The Wardens rose from the ashes of a war-ravaged land, forged in the aftermath of Shinhana's defeat. The Great War had left the kingdom fractured, the once-divided nations were now one kingdom divided up among the Nobility of the former nations, their ambitions and distrust toward one another still simmered like a slow-burning flame. The war had shown the value of strength in unity, but once the fighting ceased, the question remained: how would the realm ensure its protection from future threats?
The Nobles, having bled amongst one another, were reluctant to disband their private armies. Despite the alliances forged in the crucible of war, the peace felt fragile, and old rivalries still lurked beneath the surface. No one trusted the others, and so the kingdom's stability was left in jeopardy. The solution had to be something greater than individual powers, a force that would be above the fray of politics yet loyal to those in power.
It was then that a handful of heroes from the Great War, their names spoken with reverence across Bellacia, proposed the idea: an order, a new faction that would answer to the Nobles, the church, and the people themselves. A brotherhood of warriors trained not only for battle but for the complexities of maintaining peace, capable of responding to a multitude of threats—foreign and domestic, mortal and mystical. These heroes, veterans who had seen the horrors of war and understood the fragile nature of peace, knew that the future would demand more than just soldiers; it needed champions, protectors—Wardens.
In time, the Wardens became a reality, a force built to protect the realm from anything that threatened its fragile balance. However, as the years passed, the Wardens splintered into divisions, each tailored to a specific need. They were no longer a unified whole but a web of specialized forces, each operating under the same banner but following different calls. Yet, no matter how fragmented they had become, the Wardens carried with them the legacy of their founders: to serve the kingdom, its people, and protect it from whatever threat may arise.
The Colosseum, bathed in the eerie glow of thaumaturgic braziers, stretched wide under the moonlit sky. Night had fallen, but the arena was far from dark. The braziers along the walls flickered with azure flames, casting long shadows that danced across the sand-filled floor. Several more hung from massive chains, swaying above the arena like giant lanterns, their embers suspended in mid-air, swirling in unnatural currents.
Siegfried was ushered along with the other applicants, not towards the upper stands, but instead funneled into the heart of the arena, where the sand beneath his boots was soft and disturbed from past trials. The imposing figures of the Wardens stood both in the stands and along the arena.They were a menacing presence—some clad in traditional armor, others in more modern attire, a mix of weaponry and regalia.
His gaze fell on two nobles among them—now wardens. One of them, a former diplomat turned soldier, stood with the same regal poise he had once used at state dinners. The other, an older man, his face marred by a myriad of scars, no longer a spoiled heir but a man hardened by the world. He had heard the circumstances of their involvement with the wardens. One a halfblood and the other disavowed of his name. They were no longer symbols of their families' power, but pawns in the larger game—idle-gossip among the gentry for years to come.
Siegfried felt a bitter smile tug at his lips. He, too, would become part of their whispered tales soon enough. A nobleman, a son of wealth and power, choosing to become one of the wardens. It would be a juicy scandal, another story to feed the aristocracy's insatiable hunger for drama. But unlike the others, he wasn't running from something or being forced to be here—he was chasing it.
A hush fell over the competitors as a figure stepped forward onto a raised dais at the far end of the arena. The man's armor gleamed under the thaumaturgic braziers, his presence commanding even before he spoke. When he did, his voice carried through the Colosseum, magically amplified to reach every corner.
"The selection process begins now." His tone was clipped, military-like, leaving no room for uncertainty. "You stand here because you seek to become Wardens, but wanting is not enough. You will prove yourselves. Or you will fail."
A murmur rippled through the group. Some swallowed hard, others adjusted their grips on weapons or clenched their fists. Siegfried remained still, his gaze locked on the speaker.
"The first test is simple. We must see your ability. Step forward, display your artes—martial or caster, it matters not. Show us why you are worthy."
One by one, they moved to the center of the arena in compact groups, some summoning bursts of flame or gusts of wind, others executing swift, controlled flourishes with their chosen weapon. A few stumbled—an aura flickering out too soon, a strike lacking conviction. Some couldn't use an arte at all. Siegfried stepped forward when his turn came, drawing his blade in a smooth motion. No wasted movement. He inhaled, focusing, then surged forward in a single, brutal motion—his strike carrying the sheer force of his spira, sending a pulse of energy cracking through the air. He moved through each sword form—stances that were second nature to him.
A moment of silence. Then the Warden on the dais gave a nod. The same simple nod he gave everyone else, regardless of how well they performed.
Siegfried sheathed his sword and fell back into line, agitation creeping into his steps. No recognition. No reaction. He had expected more.
The next test followed with little delay. A handful of senior Wardens stepped forward, carrying scrolls and tokens inscribed with runes. "Knowledge," the lead examiner said. "A Warden must understand strategy, history, the nature of what we face. You will each be given a task—solve it, or earn wisdom in your failure."
Siegfried received a small, lacquered tile etched with symbols. Recognition flared in his mind; an old military cipher. The answer was obvious. Too obvious. He turned the tile over, noting a fainter inscription on the back—another piece of the puzzle. He spoke the correct response, and the Warden testing him gave an approving nod.
Those who struggled were instead tested with riddles, assessing their ability to think under pressure, or given questions on subjects ranging from monster anatomy to history and geography. Siegfried held no doubts that he could have answered them all with no hesitation.
The third test was combat. A group of conjurers moved into position at the arena's edges, summoning creatures into existence—some monstrous, others smaller but swifter. Each one tailored specifically for the combatant. Siegfried's creature appeared before him —a sinewy beast with razor-like talons, as large as an ox. He waited for his target to pounce, a quick sidestep, his blade flashing as he severed its throat in one clean motion. His gaze wandered to the struggles of the other challengers—one barely dodged a set of snapping jaws, another lost their weapon entirely and had to scramble back to safety. A handful couldn't handle the test, forcing the conjurers to call their beast off.
Siegfried watched, disgust creeping in. These fools thought they were Warden material?
But the fourth test—the group challenge—was where his expertise failed him.
They were assembled into groups of four, each formation dictated by their domains. Siegfried, a Forcer—an elite duelist—was placed alongside a Fluxer, an Evoker, and an Abjurer.
He glanced at his makeshift party. The Fluxer, an archer, could bend their shots with unnatural precision. The Evoker wielded offensive magic, though how adept or powerful remained to be seen. The Abjurer was their defense, capable of conjuring barriers. A well-balanced group on paper. But the true nature of the test remained unknown.
The announcer stepped forward once more, his voice booming across the Colosseum. "The final test begins now." His tone was sharp, authoritative. "A Warden is rarely alone in battle. You will be tested not as individuals, but as a unit. Coordination, adaptability, resolve—these will determine your worth."
He let the words settle before continuing. "Each team will face a First Class Warden in combat. Your task is simple—stand your ground, work together, and prove you can fight as one."
Murmurs spread through the crowd. Siegfried didn't spare his potential teammates a glance. His focus was on the arena floor, where a lone figure approached—their opponent. A warden in light armor, carrying a shortsword.
Siegfried's group was chosen to go first. The air in the grand arena grew heavy with anticipation as the four of them took their positions, facing the lone Warden, who stood relaxed, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. The moment the match began, he was in motion.
With a flick of his wrist, three metal discs flew toward them. They whirred through the air, glinting under the thaumaturgic lights. The Abjurer managed to throw up a barrier; the impact sent cracks across the invisible shield.
The Fluxer loosed an arrow, its trajectory subtly shifting mid-air to track the Warden's movement. A barrier flared into existence an instant before impact, the arrow deflecting harmlessly—the Warden could conjure barriers, too. The Evoker finished his incantation in muttered whispers, and the ground rumbled as jagged stalagmites erupted where the Warden had been. An effective attack if the Warden had stayed still. The arte's activation was too sluggish, and the Warden avoided the magical assault with ease.
Siegfried lunged forward, his longsword a blur as he aimed his strike towards an opening in the Warden's movements. The Warden twisted, catching Siegfried's wrist and redirecting his momentum, sending him staggering. As Siegfried tried to regain his footing, the Warden hacked at his leg while flicking another disc toward the Abjurer. The Abjurer was forced to shield himself—unable to support the team amid the relentless assault. Meanwhile, Siegfried's leg took the brunt of the Warden's strike. The shortsword didn't break through his armor, but the force sent a shockwave of pain through his leg.
The Warden weaved between them, never staying still long enough for the Evoker to finish a spell, quick barriers flashing to life when the Fluxer's arrows grew near. The Abjurer was constantly on the defensive under the fussilade of thrown discs. Siegfried gritted his teeth. Every opening in the Warden's defense was deflected or sidestepped at the last moment with a punishing counter.
Siegfried surged forward again, boat-stepping through the space between them—an advanced technique that allowed the user to seemingly teleport the distance of a typical rowboat. In the span of a second, he closed the gap, his sword sweeping down in a wide arc. The Warden pivoted smoothly, raising an arm to the side of the blade, parrying the strike with nothing but a reinforced vambrace. The longsword slammed into the ground, spraying sand into the air. The Warden's knee found his gut, throwing him in a roll across the sand.
The brief combat between the two gave the Evoker time to cast an arte on the distracted foe. As he raised his arms finishing the incantation, the Warden responded with his own raised arm- The Arte disappeared as the Warden's counter-incantation crashed into it. He had perfectly disabled the arte by counteracting it with his own, matching the spira used exactly.
With Siegfried still recovering the Warden changed tactics.
The Fluxer's eyes widened as the Warden rushed toward him. He backpedaled, loosing another arrow, which bounced harmlessly against another barrier. A quick strike sent the bow flying from his grasp and a kick left him sprawled out in the sand. A quick charge put an end to the Evoker's chanting as a strike to the stomach silenced him for good, leaving him unconscious.
The Abjurer was unable to shield his teammates, the constant stream of discs thrown in his direction made it an impossible task. It wasn't long before he too was defeated.
Only Siegfried remained standing.
The Warden turned back to him, returning to his relaxed stance, unfazed. Siegfried gritted his teeth, hands tightening around his sword. His teammates lay scattered, defeated. And yet—he was still here, still standing. He didn't need them.
The world blurring as he boat-stepped straight for the Warden's blind spot. He would land this hit. He had to.
And yet—
A shift. A blur of movement. Siegfried's blade met nothing but air.
A sharp impact struck his wrist, forcing his grip to loosen. Another strike followed sending him to one knee. A weight pressed against his shoulder, Siegfried looked to find the warden standing over him, blade poised at his throat.
"Dead," the Warden said simply.
Silence hung over the arena before the Warden finally stepped back, sheathing his weapon. "The test is over."
Siegfried stood still, his shoulders heaving with each breath, fists clenched tightly at his sides. Why was I given such useless teammates? The question burned in his mind, bitter and resentful. Why force them to face an opponent so far beyond their abilities?
His gaze sliced through the group of his limping teammates as they stumbled away. Weaklings. He pushed the thought aside and turned toward the main group, his leg throbbing with a sharp, pulsing pain. But he refused to let it show, walking back stoically.
Siegfried watched as the subsequent groups faced the same warden. He couldn't help but respect the warden's skill, effortlessly managing four combatants at once. Yet, frustration gnawed at him. If only his group hadn't gone first... A better chance at victory would have been his.
Time dragged on as the rest of the contenders stepped forward, one after another, to face the warden. Each group was met with the same brutal fate—one by one, they were overwhelmed. No one succeeded. Siegfried watched with growing detachment, the realization settling deeper into his chest. It wasn't just us. It was impossible for everyone. The bitterness that had once flared now simmered into something more rational, more vindicated. He had been right. The others had been feeble, but the fight was impossible from the start
As the last group fell, the crowd hushed into a restless silence. The shuffling of feet and murmured whispers filled the air, tension thickening like a storm on the horizon. It was all building to this moment.
A voice cut through the stillness—smooth, commanding. "The selection process is upon us. Step forward when your name is called."
The announcer's words carried through the weight of the trials, sharp and absolute. Siegfried straightened, his pulse quickening.
One by one, names rang out. Each candidate stepped forward, declaring their choice of division. Some were offered only a single option, while others had multiple paths available—it all depended on their performance in the trials, or to the discretion of the high ranking wardens gathered.
Many joined the Guardians, the largest and most generalized division. As protectors of Bellacia, they were stationed across the nation, serving as its first line of defense.
Those with sharp minds and a thirst for knowledge entered the Researchers, a division devoted to the arcane and the advancement of magitech.
A rare few were chosen as Hunters—elite survivalists trained to brave the wilds and cull the monsters that lurked beyond civilization.
Siegfried watched with mild interest, passing the time with a silent game. He tried to guess which division each candidate would choose based on their appearance. His accuracy was decent. The meek ones almost always went for research. Hunters, though uncommon, were easy to spot—rugged, seasoned, carrying the air of experienced fighters. The Guardians were the hardest to predict; they came in all shapes and sizes, their division far less selective than the others.
"Siegfried Albrecht."
The name carried across the field, ringing clear above the murmurs of the remaining candidates. Siegfried took a measured step forward.
Before him, the Wardens stood in judgment, their sharp eyes appraising him as he approached. Some watched with indifference, others with curiosity. Their presence loomed, but Siegfried felt no unease. If anything, he welcomed their scrutiny.
He had expected this moment. He had earned this moment.
Steady and composed, he stopped at the designated marker, locking eyes with the announcer. There was no hesitation in his stance, no faltering in his gaze. Whatever divisions were offered to him, it wouldn't matter. He already knew where he was going.
Each representative raised their division's emblem. His choices visually represented before him. Unsurprisingly, every symbol was raised before him. He had free reign to choose however he pleased.
"The Guardians." His voice was firm, carrying across the hushed crowd.
The least specialized, the most widespread—that was what made them perfect. If he was ever going to find the truth about Viktor, his missing brother, he needed reach, not prestige. The Guardians had eyes and ears in every city, every border town, every warfront. That was what he needed.
The announcer gave a curt nod, jotting something down before gesturing him aside. The decision was made, stamped into record, immutable. There was no fanfare, no great declaration—just the finality of a path chosen.
Siegfried stepped back, not sparing another glance toward the Wardens. His path had already been decided before he stepped into the arena.
And now, it had begun. He was officially an aspirant.