Chapter 50: Registration [6]

Medics were already helping Clara out of the arena when Rael looked over. She was limping slightly, one cheek marked by a thin cut, her earlier confidence replaced by exhaustion. He understood now what she had meant by "winning this round." She had wanted to prove she was the better fire mage. The thought struck him as strangely childish. He almost laughed.

Susan’s voice came through the speakers. "Rael Ashborne. Your turn."

There was a clear undercurrent of curiosity in her tone, mixed with something sharper—anticipation, maybe, or the hope of watching overconfidence collapse.

Rael walked to the door without picking up a wand.

Susan’s eyebrows rose on the screen. "You’re not taking the wand?"

"I’m fine without it."

Interest flickered across her face. Lucas offered a quiet "Good luck" as Rael passed. Rael smiled and returned the wish.

He descended into the arena. Handlers were still dragging the previous orc’s corpse toward a side gate. While he waited, a random thought surfaced: he had skipped both breakfast and lunch. His stomach felt hollow, and for some reason he was craving something sweet. He pushed the distraction aside when the opposite gate began to open.

Heavy footsteps approached. The creature that entered was noticeably larger than the one Clara had fought. Thick green hide, heavy tusks, yellow eyes already fixed on him. A shock collar sat around its neck, but the chains had been removed.

[Monster Detected]

Species: Elder Orc

Level: 13

Tier: Savage

A Savage-tier beast for a registration test. They clearly wanted to measure his full strength.

Rael raised one hand and pointed two fingers at the orc.

[Flame Manipulation]

Fire gathered at his fingertips, then stretched and hardened into the shape of an arrow. A second arrow formed beside the first. He flicked his thumb downward. Both projectiles shot forward at the same instant, striking the orc cleanly through each knee. The arrows did not simply burn the surface—they punched neat, glowing holes straight through muscle and joint. The orc staggered, legs suddenly unreliable, and let out a confused roar as flames continued to lick at the wounds from the inside.

Rael did not give it time to adapt.

[Hellfire]

Dark-red fire erupted from the sand beneath the orc’s feet and climbed in a single continuous wave. It wrapped the creature’s legs, torso, arms, and finally its head in a sheath of flame that refused to go out. The orc’s screams turned high and panicked. It thrashed, trying to beat the fire away, but every movement only fed the blaze. The heat inside the arena spiked. Within fifteen seconds the thrashing slowed. Within twenty the screams stopped. By the time the flames finally died, nothing remained but a blackened, smoking husk collapsed on the sand.

Total time from first arrow to silence: forty-eight seconds.

Rael lowered his hand and looked up at the observation window.

The control room above had gone completely still for half a second, then erupted into overlapping voices. Analysts replayed the footage, zooming in on the compression of the initial arrows and the unnatural persistence of the Hellfire. A new registration record had just been set, and it had been done without a focus tool by a candidate who had only received his class confirmation hours earlier.

On the main screen Susan stared in open disbelief. She had fully expected the missing wand to cost him. She had been looking forward to watching arrogance meet reality. Instead the beast had been reduced to charcoal before she could even settle in to enjoy the struggle. Beside her, Samantha sat equally speechless.

Rael’s voice carried clearly upward. "I passed, right?"

Susan’s eye twitched. In her mind a string of unflattering words formed Ofcourse you passed bastard you just burnt the beast to crispe. Aloud she only said, voice tight, "Yes. You may exit. Your identification will be prepared shortly."

Rael gave Lucas a thumbs-up through the window—part encouragement, part silent message that the test was manageable—then walked back up the stairs and out of the arena wing.

The main halls of the Association were busy with people moving between departments. His stomach reminded him again that he had eaten nothing substantial all day. He stopped a passing staff member and asked for the nearest place to buy food. The man pointed him down a side corridor.

The sweet shop was small but well-stocked, tucked between a supply office and a rest area. Glass cases displayed neat rows of pastries, cakes, sandwiches, and other snacks under soft light. The air smelled of sugar, butter, and dark chocolate. Rael took his time looking over the options before settling on an overloaded chocolate pastry—thick layers of sponge, heavy ganache, and a glossy icing that looked almost excessive. He was about to pay when an Association worker in a crisp uniform approached.

"Mr. Rael Ashborne. Your identification card is ready. Please come with me."

Rael glanced at the pastry still sitting on the counter. "Could you pack this? And one more in a separate box."

The shopkeeper moved quickly. Rael paid, took both boxes, and followed the worker. They walked in silence to a bank of lifts. The worker pressed the button for the top floor. Rael felt a mild unease; the higher the floor, the more important the office. An ordinary ID card should not require a trip this far up. He kept the thought to himself.

The lift opened onto a quieter corridor. The worker led him to a heavy door and gestured for him to enter alone.

Rael stepped inside. The temperature dropped at once—not the sharp cold of ice, but a deeper, emptier chill, like the air had been taken from somewhere far from any sun. Behind a wide desk sat a woman he recognized immediately.

Samantha.

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