Chapter 383:Entrace test.

Chapter 383: 383:Entrace test.

Several hours before Silver finally stepped out of a taxi and nearly gave Ravenna a heart attack, Antony Braille was beginning to wonder whether following the two of them to the Academy had been one of his better ideas or one of the stupidest decisions he had made in recent memory.

At the moment, he was leaning against a metal railing beneath the shadow of an enormous concrete building, surrounded by enough eighteen-year-olds to form a small army.

He slowly looked around, assessing everyone around him.

Candidates filled the courtyard in organized blocks, their numbers extending from the entrance checkpoints almost to the distant training fields.

Some wore expensive Contractor equipment that probably cost more than his vehicle. Others carried plain swords, rifles or reinforced cases containing whatever weapons they specialized in.

There were noble-looking families near the outer barriers, private guards waiting beyond the candidate-only zones, parents trying to give last-minute advice and academy personnel repeatedly ordering people to clear the marked lanes.

Antony scratched his cheek.

"Two thousand."

The young man beside him glanced over.

"What?"

"I was counting."

"You counted two thousand people?"

"No. I read the board."

The young man looked toward the enormous electronic display hanging from the building.

REGISTERED GENERAL-ENTRY CANDIDATES: 2,037

He stared at him in both irritation and confusion.

"Then why did you say you were counting?"

"It sounded more impressive."

The young man immediately looked away.

Antony smiled.

He missed Silver already, since he usually appreciated at least some of his nonsense. Ravenna generally looked at him as though she was reconsidering whether murder was illegal.

He glanced toward the special-admissions buildings far across the academy grounds.

Ravenna and Mallory had gone in that direction earlier. The thought of whether Silver would actually arrive in time had been the question hanging over all three of them since morning.

His fingers briefly tightened around the candidate card he’d been given at the outer checkpoint.

ANTONY BRAILLE

GENERAL ENTRY

CANDIDATE 1472

A sharp whistle cut through the courtyard and conversation immediately dropped.

Antony instinctively straightened.

Several academy personnel were walking between the candidate blocks. They didn’t shout much, they didn’t need to especially with the natiral aura they were giving out. Their uniforms were different from the brown-and-green student uniforms Antony had seen elsewhere.

It was darker, cleaner, and functional rather than decorative, with rank insignias near the shoulders and identification patches positioned where they could be read quickly.

One of them stopped near his section.

"Candidate cards visible."

Hundreds of hands moved. He clipped his card properly against his chest.

"Equipment remains secured until instructed otherwise. Firearms will be cleared at inspection. Magazines remain separate until you reach an authorized evaluation station. Anyone found carrying an unregistered loaded weapon inside the examination sector will be removed from today’s intake immediately."

A boy several places ahead raised his hand.

"Sir, what about Contractor abilities that require a weapon to activate?"

The officer looked toward him.

"Did I tell you that you wouldn’t be allowed to use your weapon?"

"No, sir."

"Then wait until you’re told to use it."

The boy lowered his hand.

"Yes, sir."

The officer continued walking.

Antony watched him go.

There were no dramatic banners welcoming promising young Contractors. No instructors standing on platforms telling them that they were the future. No cheering older students.

Instead, painted lines divided the ground into lanes. Numbers marked assembly sections. Personnel stood at entrances checking identification, equipment and medical declarations.

Cameras covered nearly every angle, and large signs repeatedly reminded candidates that disobeying safety commands during practical evaluations would result in immediate disqualification.

He looked at the young man beside him again.

"This place is cheerful."

The young man didn’t respond.

He sighed.

"Silver would have laughed."

Another whistle sounded.

"Block Fourteen, processing hall!"

Antony checked the number beneath his feet.

"That’s us."

Candidates started moving.

The moment a few people tried pushing ahead, an academy officer stepped into the lane and pointed toward the painted lines.

"Single file. Your evaluation doesn’t begin faster because you stepped on somebody else’s heels."

The pushing stopped as he joined the line. They entered the building through a set of reinforced doors.

The interior looked less like a school and more like a Contractor processing facility.

Long counters divided the first hall, medical personnel occupied several stations, equipment inspectors worked at others, identification scanners were positioned along the walls, and armed academy security stood near doors leading deeper into the examination complex.

Antony glanced around.

"Are they enrolling us or deploying us?"

The girl ahead of him looked back.

"First time here?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"My brother graduated two years ago."

He became interested.

"So you’ve seen this before?"

"No. Candidates aren’t allowed to observe the entrance examination."

"That’s reassuring."

She smiled faintly.

"He told me to expect worse."

"Worse than two thousand people fighting over fewer than two hundred places?"

The girl shrugged.

"He said the academy doesn’t care how many apply."

He looked toward the front.

"Your brother sounds encouraging."

"He also told me to sleep twelve hours last night because they wouldn’t care whether we were tired."

Antony paused; that sounded less like ordinary advice and more like a warning, but before he could ask anything else, the line separated.

The girl went toward Station Nine. Antony was directed toward Station Eleven.

"Candidate 1472."

He approached.

A middle-aged examiner sat behind the counter, accompanied by a younger assistant operating the terminal. Neither looked particularly interested in making conversation.

"Card."

He handed it over.

The examiner scanned it.

"Antony Braille."

"That’s me."

"Age eighteen?"

"Unfortunately."

The examiner looked up.

He smiled.

"Yes. Eighteen."

"Contractor identification."

He handed over his card which the examiner scanned. His information appeared on the terminal.

He looked at it, then at Antony.

"Soul Capacity thirteen."

"Yes."

The assistant entered the number while the examiner continued.

"Current Contractor Rank Two."

"Yes."

That earned a slightly longer look.

"How long since reaching Rank Two?"

Antony thought about it.

"Not very long."

"I need something more useful than that."

"A few weeks."

"Any instability following advancement?"

"No."

"Core pain?"

"No."

"Loss of control?"

"No."

"Abnormal rejection symptoms?"

He shook his head.

"Nothing like that."

The examiner tapped the terminal.

"Thirteen is respectable."

He smiled.

"I was hoping you’d say extraordinary."

"I’ve processed three fifteens and one seventeen this morning."

His smile disappeared.

"Respectable is fine."

The assistant almost laughed but the examiner didn’t.

"Your Soul Capacity is not being evaluated for admission today. It was evaluated when you applied by the gates. If you came here expecting thirteen to carry you through the examination, you can leave now and save us both time."

Antony’s expression became more serious.

"I didn’t."

"Good, life here isn’t going to on easy mode."