?”

  Why make such an exception for an individual student? What was he thinking? Stunts like this drew the wrong kind of attention. At least he didn't do it in front of the other applicants. Otherwise, half the kingdom would’ve known my name by tomorrow.

  “Beats me,” Instructor Howard replied. Sword course teachers were titled instructors, not professors, apparently. “Didn't occur to me to ask the Archmage his reasons.”

  “Just doing your job, then? An ex-soldier?”

  “You didn't think I could be a knight, maybe?”

  “You're missing the noble dignity of knights. I was going to guess mercenary first, by your lack of manners, but wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

  The man cringed at me and scratched his head.

  “Geez, you're one mean-spirited lass. Yes, all right, I was a mercenary. So what? You have a bone to pick with mercs? I do know which end of a sword to grab onto, at least. I was at it for a decently long while. Manners or no manners.”

  I had a lot against mercs. Such as them being loyal to money first and their work distant second. There was an incident in Sutre two years back, where a contested fort was lost because the mercenary company assigned to support the RA there didn't like the numbers and deserted. When the imperials noticed the reduced defenders, they attacked immediately, of course. Several mages I knew and liked perished in a completely trivial fight that shouldn’t have happened.

  Sure, it would've been unfair to say all sellswords were greedy, gutless losers only because of fringe cases like that, but my take on their kind was still “guilty until proven otherwise.” Not that I could say so to Instructor Howard’s face. He might have cried.

  “It's nothing. Lead the way.”

  I followed the man back to the main building, where we climbed a grand staircase up to the fourth floor. At the south end of a long, lonely hallway awaited a grand office no deacon had to be ashamed of.

  The door of the office had no lock or a handle. Howard raised his palm to touch the door and an elaborate glyph on it was lit to an azure glow. The instructor didn't cast any spells; the mechanism was set to recognize his spirit. More secure than keys or passwords. The Headmaster seemed picky with his guests.

  The door pulled out of the way on its own, and we entered a tall, wide room with peculiar, night-blue walls decorated with starry patterns. As could be expected of the office of a Headmaster, there were a lot of books too. Heavy shelves loaded full of esoteric tomes and parchments up to the ceiling. But really, who cares about the room?

  In the back, behind his big desk, was the man himself. There he was now, in the flesh, every bit a match to his fame. An embodiment of mysteries. One of the Seven great heroes of the Kingdom of Calidea; Headmaster of Belmesion; Stormtamer; Windrider; Spiritwalker; Archmage Gerald Konoron. The only mortal man in history to have reached Tier 8 purely by personal ability. The world knew him as the most powerful human wizard, surpassed maybe only by the best of the elves, mighty T’rana, or the demon Prince of fiery Fulmosis in the far north.

  Oh, how I wished I could’ve tested my mettle against those great names, no holds barred.

  Maybe I could surpass Archmage Konoron purely in destructive potential, but his magic was so much more than smashing things. He had mastery over every element and had laid the groundwork for many ingenious magic systems that improved the quality of life far and wide. A sworn man of peace, he had dedicated his long life to building new, improving old, and inspiring future generations. It wasn't right to even mention his name in the same sentence with a mere blunt instrument like me.

  Yes, I was a fan.

  It seemed an unwritten rule that a male wizard had to have a beard, and Konoron sure had cultivated twice the beard of a standard conjurer, long and curled and dark gray. He was also kind of round on the belly, which could be excused. Directing the school and all the paperwork had to keep him busy, he didn't have the time to run around burning calories. He was dressed in a soft-looking blue-gray robe with a cyan silk scarf over his shoulders, and a funny, gray cylinder cap on his head. His wise eyes were a grayish sort of green.

  Instructor Howard stopped in front of the headmaster’s desk and saluted.

  “Sir, I've brought Ruthford.”

  “Very good, Robin,” said the Archmage in a smooth, deep voice. “You may go now.”

  The instructor glanced back at me, visibly reluctant to leave us alone. He'd avoided bringing it up, but did he maybe know who I was?

  “Chop, chop,” I encouraged him to make a move.

  I'd fantasized about my meeting with the greatest magician since I was little, and didn't want any third wheels to spoil the occasion.

  Howard scowled at me, but finally went away without grating arguments. And then it was just us two.