Chapter 3: Talent

Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Talent

The massive hall fell dead silent as the imperial officer adjusted his collar mic. Behind him, the colossal star-ore monolith pulsed with a low, rhythmic hum, charging the air with static.

"We will proceed by registration numbers," the officer announced, his voice sharp and clinical. "When called, step forward without delay."

He tapped a hovering data-slate.

"Number 1."

A skinny youth dragged his feet down the aisle toward the stage, staring up at the glossy black surface with wide, terrified eyes.

"Hand flat against the stone," the officer instructed. "Hold until the cycle completes."

The boy took a shallow breath and pressed his palm to the cold monolith.

Azure runes flared around the dais. From Section D, Eric watched as ripples of liquid mana surged from the base of the star-stone straight into the boy’s hand, wrapping him in a pale mist as his sealed soul realm forced open.

The monolith’s display blinked to life.

[Talent Assessed: Quick Feet]

[Rank: E]

The officer didn’t blink. "E-rank. Minor agility enhancement for self and contracted beasts. Take your crest and return to your seat."

The boy’s shoulders dropped. He took his bronze token with a hollow look and slunk away.

"Number 2."

A girl in an academy uniform stepped forward with tighter composure. The stone glowed a soothing jade, venting a wave of warm air across the front rows.

[Talent Assessed: Healing Pulse]

[Rank: D]

"D-rank, Healing Pulse. Auxiliary support. Medical track approved. Next."

The ritual rolled forward with mechanical indifference.

Name after name, number after number, Riverdale’s newest adults stepped up to be judged. Sitting in the far corner of Section D, Eric leaned forward, elbows on his knees and fingers locked tight.

Because he was an unregistered orphan who had filed at the final hour, his token bore the last possible number: #247.

He had no choice but to sit through all 246 trials before his turn.

An hour passed. Then two.

As the ranks flashed, it became brutally clear why Riverdale was a third-tier frontier backwater. The overwhelming majority rolled F or E-ranks, minor night vision, grip strength, faint resistance. Barely twenty percent managed D-rank.

Only three hit C-rank. When a noble heir unlocked [Flame Burst], his entourage erupted in cheers, and the officer even offered a brief nod of respect.

Aside from that, the hall yielded no A-ranks, let alone the mythical S-ranks that headlined regional news.

*BEEP.*

"Candidate 246. Rank F, Minor Acid Resistance. Dismissed." ℴ

The second-to-last teenager broke down in muffled sobs, stumbling off the stage.

The officer let out a tired breath, already tucking his data-slate into his briefcase. Riverdale’s harvest this year was painfully mediocre.

"Last candidate," he barked into the mic. "Number 247. Move quickly, we’re sealing the arrays."

Eric’s chest seized.

*My turn.*

His legs felt like lead, but he forced himself upright. With hundreds of bored, exhausted eyes locked onto his back, Eric began the long walk down the center aisle.

Every step felt like a march to the gallows.

*Six hundred thousand credits.*

*Scarface Vane.*

*The orphanage torn down.*

*The kids dragged off to the mines.*

If he rolled an ordinary F or E-rank, he had no way out. He needed raw combat potential or an elite utility trait.

*Come on,* he thought, his pulse slamming against his ribs. *Whatever transmigrator luck got me to this world... show up now.*

He climbed the dais and stopped before the monolith. Up close, the black star-ore radiated a biting chill that raised the hair on his arms.

The officer didn’t even look up from his case. "Hand on the plate, kid. Let’s wrap this up."

Eric drew a steady breath, raised his right hand, and pressed his palm flat against the icy surface.

*VUUUUUUM.*

The runes flashed brilliant blue. A piercing current drove through his palm, tearing up his veins and slamming into the center of his consciousness.

*CRACK.*

An invisible barrier shattered in his mind. A foggy, cavernous void unfurled in his spiritual sea, his Beast Taming Space had unlocked.

Then, the blue surge collapsed.

The brilliant light sputtered, dying out into a dim, sickly gray.

The display panel flickered.

[Talent Assessed: Appraisal]

[Rank: E]

The officer glanced sideways at the screen and let out a flat, dry scoff.

"Rank E, Appraisal. Basic stat readouts on low-tier wild beasts."

He thrust a cheap, bronze-plated tamer crest into Eric’s chest without looking at him.

"Ceremony concluded. Clear the hall."