Chapter 515: Challenge End

An arrow of pure mana streaked from the fog.

It wasn’t aimed at only him. Just behind the arrow aimed at Michael was another one.

Michael’s instincts howled. Even with [Iron Skin] active, his body tensed in a way he couldn’t ignore.

This arrow was far more lethal than ordinary projectile. His gut screamed that to take it head-on would be fatal.

Rage sparked in his chest too.

Fisherman.

Someone had waited, biding their time in the mist, letting him do the hard work before striking.

But it seemed the heavens still favored him.

Michael twisted, body snapping to the side with [Ghostwind Steps]. The arrow grazed his shoulder as he barely dodged.

The mage was not so lucky.

Though he tried to replicate Michael’s movement in his own way, the arrow tore into his right side as his arm was consumed, the limb vanishing into glowing particles.

Michael didn’t lose sight of what mattered.

There was a reason he fought so hard this time.

One—he was still twenty-five points short of a hundred. At any moment, the trial could end, and if he failed to reach the mark, then his next involvement with the college exams would be tomorrow. True, this round wouldn’t cripple him even if he performed badly—the Federation had made it clear there was no elimination. But this didn’t mean he should go with a lazy mentality. Just do what you can do and leave the rest to fate.

And two—the mage.

A mage of this caliber had surely accumulated a certain amount of points if he wasn’t unlucky. Even if the system only granted him a portion of the spoils, Michael suspected it would be more than enough to push him to the finish.

That was why he couldn’t allow someone hidden in the mist to steal this victory. To rob him of his kill

and

to aim for his life? That was unforgivable.

His gaze snapped back to the wounded mage. The man’s left arm was gone, particles still scattering from the wound, his face twisted with agony and hate. Michael’s spear leveled forward, steady and merciless.

The fire mage’s face twisted. His eyes, red with fury, bored into Michael.

"You... damn barbaric fiend," he spat, his voice strained yet rich with an almost aristocratic cadence. Each curse rolled off his tongue like daggers wrapped in silk, laced with venom but polished with noble diction.

The words, sharp and clipped, carried a tone unfamiliar to Michael’s ear. Not in language, but in rhythm. A subtle accent. A certain flourish that hinted at a background different from his own.

Yet Michael had no way to place it.

In this trial, there was no confirmation of who hailed from where. The Federation had thrown them all into the same cauldron.

Some carried rare features or spoke with strange inflections, but no one wasted time on introductions when points were the only currency.

The mage’s body trembled as he struggled to steady himself.

What sort of brute was this?

A necromancer, by all definitions, should have been a summoner lurking behind walls of bones and corpses, letting minions do their work.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t natural.

Was this truly a necromancer? Or something else entirely?

His bitterness stung worse than his wounds. It was one thing to see a mage dabble in melee—it happened. Some leaned on blades when their mana was gone. But this man wasn’t dabbling.

He was

thriving.

His casting was rough, yes—delayed, imprecise compared to a true mage—but it was still enough to pressure him.

A hybrid. One who could play both sides well enough that even a specialized mage found himself cornered.

And that thought made the fire mage’s stomach churn with hatred.

Michael’s eyes narrowed as the noble’s curses dripped into the fog like venom, his words incomprehensible in meaning but clear in intent.

Michael didn’t pause.

The mage’s noble venom meant nothing compared to what Michael saw—the opening.

He surged forward, spear thrust low, the mist parting in his wake. The mage tried to lift his remaining arm, but Michael was already there.

The spear punched through his abdomen, cutting short the spell.

The mage’s breath hitched, his eyes wide, disbelief and fury tangled together.

His body broke apart into shimmering fragments, scattering into the fog as his points transferred.

Michael’s panel chimed.

+37 Points.

He didn’t even have time to check the tally before another sharp

twang

cut the air.

Another arrow.

And another.

Two more bolts of pure mana ripped through the fog, their glow like lightning tearing open the sky.

Michael’s body moved before thought.

[Ghostwind Steps] tore across his legs, his figure blurring as he shifted sideways. The first arrow whipped past, grazing his ribs, sizzling against the bone plates of [Bone Armour].

The second he knocked wide with a brutal swipe of his spear, the shock rattling his arm to the elbow.

He didn’t hesitate.

Michael charged at a certain location.

And then—

The world ripped.

The fog peeled away in a single sweep, replaced by the blinding pallor of an endless white space.

Everything stilled.

Michael’s spear hovered in mid-swing, his chest heaving, his blood hot with rage and momentum that had nowhere to go.

Then a soft chime echoed.

[Challenge Complete.]

[Active Participants: 100.]

Michael froze.

The fisherman. He had been one breath away.

Michael suspected this might be the same person that first attacked him in the challenge space when he just arrived.

And yet, the trial had ended.

His panel flickered to life in the blank space.

[Final Points: 112]

Michael’s lips curled faintly. It was not quite a smile, not quite bitterness, but something taut and sharp between the two.

He had made it. Just barely.

****

A/N: Thanks for reading and for your support! I realize the link may not have been clear: the second exam round ties back to something present since the very start—the public’s ignorance of the supernatural. The Federation saw this ignorance as a barrier to civilisation’s growth, so the exam became a way to spread awareness on a large scale.

Its unfair design is deliberate—it’s meant to cut numbers quickly. The real test for awakeners comes the next day. Since awakeners are naturally stronger than cultivators their age, the Federation only needs a small group to present to the public and push forward their plans.