[Ken's POV]
The morning sun filtered through the cracked window, painting streaks of gold across my floor. I sat up slowly, my head throbbing like someone had driven a spike behind my eyes.
"That same damn dream again…" I muttered, clutching my hair.
The smoke. The screaming. The flames dancing on broken walls. My mother's last gasp. My father's crushed body. And always, always—the crest of the Paladin, burning red on his armor like it was branded into my brain. I could never forget it. I didn't want to.
Dragging myself into the bathroom, I stared into the mirror. My reflection stared back, tired and worn, with eyes that didn't match the boy they belonged to.
"Today's the day," I whispered. "I pass this, and I'm official. An Inquisitor."
I put on the uniform they gave us: black with blood-red lines running down the sleeves, a sharp tunic with a red cross glowing over my chest. It fit perfectly—and yet, it felt like I was suiting up for a funeral.
Maybe I was.
---
The Citadel stood like a jagged sword stabbed into the earth—Fort Daemion, the harshest of the Inquisitor academies. Only those with real potential came here. Or those with real grudges.
I stood in line with the other recruits, all dressed in the same uniform. Silent. Tense. A few were trembling already.
Then he walked in.
Instructor Garron Veyne.
A man with half his face replaced by tech, and eyes that glowed with a psychic hum. A former Death Knight candidate—until a mission tore half his body to pieces.
He stood before us and spoke with a voice that demanded attention.
"Welcome, recruits. You've all trained, bled, and suffered to be here. But today decides everything. Today, you either become Inquisitors… or corpses. The exam is simple—survive ten minutes against a Paladin. Or, if you're foolish or strong enough… defeat him."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. I didn't move. I just clenched my fists.
Instructor Veyne continued. "The top scorer will be rewarded. A new accommodation, courtesy of Inquisitor HQ. And a body enhancement of their choice—beyond the standard one all recruits receive. But with reward… comes risk."
He motioned us forward. We descended into the underground arena, the air thick with psychic suppression fields.
There he was.
A Paladin—bound by gravity fields, barely restrained. His body was broken, dressed in rags, but the aura of power around him was undeniable. His blade lay nearby, humming with stored lightning.
"This one," Garron said, "has a high aptitude for lightning magic. Try not to die."
The first few recruits failed miserably. Some didn't come back up. I stopped counting.
Then came the name: "Astrid Virellian."
All heads turned. Even I looked.
She stepped forward, golden hair tied in a tight braid, her eyes cold and confident. Third daughter of House Virellian—a noble family, with her father being a Supreme Lord Inquisitor. Just a rank below a Death Knight.
She drew her twin blades and stepped into the ring like a dancer on stage.
---
[Astrid's POV]
The air shifted the moment I entered the arena. Psychic suppression or not, I could feel the raw tension in the Paladin's body. He'd break loose the second they let him.
Good. I needed a challenge.
The countdown ticked, and then—
Boom!
The Paladin surged forward, lightning arcing from his body. I dodged left, twisting on my heel, slashing at his thigh. He blocked with his forearm, sparks flying from the impact.
He responded with a bolt—fast, vicious. I raised a barrier of psychic energy, absorbing the strike before leaping over his head and landing behind him, spinning with a sweeping kick.
He disappeared.
Lightning struck the ground inches from me—he reappeared mid-air and dove, blade-first.
I parried, both arms vibrating from the force, then slashed upward, drawing blood from his ribs.
For minutes we traded blows, movement blurring. My blades moved in perfect rhythm. Solar Blade Art – Third Form: Blinding Fang. A flash of light, a feint, a slash across his back.
He roared, pushed back, and then—his entire body began to glow.
"Lightning Fiend Battle Stance."
He became a figure of pure light yellow lightning, moving at near-lightspeed. His sword struck me thrice in the span of a blink. Blood ran down my arms.
I couldn't keep up. But I didn't need to. I needed one clean strike.
I steadied myself.
"Solar Blade Art – Fifth Form: Sun Dragon!"
My blades ignited with searing heat, the shape of a dragon coiling around me. I dashed in, meeting his charge with my own.
BOOM.
The entire arena lit up. When it cleared, I stood behind him—one of his arms on the ground.
He dropped to one knee.
"Time: Ten minutes, thirty-six seconds," Garron said, voice calm. "Highest so far."
They dragged the Paladin away. He wasn't dead. But he'd never fight again.
Then came the next name.
"Ken Reign."
[Ken's POV]
I stepped into the arena, the scent of scorched earth and blood still fresh.
He wasn't the one who killed my parents. But he was still a Paladin. Still a symbol of everything I hate.
I didn't flinch.
"Sir," I said, voice cold, steady, "permission to eliminate this Paladin."
Gasps. Whispers. Arrogant. Suicidal.
Let them talk.
Instructor Veyne raised an eyebrow. "This is a survival exam, Reign."
"I know."
He looked closer. He must've seen it—the fire behind my eyes. Not arrogance. Not pride. Just a quiet, unwavering storm.
"Fine. But you don't need to kill him. Just last ten minutes."
I didn't respond. I turned to face the Paladin.
"Let's begin."
---
He didn't wait.
The Paladin extended a hand and the floor melted beneath me. Mercury Surge—liquid silver rushed up, trying to trap my legs. I jumped back, psychic energy flaring around me, katana slicing through the tide.
He attacked again. Mercury Spears, sharp as razors, launched like missiles. I spun, cutting through them with unnatural ease.
He formed a mirror wall, reflecting my movements and attacks with ghostly precision. I feinted, then thrust hard—straight through my own reflection, slicing across his shoulder.
I could hear whispers. Recruits watching. Stunned.
He growled. Raised both hands.
"Mercury Vortex!"
A swirling storm of liquid metal surrounded him, blades forming from the spinning pool. I dug my feet into the ground, coated my blade in raw psychic energy, and charged through.
Slashes cut across my body, but I didn't stop.
He staggered. He hadn't expected me to cut through the spell.
His eyes narrowed.
"Fine," he hissed.
"Silver Knight."
His body shifted—metal coating his skin. His movements turned unnatural, fast, and brutal. He struck with crushing strength, his blows cracking the floor.
I defended. Barely.
"Poison's already setting in…" I muttered.
He couldn't stay in that form long. Mercury would eat him from the inside out. All I had to do was hold. Wait. Then strike.
But I didn't want to wait.
I slashed his leg. He stumbled. I stabbed through his side. He roared.
Time slowed.
I moved under his next strike, flipped my grip, and—
drove my katana through his chest.
The light in his eyes faded. He fell.
Dead.
The arena was silent.
"Time…" Veyne's voice rang out.
"Ten minutes, six seconds. Ken Reign… first place. Elimination confirmed."
I didn't celebrate.
I just walked away.
Hatred wears a smile. But mine wore silence.