Tristan fully entered the Colosseum. The other participants waited patiently, but many were already overwhelmed.
Within the vast Colosseum, nearly a few thousand spectators filled the stands. Every eye was fixed on the participants—the prospective soldiers, soon to be tested and potentially inducted into the system. Those from the High District were unfazed, basking in the attention with smug smiles. Meanwhile, the participants from the Middle and Low Districts were riddled with anxiety and fear. Some contemplated fleeing, while others simply stared at the ground, desperate to avoid the piercing gaze of the crowd.
Tristan, however, remained indifferent to both the crowd and his fellow examinees. His only concern was the overwhelming presence he felt the moment he stepped inside. His leg bounced impatiently, tapping violently against the ground as he waited for the source of that power to reveal itself. After a few tense moments, his patience was rewarded.
In the Colosseum, a flat platform had been set aside for the Representatives and the Headmaster. From there, the announcer emerged.
"Welcome, one and all, to the entrance exam! We shall begin shortly, but first—join me in welcoming the Representatives!" the announcer declared, his voice echoing through the amphitheater.
Six seats lined the platform, each crafted from fine wood and adorned with cushions of various colors—five for the Representatives and one, set apart, for the Headmaster. Starting from the left was the white-cushioned seat, belonging to the Representative of House White.
"Our first Representative—elegant, refined, and a vision of grace—Alice White!"
A woman stepped forward, dressed in a voluminous white gown. A wide-brimmed beach hat shielded her fair complexion, while a delicate scarf was wrapped neatly around her neck. The crowd erupted in applause the moment she appeared.
The announcer moved on.
"The first son of House Green, heir to the Bishop Darrel Green himself—Ruben Green!"
Ruben emerged with the poise of nobility, waving to the audience as he took his seat. Women blushed at his presence, while many men could only seethe with envy. His androgynous beauty was undeniable: flowing silver hair, piercing blue eyes that seemed to gaze into the soul, and a nobleman's refined aura.
"That must be Amelia's older brother," Tristan mused internally. "He's far more outgoing than Amelia."
The announcer continued, calling forth Emily Garnet of House Garnet and Anastacia Violet of House Violet—the latter of whom strode out with a confident, tomboyish demeanor.
Then, as the announcer prepared to introduce the final Representative, his tone shifted—becoming deeper, more reverent.
"And now, the Representative of the most powerful house—a house steeped in the legacy of its warriors. Representing House Vermillion… Decker Vermillion!"
Tristan's eyes widened at the mention of that name—the man who had ordered the attack on Mr. Kenway's boutique… a Vermillion.
"Decker Vermillion," Tristan repeated internally.
Decker emerged with a commanding presence. His long crimson hair was tied back into a sleek ponytail. He wore a deep red suit, embroidered with golden thread along the collar and down the length of the jacket. His olive skin and meticulously groomed brows made him a sight to behold.
So, you're Decker Vermillion… It's good to know, Tristan thought, a devilish smile curling on his lips.
With all five Representatives now seated, the crowd's excitement was palpable. But they knew one more remained. And they hungered for it.
Suddenly, a radiant beam of light shot down from above, striking the ground where the participants stood. A cloud of dust burst forth from the impact, obscuring the figure within. Slowly, as the dust began to settle, her silhouette emerged—an elderly woman with a face marked by the passage of time, silver-gray hair that shimmered with wisdom, and piercing amber eyes. In her hand, she wielded a majestic spear, adorned with two side blades and a singular, upward-facing point.
The audience was rendered silent. Then the announcer broke the tension.
"One of the rare few to ascend to the rank of Queen. Her very title heralds doom for her enemies. Her light, a harbinger of fate. The Songstress of Light, and Headmaster of Constella Academy—Sylvia Light!"
The crowd erupted. Men, women, and children alike roared with applause. She waved gently to acknowledge their praise.
Then, with a single gesture, she signaled for silence. The audience obeyed instantly, even the haughty elite of the High District. Clearing her throat, she addressed them.
"You cannot imagine how delighted I am to see so many new faces. Though I've done this for over thirty years, it never ceases to excite me," she said warmly.
The Headmaster continued to speak, but Tristan paid little attention. His mind was fixed on the power emanating from her. That was the presence he had felt when he first entered—the source of that immense pressure.
'Killington, what do you know about her?'
"Sylvia Light was once the leader of Tower Orion—one of the youngest to ever attain the position. She served both herself and her tower with great distinction, until she chose to step down and take the position of Headmaster," Killington said in his masters mind.
Tristan wasn't surprised. He had already felt her power. He smirked.
'Damn… Amelia has a long way to go if she ever wants to reach her level.'
Returning his focus to her speech, he caught the next crucial part.
"This exam will consist of three stages. First, the Measuring Stage, where we'll assess your Star Energy. Second, the Combat Stage, where you will showcase your abilities. And lastly… the final stage, which will be revealed tomorrow. Today, we begin with the first two."
Two men approached, carrying a crystal globe between them.
"To pass the Measuring Stage, you must pour your Star Energy into the globe and crack it. Fail to do so, and you are immediately disqualified. You will return home."
The announcer called the first examinee—Number One, a nobleman. He stepped forward confidently and placed his hand on the globe. With a smug expression, he released his energy.
Nothing happened.
Visibly shaken, he pushed harder, draining himself. Still, the globe remained whole.
"This crystal is faulty!" he exclaimed.
Sylvia merely chuckled. Her expression darkened.
"The crystal is not faulty. You are. The Academy does not tolerate defective instruments, and you, my dear, are no exception. This is no place for the talentless. You have failed."
Her words echoed through the Colosseum, chilling everyone present—nobles and commoners alike. The boy fled in tears, shame trailing behind him like a shadow.
"Now you all understand—this is no game," she said, her voice now sharp as steel. "You are either all in, or you are out. And if you are not ready… you are free to leave."