After thanking the officer for explaining the unknown terms to him, Azrael parted ways and found himself standing in some kind of training ground.
'How many people are here?' he wondered. There were so many it looked like a sea of bodies, endless and chaotic.
'They're testing thousands at once? There's no way they're evaluating each person individually,' Azrael reasoned. Just like the officer had said, there were countless Chosen in the world. Testing them all fairly was a fantasy. It simply couldn't be done.
He clenched his hand into a fist.
'In other words… I only get one chance to prove my worth.' His black pupils darkened further, mirroring his rising determination.
Azrael wasn't arrogant. Even if he possessed a Divine Inborn Trait, he was still alone in this world—with little knowledge and no experience. This place was the only chance he had to gain either.
Trying to join a clan was out of the question. He didn't carry their blood, so they would ignore him or worse, laugh in his face. Sure, he could reveal the Rank of his Inborn Trait, but he wasn't stupid enough to do that. All it would do was paint a target on his back.
The ones in power would see him as a future problem: someone potentially strong, unaffiliated and unpredictable. On top of being alone? That would only seal his fate.
In the end, he had only one path: join the government or be left with nothing.
Uncertain about what to do next, he began to wander, keeping a vigilant eye on the crowd. He studied every face, every movement. What struck him most were those already forming groups, chatting with one another.
'No one said this would be a team test. Making friends now would only be a distraction,' he analyzed.
"I'm telling you, I've got this test in the bag! My Inborn Trait? Cleansed Rank!"
"Wow, I'm so jealous. Mine's just Blessed Rank…"
A grimace crept onto Azrael's face.
'Are these idiots really revealing their strengths just to gain some temporary social points? Pathetic.'
"Attention!" a deep voice boomed across the yard, instantly silencing all chatter.
"Originally, I was assigned to observe the Evaluation Test. But you're in luck. A special guest has come to conduct it personally. A legend—the daughter of the Vaelthorn clan herself!"
Right on cue, a tall woman ascended the platform. Her hair was silky, jet-black, cascading down to her waist. Crimson eyes shined with calculated coldness.
"Is that… Seyra Vaelthorn?!"
Gasps and whispers echoed from the crowd. The Chosen stared at her in awe.
'From their reactions, it's obvious, she's a big deal. If she's the one evaluating us, I just hope she's fair,' Azrael thought.
"If that's really true, then… doesn't that mean we're screwed?"
"Pretty much. I heard that if she takes command of the Evaluation Test, she cranks the difficulty up several times over and fails everyone in the end. Worse, she's done it hundreds of times! It's like she enjoys tormenting Chosen."
'Nevermind,' Azrael thought bitterly, shaking his head.
"I want to make something very clear," Seyra began, sweeping her gaze across the gathered youth.
"Whether you come from the poorest slums or the richest settlements, whether you abandoned your clan like I did to join the government or were born without connections it doesn't matter. If you believe you're entitled to anything because of your Inborn Trait's Rank, or think we'll value you for some inflated sense of 'potential' then think again, you are simply delusional."
She paused, letting her words sink deep.
"Raising you is an investment. A costly one. We don't raise Chosen so they can die on their first Rift mission or fail at a monster subjugation. That's why we're testing the only thing that really matters, the thing that decides whether you survive in this cruel world or perish like the rest."
She stepped forward slightly.
"Your will."
As her words faded, she nodded at an old man standing beside the platform.
Clearing his throat, he addressed them.
"Young ones, don't hold back. Push your bodies to the limit. We have healers and potions ready for any injury. All you have to do is just run and don't stop."
The crowd exchanged uneasy glances.
Were they serious?
Despite the tension, Azrael felt an unexpected relief.
'Thank God… If it's just about enduring, I can do that. And knowing they'll heal us afterward makes it much easier.'
The Chosen were weighed and issued heavy vests each one equal to fifty percent of their body weight.
Then it began. Thousands of Chosen started to jog, not sprint, just a steady run.
'Staying in the middle should be fine,' Azrael figured. He could've taken the lead, but there was no reward in it.
This wasn't a race. It was an endurance test. He would follow the instructions.
Some misunderstood and sprinted from the start. They quickly burned out and dropped out.
'First lap… about two kilometers,' Azrael estimated. Most people were still running.
'How many will be left by the end?' the question popped into his mind, but he shook it off. He wasn't here to worry about anyone else.
The second and third laps passed smoothly. More people fell behind, but it was expected.
Seyra Vaelthorn remained unmoving, her crimson eyes scanning the field with cold precision.
'Now that I think about it… everyone around me is good-looking,' Azrael noticed during the fifth lap, boredom creeping in.
'I heard becoming Chosen and attaining a Purity Rank enhances your appearance, purifies you in a way. Did that happen to me too? Maybe it has… I just haven't had the time to notice, considering the deal with my Inborn Trait and the old man…'
He shook his head. Thinking brought him pain and it was a waste of energy. He focused on running.
"These vests are getting in the way,"
Azrael cursed aloud. The weight was cutting into his skin, drawing blood.
"Ignore it. Just bear with it," he muttered.
By the twentieth lap, he felt something wet sliding down his leg.
'Blood?' He looked behind and saw a crimson trail. Glancing around, he noticed many others were leaving similar trails.
'Not good enough,' he grimaced.
The more that pressed on, the less he stood out.
The thought fueled him on.
Jogging had long since become impossible. He was walking now, staggering forward, leg after leg, barely conscious. His breath came ragged, vision blurred.
'Don't stop. Embrace the pain. Better I choose it now than let it find me later.'
After thirty laps, he stopped counting. His mind was clouded, drifting.
Even his soul felt like it was breaking, screaming at him to rest.
But he didn't.
Muscles screamed, tendons snapped, bones ached, but he ignored it all.
"That's enough."
He was halfway through another lap when he heard Seyra's voice again. It was cold and heavy leaving no room for arguing, not that anyone would have dared.
The moment her words reached him, something inside him shut down. Azrael's knees buckled beneath him, collapsing into the dirt.
'How did I do?' he wondered weakly, glancing around.
Six remained. Out of thousands.
'Six left… That has to be good, right?' He could only hope.
He didn't have to wait long. A man in white robes approached and healed him, washing away the pain and exhaustion.
Then Seyra stepped beside him. A faint smile tugged at her lips.
"Good work. You've completed the easiest part of the test. It's time for phase two."
Azrael's eyes narrowed.
'That… was the easiest?'