The following morning, Auren returned to the Adventurer's Guild to take his formal written examination. He arrived earlier than expected, as was his habit.

The registrar led him through a quiet corridor into a room filled with wooden tables and uneven chairs.

The space was dim, lit by two crystal lamps flickering faintly at the corners. He noticed there were no windows, only smooth gray walls enclosing the silence. It was designed that way—no outside help, no distractions.

The desks were rough, their surfaces marked with old carvings of initials and uneven knife cuts. The air smelled faintly of ink, parchment, and candle smoke.

It reminded him of the public schools back on Earth—cheap, functional, unpolished. But it didn't matter. For Auren, results were all that mattered.

"The exam will begin in a few minutes," said the registrar. "Please wait here while we prepare the papers."

"Alright. Thanks," Auren replied.

As the man left, the room fell into stillness. Auren leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling, mentally steadying himself.

He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, clearing his mind. He recalled every lesson, every routine he had undergone under Robert and Marissa's tutelage.

In the mornings, Robert drilled him on swordsmanship, wilderness survival, alchemy, and hand-to-hand combat.

The man's training was brutal but precise, meant to turn instinct into discipline. When the afternoons came, Marissa took over—teaching him magic, geography, the languages of other races, and even politics. Her approach was patient but demanding.

Together, they molded him into something far sharper than the average apprentice.

The villagers of Runewood had also shaped him in unexpected ways. The blacksmith taught him forging and metalwork.

The runecrafter allowed him to study the complex inscriptions carved into blades and armor, helping him understand how runic systems affected mana flow.

From them, he learned how to tinker with tools and decipher enchanted symbols.

And then came Jeis, his elven mentor. Her lessons were unlike the others. She trained him in hunting, ambush tactics, and elven battle strategies—fluid, silent, deadly. Jeis emphasized precision and awareness over brute strength.

All of that training—years of knowledge, sweat, and memory—was about to be tested in this one exam.

Ten minutes passed. The door opened again, and two more figures entered the room. One was a towering man carrying a spear on his back, his armor scratched from countless battles.

The other was a short woman holding a staff nearly twice her height. Both gave Auren a quick glance before taking their assigned seats.

Auren studied them quietly. The man's shoulders were stiff, and his grip on the spear strap was tight—nervous. The woman's foot tapped rhythmically beneath her robe, betraying the calmness she tried to display. Despite their cold stares, both were uneasy.

A few minutes later, the examiner entered.

Auren turned toward her. She was a stern-looking woman in her late thirties, with sharp red eyes and hair tied in a tight bun.

A small badge shimmered on her chest—Liza, Level 32 Fire Mage. Her aura alone was enough to make the air grow heavier.

She carried a thick stack of papers and began setting them one by one on each desk.

"You have four hours to complete this examination," she said flatly. "If you have any questions, speak to me directly."

Once she had finished distributing the tests, Liza returned to her seat in the center. She closed her eyes and lifted a hand.

Woom—

A soft pulse of energy rippled across the room. Auren felt it immediately. Mana waves brushed against his skin like invisible currents. A magic circle spread beneath the floor, glowing faintly in crimson.

"I see," Auren murmured under his breath. He could sense its structure—dense, layered, precise. "A barrier field to block external spells… and probably internal ones too."

He raised his gaze slightly, sensing more than what eyes could see. The corners of the room pulsed faintly with hidden energy signatures.

Cloaked presences lurked there, invisible but undeniable. Their auras pressed against his awareness—Level 40 at least. Observers. Silent guardians ensuring no one dared to cheat.

The other examinees remained quiet.

The large man was already hunched over his paper, his pencil scratching fast. The small woman's eyes darted from question to question with feverish focus. To them, this was life or death.

Auren sat back, opened his test paper, and froze for a moment.

"…This is it?" he whispered. His brow furrowed, scanning line after line. "These questions are… too easy."

The exam covered basic adventuring theory—monster classifications, wilderness survival methods, mana flow analysis, basic rune translation, and political etiquette between kingdoms.

To someone raised by two of the best instructors in those fields, the answers came instinctively.

He wrote efficiently, neat but fast, his hand gliding over the parchment. The questions that might have stumped others were mere reviews to him.

He recalled formulas Marissa had drilled into him, the battlefield scenarios Jeis had forced him to think through mid-duel, the complex potion reactions Robert had made him repeat until he could mix them blindfolded.

After an hour, he was done.

Auren stood, gathering his papers neatly. His chair made a faint scrape against the floor as he walked toward the examiner's desk.

Liza looked up briefly from her book, her voice cold. "What do you want?"

"I've finished answering," he said calmly.

A smirk curled at the corner of her lips. "Gave up too early, huh?" she muttered without looking up.

"What do you mean? I told you I've finished everything," Auren replied evenly.

Her brow twitched at his confidence. She lowered the book and gestured with two fingers. "Alright then, mister genius. Let me see."

Auren handed over the papers and waited.

The sound of quills scratching and paper flipping filled the silence again. Behind him, the other two examinees exchanged glances.

What an idiot, the woman thought. No one can finish this test in an hour.

The hulking man shook his head, whispering under his breath. Overconfident fool.

Auren ignored them, his gaze steady on the examiner as she flipped through his answers.

At first, Liza's expression carried the same cold indifference. Then her eyes narrowed slightly. Her lips parted. Her breathing quickened. Page after page, her composure crumbled. By the last sheet, she was staring at him in disbelief.

"H… how did you do this?" she asked finally, her tone shaking.

Auren only tilted his head. "Do what?"

"This," she said, pointing at the paper. "You answered every single question correctly except for one. That's… ninety-five percent."

Her voice rose slightly, echoing across the quiet room. The two examinees froze.

"Ninety-five?" the female mage muttered, her brows furrowing.

"She's bluffing," the spear-wielder whispered. "No one gets that score."

But Liza's reaction was too genuine to doubt. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a small crystal communicator, and began speaking rapidly.

"Yes, it's me," she said. "We've got a new high-score examinee. No, no signs of cheating. Yes, it's him—the herbalist. Ninety-five percent. I repeat, ninety-five percent. New record holder."

Auren stood silently as she spoke. When she finally set the communicator down, her demeanor had completely changed. The cold examiner was gone; in her place stood someone smiling with barely contained astonishment.

"Congratulations, young man," she said. "You've just broken the record for the highest written exam score in guild history."

Her voice trembled slightly, half disbelief, half admiration.

"This is the first time anyone's ever scored this high," she continued. "Please proceed to the waiting room and await your official Adventurer's License."

Auren smiled faintly, bowing his head. "Thank you."

He turned and walked toward the door, his footsteps steady. As it closed behind him, the two remaining examinees sat in stunned silence.

The mage was the first to speak. She raised her hand slightly. "Excuse me, ma'am," she said. "Did I hear that right? Ninety-five?"

Liza looked at her, still a little shaken. "Yes. Ninety-five percent."

The room went still again.

The man's grip on his spear tightened. "You're saying… he scored higher than the Emperor's record?"

Liza nodded slowly. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

For a moment, no one spoke.

The air in the small, windowless room felt heavier than before. The two examinees exchanged uneasy glances, each realizing they had just witnessed something they might never see again.

Outside the hall, Auren exhaled a long breath of relief. The corridor was empty now, its stone floor echoing faintly under his boots.

He adjusted his collar and smiled to himself. The test might have been simple, but it confirmed something deeper. His knowledge wasn't luck or coincidence.

It was the result of years of relentless training, the product of survival and discipline.

He stopped briefly by a window and looked outside at the bustling street. The sun had risen higher, spilling golden light across the cobblestone roads.

Merchants called out their wares, adventurers passed by laughing, and guards patrolled with casual ease.

The noise was distant, softened by the glass, but to Auren it sounded like life moving forward.

Soon, he thought, he'd be part of that world—not as a mere herbalist, but as someone far beyond what others expected him to be.

He pushed off the wall and walked toward the waiting area, calm but alert. Somewhere deep in his mind, a voice whispered:

This is only the beginning.

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