Chapter 35: Interview

The heavy oak doors of the chamber clicked shut, completely sealing the quiet tension inside the hall. Behind a long crescent table sat three shrouded figures, their features entirely obscured by dark, shimmering silk veils that were woven with warding magic.

"Alexander’s evaluation is over," Veiled Figure A said, breaking the silence as his quill scratched against parchment. "Domain-type ability, exceptional spatial awareness, and a remarkable aptitude for group command. To find a commoner with such talents is truly a statistical anomaly."

"It’s more than an anomaly; it’s an annoyance to the High Houses," Veiled Figure B muttered, resting her elbows on the desk. "Nobles receive private tutelage from birth and possess the privilege of skipping this ridiculous trial through direct recommendation letters. Commoners and lower nobles are forced to go through this insane farce. Yet even with the odds completely stacked towards the prestigious bloodlines what happened here is amazing. Alexander is a rare exception."

"Speaking of exceptions, young Seraph just left," Veiled Figure C chimed in, a light chuckle echoing beneath his veil. "A voice-command authority ability. Utterly fascinating. Her essence capacity is a drop in the ocean compared to a Fallen-class beast, yet she managed to survive an encounter with the Labyrinth Minotaur simply by throwing micro-compulsions at it. ’Blink.’ ’Breathe.’ ’Stumble.’ Just the perfect amount of distractions and friction to let her escape. Brilliant usage of a limited essence pool."

Figure A set his quill down, stacking a fresh folder atop the pile. "Which brings us to our final, and most extraordinary, candidate. Tristan Verneuil."

The room grew perceptibly colder at the name.

"The main branch of House Verneuil never fails to produce monsters," Figure B noted dryly. "Though the rumors surrounding this one were quite specific. Until a fortnight ago, he was widely regarded as a literal mundane."

"A mundane who just broke through to Tempered rank mid-trial and solo-slain a Fallen entity," Figure C countered, tapping a long finger against the polished desk. "Rumor or misdirection, the boy just broke a record, correct me if I’m wrong but I don’t believe anyone has ever killed the Minotaur before."

The heavy iron doors at the rear of the hall swung open.

Tristan walked into the interview chamber with a measured, deliberate gait, his dark coat still bearing faint traces of ash and dried beast blood. He paused before the crescent desk, his gaze sweeping over the three veiled evaluators. Flamecrest Legacy had never revealed the true identities of the Academy’s elite admissions panel during the prologue arc, but looking at the subtle magical crests woven into the borders of their robes, Tristan already had a couple good guesses.

Figure A leaned forward, his voice projected through a distorting spell. "Welcome, candidate. This final review is designed to evaluate your character, your intellect, and your overall suitability for enrollment within the Academy. Before we begin the formal questioning, do you have any inquiries regarding the trial’s outcome?"

Tristan didn’t hesitate. "How many points is the Fallen-grade essence stone worth?"

Figure B stiffened, her hands clenching. "Impudent. You stand before the board after a bloody massacre, and your first concern is a petty tally?"

Figure C, however, let out a booming laugh. "Direct. I like it. A Fallen-grade core yields two hundred points, boy. You haven’t just passed, you’ve taken first place on the overall leaderboard. Rejoice."

"Satisfying," Tristan replied smoothly, completely unfazed by Figure B’s scowl. "We can begin."

Figure A cleared his throat, steering the dialogue back on track. "Very well. Let us start with your long-term ambitions. Once your tenure at the Academy concludes, what is your ultimate goal?"

"I intend to lead a private expeditionary force into the Southern Wilds," Tristan said calmly. "To subjugate the lawless zones and establish a permanent frontier seat."

Figure A tilted his head beneath his veil, genuine confusion lacing his tone. "The South? The Verneuil family holds vast territorial claims, military infrastructure, and trade monopolies in the Northern Marches. Why abandon the North where your family’s resources would guarantee you a swift rise?"

"Because the North is a stagnant, over-extracted husk," Tristan answered without a second’s hesitation. "My eldest brother currently leads the main branch’s Northern expansion. If his campaign fails, the family’s assets will be severely strained, choking out secondary ventures. If his campaign succeeds, his position as heir becomes absolute, leaving me as nothing more than a glorified retainer in his shadow. Either way, the North offers me zero leverage."

He took a half-step forward, his voice growing cold and precise. "As the youngest son, I am not bound to the ancestral seat. The South is high-risk, unregulated, and choked with unmapped anomalies. It is also the most resource-dense region on the continent. A successful foothold in the South gives me complete sovereignty, completely unbound by my family."

Figure B scoffed under her breath. "A suicidal gamble. Pure foolishness."

Figure C remained silent, though his body language betrayed keen interest. Figure A simply nodded, a faint glint of approval flashing behind his dark veil. "A surprisingly pragmatic analysis of noble succession."

Figure B leaned over her ledger, shifting the topic sharply. "Let us test your observation skills. Describe the structural geometry of the Labyrinth’s third sector, the sequence of the wall-shifting mechanisms, and the path you took to bypass the pressure traps."

Tristan answered instantly. Drawing on his deep knowledge of the game’s blueprint layouts fused with his newly awakened Tempered perception, he dissected the subterranean layout down to the millimeter. He cited the exact stone compositions of the floorboards, the interval cadence of the hydraulic iron gates, and the hidden spatial distortions embedded in the transit halls.

’Even though I came prepared, these guys are kinda scary’ Tristan thought while a bead of sweat began to form on his forehead.

By the time he finished, Figure B had gone completely silent, her quill hovering motionless over her paper.

Figure C leaned over the desk, resting his chin on his hands. "Impressive memory. But let us address your conduct during the Minotaur engagement. You intentionally used your squad’s inevitable betrayal to bait the creature into the collapsed transit chamber. Wouldn’t a true leader have guided his team around the hazards, rather than exploiting their treachery for personal gain?"

Tristan’s eyes narrowed slightly. ’So they had hidden scrying sensors anchored throughout the maze.’

"The entrance exam was explicitly designed as an exercise in risk management," Tristan responded coolly. "Threats do not exist solely in the form of wild monsters, they exist within volatile, untrustworthy allies. Attempting to reform treacherous teammates mid-combat is an unnecessary liability. I chose the path that completely mitigated internal risk while simultaneously converting their hostility into tactical leverage against a Fallen-class entity."

’Not gonna lie, I sounded so scholarly there, good job me.’

Figure A let out a low hum. "Slightly cold but effective I suppose." He leaned back in his high-backed chair, his veiled head tilting thoughtfully. "Now, let us address the elephant in the room. The records indicate you possessed an unawakened, mundane core up until three weeks ago. How do you explain a sudden jump to Tempered rank?"

"And furthermore," Figure B interjected, her voice sharpening, "your registered ability is [Reave], a conceptual extraction domain. It is an offensive and manipulative power, not an analytical one. How did a non-information core allow you to pinpoint structural collapse thresholds and environmental trap triggers with such terrifying accuracy?"

Tristan gulped, he wasn’t the biggest fan of these questions.

Figure C leaned in as well, his tone curious. "And finally, candidate Tristan... what exactly do you intend to extract from this Academy during your stay?"

Tristan stood under the weight of their combined, oppressive gazes, his expression remaining an impenetrable mask as the rapid-fire interrogation continued into the afternoon.