Facing the crushing pressure of a Great Grandmaster, Kaelen didn't buckle. Instead, he spat a string of insults.

  "You think I’m afraid of you, you old bastard!?"

  He had no reason to fear a Great Grandmaster. His grandfather sat at the pinnacle of that very rank.

  The old man’s face turned a bruised shade of purple, but he held his hand. He was terrified. He knew exactly who Kaelen was—the favorite grandson of the Lionheart System’s Speaker. If he touched a hair on the boy’s head, he—a mere [Great Grandmaster (Rank 1)]—wouldn't live to see the next sunrise.

  In the Great Grandmaster realm, the gap between ranks was astronomical. Each rank represented a doubling of power. Provided all other variables were equal, a Rank 2 could atomize a Rank 1 in a heartbeat. The Lionheart Speaker was a Rank 8 powerhouse. He could likely wipe out the entire Oros leadership without breaking a sweat.

  "Hmph! You’ve got guts, boy!" the old man hissed. He turned to leave, unwilling to risk a diplomatic catastrophe.

  BOOM!!!

  At that exact moment, a supreme, celestial pressure erupted from the heavens.

  "What!?"

  The elder’s face turned deathly pale. He tried to flee, but it was too late. The pressure slammed into him with the force of a collapsing star.

  SPLAT!!!

  With a sickening crack that echoed across the plaza, the Great Grandmaster was crushed like a common housefly, his body exploding into a fine crimson mist in mid-air.

  The crowd went dead silent. A Great Grandmaster—a being who ruled over dozens of habitable worlds—had been deleted in a second.

  "During the Solaris Academy recruitment period, anyone other than examinees who initiates combat shall be executed without mercy. Furthermore, all geniuses from the offending star system are hereby disqualified!"

  A cold, piercing voice thundered through the sky, vibrating in the very bones of everyone present.

  The Oros geniuses turned ashen. Disqualified? Their entire future had just been incinerated.

  Under the collective, awe-struck gaze of the crowd, an elderly man with his hands tucked behind his back stepped through the void as if walking on solid ground.

  "It’s The High Speaker! It’s really him!!"

  The atmosphere shifted instantly. The High Speaker was the most powerful individual in the Solaris Intermediate Sector, second only to the Solaris Emperor himself. He was a [Great Grandmaster (Rank 10)], a being of near-mythical status. His ability to erase a fellow Great Grandmaster with nothing but sheer presence was a testament to his terrifying strength.

  "It’s over... we’re finished. If we go back like this, the Clan will execute us all!"

  Inside the Oros warship, a Rank 9 Grandmaster stared out the viewport, his hands trembling. Their Great Grandmaster was dead, yet he didn't dare utter a single word of protest. Argue with The High Speaker? That was just a complicated way of committing suicide.

  "Take off! Get us out of here, now!" the Grandmaster barked.

  Vroom!!!

  The massive Oros vessel roared to life, ascending rapidly. A tractor beam swept the ground, pulling the hundreds of disqualified geniuses into the hold before the ship turned to flee.

  The High Speaker watched them go, his expression indifferent.

  However, Lance was watching the retreating ship, then glanced at The High Speaker. A malicious, opportunistic thought flickered in his mind.

  Intellect, hijack that Tier 5 High-grade warship, Lance commanded silently, his consciousness interfacing with his wrist communicator.

  On the ground, the remaining geniuses scoffed as they watched the Oros ship scramble away.

  "Look at them run like beaten dogs!"

  "Disqualified before the first bell. That’s got to be a record."

  Jeers and laughter rippled through the plaza.

  "Wait—what the hell is that ship doing!?" a youth suddenly shouted, pointing toward the sky.

  The laughter died instantly. High above, the Oros warship suddenly stalled. A massive secondary battery port slid open, revealing a glowing cannon barrel.

  Vroom!!!

  A world-ending surge of energy began to coalesce within the weapon’s maw. The crowd froze. Were the Oros people insane? Were they actually attempting to glass the capital?

  "Hmm?" The High Speaker’s brow furrowed.

  He knew the people on that ship weren't stupid enough to attack him. But even if there was something wrong, he couldn't afford to hesitate. If that cannon fired, he couldn't guarantee the safety of the million geniuses below.

  The ship was a Tier 5 High-grade vessel, the personal flagship of the Oros Patriarch. Its main cannon was powerful enough to threaten a Rank 0 Great Grandmaster. While he could tank the hit, the resulting shockwave would wipe out every contestant on the plaza.

  The higher-ups have been looking for an excuse to deal with the Oros Clan anyway, The High Speaker thought, his eyes turning murderous. Might as well start here in my sector.

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  He reached out his right hand and made a crushing motion toward the sky.

  BOOM!!!!!!

  A colossal wave of Psionic Telekinesis slammed into the warship, crumpling the reinforced hull like a tin can before detonating the reactor. The ship was utterly obliterated.

  With a casual sweep of his hand, The High Speaker sent the flaming wreckage hurtling into the distant wasteland, far from the city limits.

  The sheer, brutal efficiency of the move left the million youths below gasping for air.

  "Incredible..."

  The same thought echoed through every mind. This was the true power of a peak Great Grandmaster.

  The High Speaker is a Psion? Holy sht, that looked cool,* Lance thought, his eyes gleaming with genuine envy as he watched the old man’s casual display of power. Maybe I should pick up some Psionics myself.

  Destroying a fleet with a wave of a hand? That was the kind of style Lance could get behind.

  I’ve decided. I’m getting in on that. The High Speaker’s Psionic Telekinesis seems to be an S-Rank trait... I’ll need to find a high-grade Psionic Void Core to start with.

  Lance mentally added "Become a Psion" to his immediate to-do list.

  "Since I am already here," The High Speaker’s voice boomed, cutting through the silence, "I hereby announce that the Solaris Academy Entrance Exam shall begin two hours ahead of schedule!"

  "I shall be your chief proctor!!"

  High in the sky, The High Speaker stroked his beard and let out a soft, amiable chuckle. Looking at his benevolent countenance, one would find it impossible to believe that this was the same man who had just crushed a ship carrying tens of thousands of people into scrap metal with a flick of his wrist.

  "Incredible! The High Speaker himself is proctoring our exam!"

  "Exactly! This is leagues better than having any of the other officials oversee us!"

  "I heard The High Speaker hasn't personally proctored an entrance exam in over a hundred years. Our luck is insane!"

  The announcement sent waves of excitement through many of the gathered geniuses. The High Speaker’s swift, decisive actions against the Oros Clan had earned him a great deal of respect and goodwill among the crowd.

  However, those who actually knew the man’s history felt their expressions turn bitter the moment they heard the news.

  "Good luck? You lot are too naive," a youth muttered, his face pale with unease. "You don't realize that every time The High Speaker proctors an exam, it results in the highest death and failure rates in history."

  His words acted like a bucket of ice water, silencing the nearby cheers.

  "He’s right. I remember reading about the last time he oversaw the trials. Nearly half the candidates died. It was an absolute massacre!"

  "Holy sh*t, are you serious? Does that mean the weaker ones among us are as good as dead!?"

  "Not necessarily. There’s a silver lining—they say the geniuses who manage to pass an exam under The High Speaker and enter Solaris Academy are, on average, significantly more powerful than those from any other year!"

  "Hahaha! Those who are afraid can leave right now!"

  The plaza erupted into fierce debate. While many remained exhilarated, a significant number of candidates were beginning to feel the cold prickle of fear. A fifty-percent mortality rate was a terrifying prospect; for those on the lower end of the talent spectrum, that was effectively a ninety-percent chance of death.

  "Everyone, you still have a chance to back out now. Let me be clear: the difficulty of this year’s exam will far exceed anything you’ve heard about," The High Speaker said, his eyes shimmering with a playful light as he spoke. "My AI has calculated the risks. The mortality rate for this trial is projected to hit sixty percent!"

  "If you don't want to die, withdraw now. You can try again next year, or go back home and be a 'big fish' on your own planet. Serving in a local planetary defense force is also an honorable choice."

  "A prompt has appeared on your [Wrist Communicators]. Choose either 'Withdraw' or 'Continue.' The choice is yours. Remember, you only have this one chance. Once we move forward, there will be no turning back!"

  The High Speaker’s kindly, grandfatherly smile now looked profoundly predatory to the gathered youths.

  A mortality rate of sixty percent? Was this an entrance exam or a state-sponsored execution? For a standard [Professional] certification, one could argue that high standards prevented a surplus of weak warriors and the waste of resources. But this was just a school admission trial—the risks felt absurd. Every youth here was a future [Grandmaster], and a few were even potential [Great Grandmasters]. Was it worth gambling their lives so early?

  In that moment, many warriors felt their resolve wavering.

  Sixty percent death rate? Interesting. I wonder what kind of trial could be that lethal, Lance thought, his curiosity piqued. I hope it involves plenty of [Void Beasts]. I’m running low on high-tier corpses and [Void Cores].

  Without a hint of hesitation, Lance tapped 'Continue.' Beside him, Selina did the same, her expression cold and unwavering.

  A minute passed in tense silence.

  "Very good. I didn’t expect only ten percent of you to choose withdrawal. This year’s crop is quite promising!" The High Speaker beamed at the results.

  Then, his expression turned instantly arctic.

  "Everyone who hesitated for even a second—you are all disqualified!!"

  The crowd froze, utterly bewildered by the sudden decree.

  [System Alert: An analysis of your selection process shows a hesitation period of 10 seconds. You are disqualified!]

  [System Alert: An analysis of your selection process shows a hesitation period of 3 seconds. You are disqualified!]

  [System Alert: An analysis of your selection process shows a hesitation period of 0.5 seconds. You are disqualified!]

  Successive pings rang out from thousands of [Wrist Communicators] across the plaza. The criteria were absurdly strict; one candidate was disqualified for a hesitation of just 0.1 seconds. He had only paused for a heartbeat before firmly committing, but even that was deemed a failure.

  "I only hesitated for a split second! How can I be disqualified for that!?"

  "I was just thinking it over! I never intended to quit!"

  "This is unfair! I’m an S-Rank genius! You can't just kick me out like this, I won't accept it!"

  The plaza turned into a chaotic den of protest as the disqualified geniuses voiced their outrage.

  "SILENCE!!"

  A single, icy command vibrated through the air, causing hearts to skip beats and forcing every mouth shut.

  "Since you have reached this level of talent, there are certain truths you must understand," The High Speaker said, his voice slow and heavy as he looked down upon them.

  "It has been a mere hundred thousand years since our human race entered the era of technological and professional civilization. However, other civilizations within the Milky Way have existed for millions of years. Despite this staggering gap, humanity has endured. We have survived because our predecessors were fearless, building our future step-by-step with their own flesh and blood."

  "And now, facing a mere entrance exam—not even a real battlefield—you hesitate? You fear death?"

  "If you are afraid now, how will you behave when you face the horrors of the interstellar frontlines? Fear is a human emotion, yes, but [Solaris Academy] only trains the absolute pinnacle of our race—those who will bleed for the future of humanity!"

  "Now, do any of you still have something to say about your disqualification?"

  The High Speaker’s words cut like jagged knives into the hearts of everyone present. The disqualified candidates bowed their heads in shame. If they feared death during a school trial, what hope did they have for the future?

  Seeing this, a nearly imperceptible smile touched the corners of the old man’s mouth. He glanced at the statistics: a 95% disqualification rate. With a flick of his finger, he cleared the data.

  "I will give you one more chance. If you aren't afraid to die, hit 'Accept'!"

  The despairing candidates were instantly revitalized. They didn't dare wait. Every single one of them smashed the 'Accept' button immediately. While some still chickened out and withdrew, the system showed that the combined number of withdrawals and hesitations had dropped to only thirty percent.

  "Seventy percent remain, then? Passable," The High Speaker muttered. He tapped a command on his own [Wrist Communicator].

  Rumble!!!

  A thunderous roar echoed from the sky. To the shock of the millions below, a colossal vessel—a Tier 6 Low-grade warship—emerged from the clouds, its massive hull blotting out the sun as it descended toward the plaza.