Zeke stepped into a large hall, immediately noticing how different it was from the previous floor. Instead of long corridors leading to separate offices, the space was open and dominated by a massive board covered in dense text.
His eyes were drawn to the board, a display of records and their holders. He instantly recognized some of the more renowned lists, like "Fastest Advancement" and "Power Ranking", but there were dozens of others he had never even heard of.
Another striking difference was the sheer number of people bustling about the hall. Some were clearly association staff, while others were participants getting tested or friends offering support. A fair number, however, appeared to be mere spectators with no direct ties to the process.
Zeke's gaze settled on one such man—his rigid posture and sharp, focused eyes were unmistakable. Zeke had seen men like him before; he was likely a retired military officer. It wasn't hard to imagine that many of these so-called spectators were actually spies, keeping a close watch for any shifts in the rankings. After all, the powers to be would want to know of any changes the moment they occurred.
Before Zeke could take another step, a man in the familiar black-and-white uniform approached him with a genial smile. "Are you here to spectate, sir?"
Zeke shook his head. "I'm here to have myself registered."
The man gave him a quick once-over, his brows twitching slightly before smoothing out. His genial demeanor never faltered. "What category would you like to compete in?"
"Advancement," Zeke replied.
For a split second, the man's expression seemed to freeze, but he quickly recovered, masking any sign of surprise. "Very well, sir," he said smoothly, motioning for Zeke to follow. "Allow me to explain how the procedure works."
Zeke fell in step behind him, listening intently.
"The test for advancement is one of the simplest," the man began as they walked toward a quieter corner of the room. "It relies on two key metrics—your age and your magical level."
They stopped in front of a small, unassuming box with a narrow opening at the top. "Here we are," the man said, gesturing to the device. "This machine will determine your actual, physical age."
Zeke eyed the contraption curiously. "How does it work?"
The man's expression brightened, clearly energized by the question. "Ah, it's a marvel of magical engineering! With just a single drop of blood, this device analyzes countless biological markers to determine precise metrics—your age included. The exact workings are a trade secret, of course," he added with a hint of pride, "but I assure you, it has never been wrong. There is no known method to fool it."
Zeke cast another seemingly casual glance at the machine, though his spatial perception had already pierced through its chassis, scanning the intricate mechanisms within. While it was impossible to fully comprehend the device's workings in such a short time, he gained a rough understanding of its core functions.
With a nod, he stepped forward. He raised his hand, and a single drop of blood crystallized on the tip of his finger. Suspended for a moment, it detached and fell toward the opening, glimmering like a solitary raindrop.
Both Zeke and the staff member watched as the machine whirred to life. While the man waited patiently for the result, Zeke's mind sharpened. Observing the device in motion was far more revealing than studying it in its inert state. Subtle movements, energy flows, and the interplay of its components began to reveal its secrets, piece by piece.
The moment the device activated, Zeke also felt a faint pull on his Core—proof that Akasha had increased her activity. She was likely dedicating the extra capacity to analyze the process. Zeke smirked slightly, pleased by her initiative. Her hunger for knowledge was admirable.
Moments later, the machine fell silent again, and a glowing number appeared on its front: 17. Zeke's exact age.
The staff member nodded in satisfaction and noted it on his clipboard. Zeke, however, was unimpressed. That's it? Just a number? He recalled the man's earlier boast about the machine being impossible to cheat and couldn't help but scoff inwardly. Several methods to falsify this result immediately came to mind. The procedure seemed far too superficial.
He had even been allowed to draw the blood himself. For all the staff members knew, it could have come from someone else entirely. Zeke could have easily kept another person's blood isolated within his body. His opinion of the Mage's Association ticked down a notch.
"Please follow me to the next test, sir," the man said cheerfully, leading Zeke to another table. He gestured toward a crystal ball—perfectly clear and flawless. "The procedure is simple. All you need to do is channel your Mana into this crystal as quickly as possible."
"How does that determine my level?" Zeke asked, his curiosity piqued once more.
The man pointed to a row of seven small lamps positioned in a straight line. "Each lamp is connected to a Mana-resistant alloy. The resistance increases progressively, so only a specific level of Mana can activate each lamp."
Zeke nodded in understanding, though his brow furrowed. "But doesn't that mean someone might fail to light the lamp corresponding to their actual level if they're not strong enough?"
The man's expression remained calm, though he gave a small nod. "That's correct, sir. However, it doesn't concern us. Anyone who can't meet the minimum threshold for their level has no business registering in the first place."
Zeke didn't argue—he didn't necessarily disagree. If someone couldn't meet the basic standard, they had no place here. Still, what bothered him was the test's inherent inaccuracy. It relied too heavily on raw Mana reserves rather than the true development of one's Core. The method might work for 99% of participants, but it was still far too imprecise for his taste.
Zeke placed both hands on the crystal and began channeling Mana through his Core, eager to gauge the thresholds for each level. The first two lamps lit up immediately—likely representing the Apprentice and True Mage levels.
He increased his output gradually, pushing closer to his limit. Yet the third lamp, which marked the Grand Mage level, remained stubbornly dark. Zeke gritted his teeth, focusing harder, but the lamp refused to light.
Zeke frowned. At the moment, he was only using his Blood affinity—a third of his total Core capacity. Even so, it stung his pride to fall short of the Grand Mage threshold with just one affinity.
This was the exact reason many mages looked down on those with mixed affinities like his. While his versatility in combat was unmatched, the cost was clear: he couldn't achieve the raw power output of a mage who specialized in a single affinity. His Core, spread across multiple affinities, limited the upper range of his spells.
In a contest of pure magical might, he would never be able to compete directly with other mages of his level.
Thankfully, such limitations mattered little in real combat. Even the weakest spell could be lethal if it struck a weak spot, while an earth-shattering, sky-rending spell was useless if it failed to hit its target. Theoretical limits meant nothing when so many factors were at play, and Zeke wouldn't trade his Space or Mind affinities for anything.
Compared to the power of Akasha and his Spatial Awareness, the ridicule of the magical community was irrelevant.
Reaffirming his resolve, Zeke stopped holding back. He engaged his entire Core, letting Mana surge freely through him. Immediately, the third lamp—previously flickering weakly—burst to life with a brilliant glow. Though he didn't manage to trigger the fourth lamp, his output made it clear that he was solidly positioned at the level of a Grand Mage.
The staff member, who had begun to frown moments earlier, now beamed with excitement. "Marvelous! Absolutely marvelous!" he exclaimed. "Middle-tier Grand Mage at just 17!" His enthusiastic outburst instantly drew the attention of the people nearby, their curious gazes turning toward them.
Zeke felt several gazes land on him, some laced with Magic. While he couldn't identify their exact nature, they were undoubtedly attempts to glean more information about him. In response, Zeke flared his Core, flooding his body with Mana. The dense field served as a simple yet effective defense, muddling any probing spells. Even his own Spatial Perception would struggle to pierce such a shield—unless, of course, the caster was far more powerful than him.
He doubted any Archmages were lurking in the crowd though; they had far more pressing matters than loitering here.
After a few moments, the attention began to wane, and Zeke ceased channeling Mana into the crystal, though he maintained the shroud around himself. Now that he'd drawn so many eyes, he intended to keep a degree of mystery.
Glancing to the side, he noticed the attendant staring at him with an almost fervent intensity. The change from his earlier professionalism was striking. "What is your name, sir?" the man asked, his voice eager.
Zeke could feel the crowd's focus sharpen. The surrounding spectators leaned in, hanging on his answer. A smirk tugged at his lips. He couldn't deny it—this was exhilarating. The attendant's slip of excitement had turned this moment into the perfect opportunity to propagate his fame.
"Ezekiel of Tradespire," he answered casually.
The room fell silent. Even the more distant groups paused, their attention snapping to him. But the hush didn't last long—within moments, the air buzzed with excited whispers and startled exclamations.
Zeke's name had once been well-known in Tradespire after his meteoric rise. However, after his departure for Korrovan, news about him had dried up. The fact that no one had immediately recognized him spoke volumes about how much his fame had faded. Still, it seemed his name hadn't slipped entirely into obscurity.
The staff member's expression shifted as he studied Zeke more closely—his face, his eyes, and his crimson hair. A moment later, the man gave a small nod, likely piecing together Zeke's identity and realizing how his Core's structure explained the impressive burst of Mana he had demonstrated earlier.
"Would you like your name recorded publicly, sir?"
Zeke nodded. That was, after all, the reason he had come. Well, that and to see for himself what the other Mages were capable of.
The attendant smiled at Zeke's affirmation and quickly called someone over. He handed her the clipboard and then took his position beside Zeke. The two stood shoulder to shoulder, their gazes focused on the large board displaying the current records.
"The tablet is actually a man-made artifact," the attendant explained without looking away from the board. "It's linked to identical devices scattered across the continent. Any information entered into the system is automatically shared with all of them."
"I heard the tests can only be taken here?" Zeke asked casually.
The man nodded. "That's correct, sir. It ensures that local powers can't pressure the Association into falsifying results. After all, securing a spot on the list is a mark of prestige for any power, and many unscrupulous factions would use their influence to claim such honors."
Zeke glanced to the side, impressed by the man's candidness. Not many had the courage to speak so openly about their betters.
The man, noticing his gaze, smiled slightly. "It's not bravery," he said, almost as if he'd read Zeke's thoughts. "I simply trust in the Association's ability to keep me safe."
Zeke nodded slowly, now curious about the upper echelons of this organization. But before he could ask anything further, the man spoke again.
"Look," he said, pointing toward one of the lists at the top of the board. Zeke followed his gaze and immediately saw what the man was indicating. Letters shifted on the screen, and the previous number one, "Linus Geistreich," was moved to the second spot. In its place, a new entry appeared:
Ezekiel of Tradespire (Von Hohenheim) — 17 years — Middle-tier Grand Mage.