The swordsmanship practical exam pitted candidates against either Instructor Morton or Instructor Josephnan. Scores were then jointly determined by other examiners, three Student Council judges, and the instructors themselves.
Typically, candidates were called in order of their current total scores—lowest first.
First match: Morton versus Feg.
Both were power-type warriors who’d poured all their energy into physical and martial training. Instructor Morton wielded a heavy warhammer, while Feg fought with a battle-axe.
*Boom!*
Yet… the gap in strength was too vast. Within a few exchanges, the burly man was slammed to the ground by the bald giant’s hammer.
He was injured too…
Several Imperial soldiers rushed over, dragging him aside for basic bandaging.
Josephnan, Qingruo, and the two assistant examiners—along with two Student Council judges—scored the match.
"Feg," Josephnan announced coldly, "Swordsmanship Practical Exam: 4 points."
For Feg, already nursing swollen, purple bruises on his shoulder and face, this was another blow.
Second match: Josephnan versus Jolovi.
After brief probing strikes, the duel erupted into fierce sword clashes. Though Instructor Josephnan dominated, Jolovi held his ground and even launched vicious counterattacks when openings appeared.
To observers like Yedi and Qingruo, it was obvious Josephnan was holding back. Yet Jolovi repeatedly exploited those moments of restraint—not just countering, but aiming to maim.
*This man… utterly shameless and cruel. How did Lord Ifer raise such a disciple?* Qingruo watched, disgust coiling in her chest. Jolovi had no sense of honor whatsoever.
But this also enraged Instructor Josephnan. Near the round’s end, he slammed his sword pommel into Jolovi’s chest. As the boy stumbled back, defenses wide open, Josephnan delivered a brutal kick that sent him flying out of the ring.
Had Josephnan not been under pressure to hold back, Jolovi would’ve likely suffered broken ribs. Even so, he writhed in pain outside the arena.
"Jolovi: 8 points."
Though Qingruo gave a low score, her knightly duty forced her to stay objective. His swordsmanship, while unremarkable, did meet the standard for a second-year at the Imperial Sacred Academy.
Morton and the two assistant examiners awarded high marks.
"Though Master Jolovi was knocked down, he endured nearly the entire round. His willpower and sense of honor are commendable," one assistant examiner declared firmly under Qingruo’s skeptical gaze.
Truthfully, Jolovi only needed to avoid catastrophic failure to pass. Failing him would cause… complications. Like next year’s budget allocations for the Academy.
Qingruo understood this well enough.
*When the water is too clear, there are no fish.* As a Holy Temple Knight, she upheld strict personal integrity—but she knew this vast, complex Imperial machine, woven from countless races and factions, required certain compromises to function. She despised it, yet lacked the power to oppose it directly.
After all, she was merely the spiritual leader of the new generation of Sacred Temple Knights, not yet holding real authority. She had her own plans: one day, from a position of true power, she would cleanse the Empire’s rot.
Third match: Morton versus Alandiye.
Morton was hot-tempered. Teaching wasn’t about nurturing talent or serving the Empire—it was about barking orders, hurling insults, and indulging his violent urges, especially against students without powerful backing.
He relished it.
He wouldn’t hold back unless facing someone like Jolovi. He’d just injured the grandson of a high-ranking archbishop, after all.
Facing this muscle-bound giant, Tiyi gripped her Samurai Sword one-handed. Most would need both hands for such a long blade, but she wielded it effortlessly either way.
Sometimes, Tiyi lingered on the dueling grounds. Perhaps only here could she reclaim a fragment of her former confidence—except when sparring with Qingruo.
*Sister is just too strong… I can’t win against her.* That was why Tiyi could never assert herself around Qingruo.
"Alandiye," Morton sneered, baring yellowed teeth, his bulging eyes terrifying. "This Holy Academy trains elites for war and slaughter. The battlefield doesn’t care about gender—unless you’re a prisoner."
In raw cutting power, Tiyi’s earlier strike had been impressive, but it still fell short of Morton’s brute-force swings.
"Instructor Morton," Tiyi replied calmly, politely. The composed student facing her senior here was utterly different from the warrior she became on the battlefield.
Outside the ring, Qingruo crossed her arms, nodding silently.
"Begin!" Josephnan shouted.
"*Haaah!*" Morton roared, hefting his warhammer. He charged, heavy footsteps shaking the ground. Though this was a live-blade exam, combat skills were forbidden—only foundational techniques were allowed.
Tiyi—no, Yedi—had faced this countless times before. Far from fear, a flicker of nostalgia stirred within her.
Morton was deceptively fast. He closed the distance in strides, muscles coiling as he raised the hammer high. The *whoosh* of its descent was chilling.
*Whoosh!*
The heavy, square-headed warhammer, studded with rivets, crashed down toward Tiyi. Blocking it with her ordinary Samurai Sword would shatter the blade!
Tiyi suppressed the urge to end this reckless brute in one move. She sidestepped smoothly, holding back just enough to avoid drawing suspicion with unnatural speed.
Morton’s eyes glinted with malice. The chance to legally hurt someone ignited his violent instincts. His only restraint was avoiding death or permanent injury—everything else was fair game.
Swinging empty air only fueled his rage. He pivoted mid-motion, wrenching the hammer around for a horizontal sweep at Tiyi’s waist.
*Clang!*
Tiyi deflected with a straight-armed block, her blade catching the hammer’s shaft to avoid snapping.
Still, the impact sent her skidding backward.
"*Too weak…*" Tiyi murmured under her breath, pink lips barely moving. *This strength is nothing compared to Sister’s.*
"*What did you say?!*" Veins bulged on Morton’s bald head.
"Nothing," Tiyi replied coldly, putting distance between them.
She danced—blocking, dodging, circling—deliberately stretching out the round, draining Morton’s stamina.
This only enraged him further. An experienced warrior, he sensed her casual attitude. With a thunderous roar that shook the entire arena, he unleashed a shockwave. The sound didn’t just pierce eardrums; it rattled nerves and sapped fighting spirit.
That roar bordered on a combat skill itself.
