The Lower-Class Mana Verification Test

The Mana Verification Test was divided into five distinct events.

Knight Faculty: Bridge Crossing.

Magic Faculty: Scarecrow Destruction.

Administration Faculty: Petition Settlement.

Production Faculty: Structural Object Analysis.

Adventure Faculty: Pass Certificate Recovery.

Lower-class students were permitted to attempt two of these events, and qualifying in even a single one granted an overall pass on the Mana Verification Test. Of course, Professor Van Snake—who firmly believed that failing as many first-year students as possible was the greatest mercy he could offer them—had rigged the trials so that not a single one could be cleared with ease.

"Knight Faculty aspirants, assemble over here!"

The teaching assistants divided the applicants by faculty and guided them toward their respective testing grounds. The arena Mob selected was the Knight Faculty exam site.

"Whoa... that thing is massive."

"Are you telling me we have to cross a bridge blocked by a rock like that?"

"Can't we just swim across instead?"

The lower-class students desperately tried to calculate shortcuts. Blocking the bridge stood a colossal boulder larger than a house. It was not the kind of stone one could ever budge with raw brawn or shatter with ordinary steel. Furthermore, it loomed so high that anyone attempting to clamber over it and bungling the landing risked shattering their limbs or cracking their skull against the ground in instant death. Unless an examinee could unleash superhuman combat prowess through mana or possessed a body forged to the absolute limits, passing the trial was virtually impossible.

"Go get 'em, Mob! You can do it!"

"Wait, is that guy the one? The lower-class kid Orknodi's been looking after?"

"I looked into him separately, and he turned out to be quite the diligent student."

"Hmm? He looks puny as a field mouse, though. A boy shouldn't be that frail."

"Couldn't it be because he learned a Mana Cultivation Technique?"

"That student lacks the background to ever study a specialized cultivation method. He likely grasped mana respiration by instinct and carried out muscle compression entirely on his own."

On the opposite side of the bridge stood the spectator stands. Sitting in one corner was Orknodi, who had come to cheer Mob on, accompanied by her entourage.

"What's the deal? Is she Mob's girlfriend?"

"Dude, she's the class valedictorian."

"She's pretty cute, honestly. Rumors painted her as a literal devil descended upon earth, but maybe they were completely made up."

As his classmates jabbed him in the ribs and teased him relentlessly, Mob's face flushed bright red.

"Cut it out, will you?! There's nothing going on between me and Orknodi! I'm just someone on the receiving end of her one-sided benevolence!"

The students, who had been teasing Mob simply to bleed off their own nervous jitters, snapped their mouths shut the moment the first challenger stepped up before the bridge.

"Hyeaaaah!"

With an ear-splitting battle cry, the challenger swung a massive war hammer. A loud metallic ringing cracked through the air as the hammer bounced harmlessly off the stone.

"Oof. That's gotta hurt."

When striking a light object with a weapon, the kinetic energy transfers completely into the target, yielding virtually no recoil. When striking an immovable, impenetrable mass like a fortified wall or bedrock, however, the entire kinetic force rebounds straight into the striker. The fingertips go numb, and the weapon vibrates fiercely down the shaft. The shock coursing through the student who had struck the gigantic boulder was no different.

"Hyeaaaaah!!"

Clang! Clang!

With every repeated shockwave of recoil, blood welled from the boy's torn palms, his expression twisting in sheer agony. It was a charge as reckless as Don Quixote tilting at windmills.

"What a shame."

Right as Orknodi murmured, the boulder suddenly shuddered with a dull rumble.

It was only a slight tremor, but both the onlookers in the stands and the examinees awaiting their turns gripped their sweaty palms and shouted encouragement.

"Just a little more!"

"You can do it!"

"You're almost there! Don't give up!"

Contrary to their desperate cheers, the hammer-wielding student had expended the last dregs of his stamina on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that previous strike. Having poured far too much strain into his forearms, biceps, triceps, and deltoids, his strength completely gave out, forcing him to forfeit.

"Next!"

The instructor overseeing the scoring concluded the evaluation without a shred of sympathy and called the next student forward. Having apparently learned from the predecessor's failure, the new challenger stripped off his shirt, clearly intending to bypass the bridge altogether and cross via the river below.

"Ah, poor bastard."

"Wait, isn't that... isn't this the exact same river we went to with Professor Plato?"

"Indeed it is. Look over there, the changing stalls are still set up."

The Upper Class students offered their silent condolences in advance. Because a new bridge had been erected in mere days and a gigantic boulder hauled onto it, they had failed to recognize the terrain immediately. But this was unmistakably the very river whose currents twisted and raged entirely at will. Sure enough, in the hands of one of the teaching assistants was that exact same "Magical Washbasin" Professor Plato had once wielded. To make matters worse, perhaps wanting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to stir up violent rapids without exhausting their bare arms, the assistant held a large culinary whisk in one hand, promising an even more grotesque disaster.

"They're fully determined to cook those poor kids alive."

The trial proceeded precisely as Isabelle had dryly predicted. The student plunged boldly into the water; the teaching assistant whipped the washbasin frantically with the whisk; a sudden whirlpool swallowed the student whole; and the boy choked down gallons of water, screaming bloody murder for help. A waiting assistant finally cast a giant water bubble to scoop the examinee out onto dry land.

Poke, poke. Gak, retch.

Watching the boy vomit water every time someone prodded his belly—looking for all the world like a beached fish flopping on the dirt—Orknodi smacked her lips appreciatively.

Isabelle felt a cold sweat run down her neck. If someone sees her right now, won't they mistakenly assume she's looking at a human being as a snack?

Isabelle swiftly lifted her cloak to shield Orknodi from view, but she was a second too late. Several examinees who had accidentally locked eyes with Orknodi from a distance quickly averted their gazes, feigning ignorance. They tried desperately to maintain neutral expressions, but unable to quell the violent trembling in their hands and legs, they gripped their own forearms or locked their knees tightly together—a desperate effort at composure that Isabelle caught in full clarity.

"At this rate, there'll be far more failures than passes. Wouldn't it be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠completely normal for Mob to fail too?"

"Indeed! That boulder's weight is way higher than usual, after all!"

"..."

Honestly, Isabelle thought that even if people were terrified of Orknodi, she brought it on herself. The casual way she slipped in that phrase: than usual. How on earth did she know confidential details that not a single other person was privy to? Isabelle shot a questioning sideways glance at Giselle, who merely shook his head with a bitter, resigned smile. The sheer intelligence-gathering prowess of the Yhmhai Foundation backing Orknodi—unearthing secrets even active black-market brokers couldn't fathom—now inspired terror rather than suspicion.

"Ah, it's finally Mob's turn!"

With applicants failing one after another, many had begun postponing their turns out of sheer dread. But when Mob's name was called, he stepped forward without a hint of hesitation.

"Do your best, Mob!"

"Orknodi, I appreciate the support, but it's super embarrassing, so please stop yelling...!"

"You think I'm embarrassing?!"

Orknodi froze, visibly wounded by Mob's rejection. Isabelle gently stroked the back of her hand, offering comfort.

"All boys going through puberty act like that. When they're around girls, they get shy and self-conscious, so they act gruff on purpose."

"I-I already knew that!"

"I really wish you didn't have to know such things at your age..."

Mob's chosen weapon was a heavily weighted spear—a customized pike prepared specifically for this examination.

"Haaat!"

With a fierce roar, Mob thrust the spear forward. A thunderous, unnatural boom detonated against the stone, jolting the crowd out of the lethargy brought on by endless failed attempts. The spectators blinked in astonishment, their eyes instantly glued to the boy. Everyone present felt it in their bones: this one was different.

Through several days of rigorous weight training, Mob had naturally acclimated to channeling the true output of elevated physical stats. Even someone endowed with a Strength stat of 20 did not operate at 100% of that power around the clock. In ordinary daily life, a person moved using barely 10% of their total potential. During routine training, they averaged around 30%. In a life-or-death battle, they might wring out 50%, and with conscious, concentrated focus, push it to 70% in a crucial instant. But unleashing a full 100% was virtually impossible unless one stood at the brink of death.

Heheh. All that grinding really paid off.

I had worried he might slack off while sleeping or going about his day, unfastening the training weights whenever he slipped out of my sight. Turns out my concerns were completely unfounded. While Mob's strike was not a full 100% maximum, it was damn close to 90%. Because his body had grown accustomed to exerting immense force just to function under crushing weights, power flowed naturally into every movement.

"Hraaat!"

In the rapid-fire thrusts that followed, the thunderous collision between spear and stone never diminished in volume. He drew out precisely the required power at the exact necessary moment, while the recoil surging back into his frame was easily absorbed by the elevated Health stat he had earned through completing food compendium entries.

"Hyaaat!"

The focused, unerring blows caused the massive boulder to lurch. The residual momentum that hadn't fully dissipated from the first heave was amplified by the second and third impacts, causing the stone to tilt further and further. Seeing the boulder teeter on the absolute verge of toppling, I recognized the golden window.

"Release the arm weights!"

Mob instantly unbuckled the weights ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fastened to his elbows, shoulders, and wrists. In that brief second, the boulder's violent swaying subsided somewhat, but Mob's right arm was suddenly lighter than it had ever been in his entire life.

"Tahaaaat!"

With a thunderous war cry, his thrust drove beneath the house-sized stone and lifted it clean off the deck. The flat base of the boulder tipped up, and with massive, concussive thuds, it rolled straight across the bridge and crashed onto the far bank.

We did it!

The exhilarating rush of altering a powerless soul's tragic destiny with my own two hands washed over me like a tidal wave.

Right as I was hopping up and down with a joy that eclipsed even the day I passed the academy entrance exams, another prompt shattered the mood.

While the testing instructor and the teaching assistants smiled warmly at Mob's astonishing growth, a palpable wave of hostility seeped from the floating crystal orb suspended high above the open-air arena. It was the watchful eye many professors had deployed to gauge the lower-class students' capabilities. From that medium—synchronized remotely with their very senses—the rancor they harbored bled through without reserve.

Man, newbie rescue events sure have the nasty side effect of tanking your Imperial faction favorability!

Since this was a brand-new event, I hadn't foreseen the backlash. If I ever do an Imperial faction run, I'll definitely have to skip this questline. Catching myself thinking as if I were going to play through this game all over again, I felt a bashful pang. To think I was already pondering my next playthrough when this game had literally become my reality. Could you call this a professional gamer hazard?

It didn't take long to realize that such idle musings were premature.

"You really passed."

"All thanks to finding a great mentor."

The student whose turn came immediately after Mob stepped forward. He stared quietly down at the training weights Mob had cast aside onto the dirt.

A cloud of dust had billowed with a heavy thud when they fell. The weight was so staggering that the lower-class students standing behind him had gasped in vicarious horror. Yet Mob had carried several of those iron slabs on his body and cleared the trial with ease. The student gazed at the weights that had forged Mob's strength, and then turned his gaze toward me—the one who had orchestrated that very growth.

Locking eyes directly with me in the spectator stands, the curly-haired boy's eyes flared with freezing fury.

A cascade of system alerts flooded my vision, warning me that something deeply unnatural was brewing around that student. But my veteran gamer instincts whispered something far more dire.

The catastrophic incident of Week Four.

The massacre of the lower class.

The ground zero of that unfolding tragedy might very well be that boy standing right there.