Entrance Exam (2): The 1-Second Record
The Grand Tournament Grounds I arrived at after a short walk looked like someone had ripped an entire Colosseum from my memories of my past life and plunked it down here—a massive circular dome. Tiered seating rose dizzyingly high, encircling the central arena, with a ridiculous scale that could easily hold tens of thousands. It was a blatant display of the empire's bottomless wealth.
As I headed toward the entrance, an unpleasant figure suddenly barreled into the edge of my vision. A light green uniform embroidered with flashy gold thread—the uniform of a typical noble academy hopeful. His shoulder came charging toward my right one with obvious intent. A classic shoulder-check.
Ugh, how childish. Even the street punks back home wouldn't pull that crap these days.
I subtly shifted my stride's rhythm and twisted my upper body smoothly aside. He staggered into empty air, nearly pitching forward face-first from his own momentum.
"Y-You bastard, how dare you dodge?!"
The noble kid, his pride wounded to the core, huffed and puffed like a toddler. Getting mad at me for dodging his unprovoked hassle—what peak romance-fantasy noble logic.
He charged again, elbow cocked blatantly this time. I took a light step back and hooked my foot behind his ankle.
Thud crash!
"Aaaagh! M-My nose!"
He slammed face-first into the marble floor, blood gushing from his nose as he rolled.
Gazes from noble examinees swarmed in from all sides.
Why the hell do they always start these cliché low-rent provocations? I clicked my tongue, my eyes drifting by chance to the second-floor spectator seats. There stood a boy with strikingly red hair, arms crossed.
The heir to the famed sword house, the future of imperial swordsmanship. He smirked down at his busted-nose underling, then pointed straight at me with a mocking sneer. The distance was far, but I could read his lips clearly.
Peasant scum.
Ah. So he put him up to it. The poster boy for knightly honor, skulking up there directing his extra to cheap-shot me. What stellar character.
"Y-You filthy trash, how dare you mess up my face…!"
The blood-smeared noble staggered up from the floor. Stung by the nobles' mocking stares, he lost it and rummaged in his pocket.
"I'll burn that insolent trap of yours right now!"
In his hand: a pricey short wand embedded with a fire mana stone. Red mana sparked at the tip, gathering with searing heat.
"This counts as self-defense. Since you're the first customer, I'll pretty up your knee joint with a nice hole."
My hand flipped open the leather holster and gripped the cool silver revolver's handle—just as—
"Halt right there!!"
A booming roar echoed through the entire arena. From the platform, high knights in silver armor—the academy's enforcers—and robed examiners glared daggers at the noble.
"Using personal force or magic before the practical exam even begins violates academy rules! Lower that wand now, or you're disqualified and ejected on the spot, no excuses!"
The red mana fizzled out from his fingertips at the icy warning. He bit his lip in humiliation and shoved the wand away.
"You… just wait 'til you're up against me in the exam. I'll kill you…!"
He ground his teeth and vanished into the crowd. Up on the second floor, the duke's heir scowled and clicked his tongue.
"Too bad. Would've been nice to test a mage's chant speed against my draw time in a real scrap."
I smacked my lips in disappointment as the head examiner amplified his voice with mana.
"Enough commotion. The goal of the first practical exam is simple!"
The arena floor rumbled, revealing a dozen Steel Golems in all their hulking glory.
"Five minutes! Swordplay, magic—method doesn't matter. Only those who smash the mana core in the golem's chest pass! Examinees 1 through 10, step forward now!"
At his shout, the Steel Golems stomped and roared. Boom! Boom! These weren't mere rocks. Their mana-compressed steel plating looked tough enough to shrug off a knight's slash like a joke. Overwhelmed by the sheer mass and menace, most commoner examinees trembled, faces ashen. Forget five minutes—these looked like they could end you in five seconds.
But the despair didn't last. The 'real protagonists' of this shitty romance-fantasy world took the stage to flaunt their talents.
"How dare a pathetic rock block my path."
The mage-house heir and tower master's disciple haughtily tilted his chin. He traced a magic circle in the air with his finger, and azure flames erupted beneath the golem. The solid steel melted like wax in nine seconds flat.
The imperial crown prince was even more overwhelming. He didn't even stop walking—just flicked his hand irritably. Crunch! An invisible gravity field crushed the golem mercilessly from above. The three-meter steel behemoth—and its core—flattened into scrap in five seconds.
Imperial gravity magic. A perfect demo of why they hold absolute power.
"Hup!"
The red-haired duke's heir from the stands leaped into the air. True to his lineage, his famed sword unleashed a several-meter Aura Blade of blue energy. Slash! Like a hot knife through butter, his aura-charged strike cleaved the golem in two amid a thunderous crash. Exactly ten seconds.
"Wooooaaahhh—!!"
The Colosseum-like arena shook with the nobles' ecstatic cheers. But amid that talent parade, the commoners sank deeper into despair. They'd witnessed a world of true elites, born leagues above them, untouchable.
Especially around me—the zone tied to the nose-broken noble—was Moses-level parted, a five-meter radius empty. Impeccable class-society instincts. No one wanted to stand by a commoner who'd pissed off a noble.
Sheesh, what a show they're putting on.
I scratched my chin, tutting inwardly.
They reinforced the armor unevenly on purpose, funneling you to precisely wreck the core. Just pop the one smack in the center, but nah—they melt the whole thing, squash it, bisect it, full fireworks display.
To an engineer from my past life who lived for cost-efficiency, it was pure waste.
The three original male leads just wrapped their show. The rest are commoners. When do we get a turn…
And did they hand out late numbers to us peasant trash on purpose? Getting bored watching their mana-wasting talent parade.
I yawned hugely, waiting. Finally, my number came up.
"Next. 99, Flint. It starts the moment you move."
I took position, and the hulking Steel Golem raised its fist, red eyes glowing. Boom! Boom! It lumbered toward me.
Unlike the nobles, no chants, no sword draw. I just casually, smoothly drew the silver revolver from my hip holster.
Ten seconds? Nine? Five?
I thumbed back the hammer.
Too slow.
I pulled the trigger.
BAAAAANG—!!!!
A thunderclap roared through the arena. Crimson muzzle flash bloomed, and the vicious paper cartridge screamed through the air at hundreds of meters per second.
KABOOOM—!
Before the golem could swing. Its mana-steel chest—and the core inside—exploded like a watermelon.
One second flat.
A deathly silence blanketed the arena of thousands, like someone dumped ice water on it. Noble mockery, commoner sighs—all evaporated.
Even the head examiner stared blankly at the wreckage.
"…P-Pass. 99, one-second pass."
His trembling voice shattered the quiet—
"Wh-What the hell was that?!"
"Did anyone sense mana? I didn't feel a thing! How?!"
"My god! That penetration and speed! A power that could upend swordplay and magic paradigms entirely!"
The silence broke first from the academy's senior staff and elder professors on the upper second-floor seats. Forgetting their dignity, they shot to their feet, shrieking in shock. To these lifelong aura-and-magic scholars, a mana-less commoner shredding a golem was a revelation from another world.
"A miracle! One second—the greatest record since the academy's founding! Fetch that genius examinee's file at once!"
Their blatant hype and praise stabbed like needles into the ears of the red-haired duke's heir on the same floor.
His ten-second record—the future of imperial swordsmanship—smashed in one second by a mana-less peasant scum, stealing the haughty professors' acclaim?
His arrogant, colossal noble pride shattered.
"This is cheating!!!"
The duke's heir's thunderous bellow tore through the arena. Face purple with rage, he vaulted the railing and landed with a boom in the center.
"That lowly peasant destroys a golem in one second without aura or mana? It's gotta be a cheat! Some stolen illegal explosive artifact!"
He drew his famed sword, aiming the tip at me. The blue Aura Blade flickered threateningly.
"Confess your vile trick!"
His voice dripped arrogance. I sighed deeply inside.
Man, I just wanted a quiet pass. Why keep picking fights? Is trash-talking defaults until you get slapped around here?
I slowly leveled the still-smoking silver revolver at his forehead.
And smirked.
"Wanna go a round?"