160 Test of Skill

Prince Grant Zeichmund Almer. He was seventeen years old, the youngest of six, and somehow the most beloved. The stories around him painted a picture of a benevolent prodigy: a strategist who ended wars, a prince who rode at the front with common soldiers, a royal who donated his share of taxes back to the people. And now, he planned to slay a dragon.

That was why the capital teemed with warriors from mercenaries, knights, wanderers, and the occasional gifted individual who kept their abilities hidden under rough cloaks. All waiting for a chance to step into legend.

We were gathered in the manor square. By my count, forty-two people stood here. About half radiated enough willpower to mark them as capes… well, gifted. Whatever term this world used, the pressure in the air felt familiar.

Behind us, mercenaries whispered among themselves.

“His brothers clipped his authority,” one muttered, chewing on a straw.

“He hasn’t awakened his gift yet,” another replied. “That’s why he wants dragon blood.”

“Seventeen and already fighting wars… kid’s cursed, if you ask me.”

Amelia nudged my arm. “What do you think?”

I kept my voice low. “He has a good reputation. Even with the negative gossip, his surface thoughts from the crowd have the same general tone. They are filled with respect, and admiration. Nothing contradicting the public image.”

I’d spent the last hour skimming thoughts and emotions around us. It was messy work with my powers were still dampened, but enough to form conclusions. Amelia however… something in her expression stiffened.

I felt her discomfort before she even spoke. Empathy didn’t lie.

“Is there a problem?” I asked.

“Keen bastard,” she muttered, then exhaled sharply. “He’s a good person. Do we really have to kill him?”

“You don’t know that. You haven’t even met him yet. And what’s the alternative? Kill Dr. Time? He’s the only one with a chance, maybe, to send us home.” I shook my head. “In the SRC, you should’ve learned that morals are obstacles. The moment you weigh them against survival, survival wins.”

She shot me a glare. “Is that why you went crazy? Attacked the SRC, killed so much for show, exposed Sunstrider, killed Royal, and every other insane thing you pulled? Forget morals… you have your own justice. And I respect that, even when you’re a violent idiot.”

“Wow. I’m touched.”

“Stop being sarcastic,” she snapped. Then softer, “And don’t forget that I’m a tiger. I don’t mind blood on my claws if it’s for a real cause. It just doesn’t sit right killing someone for nothing but our personal gain.”

So that was her angle. Not refusing murder. She just wanted the target to deserve it. Reasonable to her. Completely impractical to me. What next? Suggest we find another route home? Pretend Dr. Time wasn’t using us and stringing us along? As if she didn't already suspect that.

She added quietly, “If we’re going to kill him… it should at least be painless.”

That shut me up more effectively than any argument.

I sighed, resigned. “Fine. We’ll… figure something out.”

Before she could answer, the massive doors of the manor swung open. A royal guard stepped out, armor gleaming in the sun as he raised his halberd and declared:

“Make way for His Highness, Prince Grant Zeichmund Almer!”

The crowd fell silent.

Prince Grant stood atop the manor steps with poise. The afternoon sun caught the cool blue of his hair, making it gleam almost silver, while his amber eyes swept over the crowd with a calm confidence that reminded me of a seasoned general rather than a seventeen-year-old prince. His smile had a warmth that could lower anyone’s guard.

For a brief moment, I felt the pull, an instinctive urge to stand straighter, listen closer, and accept whatever command he issued. It was subtle but potent, like a thread tightening around the back of my mind.

The sharp jolt of fur brushing my arm snapped me back. Amelia had shifted into her Tigress form in an instant, her muscles coiled and her ears pinned flat. I caught her before anyone else noticed, pulling her hood low and tugging her coat around her to hide the striped fur creeping up her neck. In a kingdom suspicious of anything non-human, her transformation could get her killed.

“What’s the problem?” I whispered, keeping my voice low.

“He’s dangerous,” she breathed, her voice roughened by her Tigress throat. Her fur bristled beneath the cloak, and her tail twitched with instinctive fear. “His power… it’s wrong. It feels like Continuity when he broke reality. My instincts hate it. Nick, this man is not someone we can kill the usual way.”

Her words unsettled me. My empathy and telepathy weren’t picking up anything abnormal from the prince. His thoughts were clear, steady, and human. His emotions were controlled but genuine. If anything, he felt stable, more stable than most insane capes I’d met.

“Hey,” I hissed, “don’t say the killing part out loud.”

No one seemed to hear us. All attention belonged to Prince Grant.

Prince Grant lifted his hand for silence, and then spoke with a voice that carried cleanly through the square.

“People of Almer,” he began, “I thank each of you for gathering here today. As many of you know, the northern frontier has suffered under the shadow of a beast our kingdom has not faced in two generations. Villages burn, fields rot, and travelers vanish on the roads. This creature—this dragon!—has become a calamity that cannot be ignored.”

He stepped forward with calm confidence, letting his gaze sweep across the aspiring dragon slayers.

“I do not ask for blind loyalty. I ask for strength, resolve, and the courage to stand where others flee. The kingdom must not bow to fear. And in return, I promise this: those who stand with me will share in the spoils of our victory. Wealth, land, honor… these rewards will belong to the brave.”

The murmurs intensified, but he continued, steady and composed.

“However, I will not lead a reckless company. Only those capable of discipline and restraint will join me. To determine who among you holds the qualities required, a test will be held here and now. Pass, and you march with me at dawn. Fail, and you will return home safely, with no shame.”

Prince Grant raised his hand once more, signaling the guards.

“Bring forth the slave.”

A slave was led forward. He was barefoot, filthy, and shackled in heavy iron. His long dark hair hid most of his face, but the dullness of his eyes was unmistakable. He looked half-alive.

The royal guard stepped ahead of him and projected his voice. “Subdue this man without killing him, and you earn your place in the expedition. Kill him, and you will answer for the destruction of property, regardless of intent.”

Property. The word left a bitter taste on my tongue.

A cocky mercenary stomped forward, raising his hand high. “Oi! I’ll go first! I’ll show the prince who deserves to stand at his side!”

The chains were unclasped. The slave staggered for a moment, then lifted his head. A low, guttural growl vibrated from his throat. His muscles bunched, and in the next breath he hurled himself at the volunteer with the speed of a wild beast.

The first volunteer barely lasted twenty seconds. He charged in with a bravado that vanished the moment the slave hit him back. The man moved like a starving animal, nails bared, teeth grinding, and his speed caught the mercenary completely off guard. A slash of steel grazed the slave’s shoulder, yet the wound sealed almost instantly, leaving only a faint smear of blood behind. The mercenary’s confidence wavered, and the slave seized him by the throat, slamming him repeatedly into the ground until the guards tore the two apart. The volunteer lay twitching, conscious but barely holding on.

I watched the scene unfold and whispered to Amelia, “If the prince already has a power, then what’s his reason for going on this dragon hunt?”

The rumors didn’t add up. Everyone insisted he sought the dragon’s blood to awaken a dormant gift, but if a power existed under all of this pretense, something was off. Either the public had everything wrong, or someone carefully shaped the wrong narrative to hide the truth.

Amelia didn’t hesitate. “I’m certain he has a power,” she muttered, keeping her hood low. “I know what I felt.”

Before I could press further, the royal guard barked out, “You, the woman! If you have time to babble, then you have time to take the test. Step forward!”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd as Amelia walked toward the center. A few men scoffed at the sight of a hooded woman joining the trial, while others speculated she must possess a rare gift to walk so confidently. Their surface thoughts drifted through the air with curiosity, derision, envy all tangled together.

We agreed beforehand to avoid revealing our powers unless absolutely necessary. The slave had only displayed regeneration, no super strength or speed beyond normal limits. Amelia had trained for years before joining the SRC and had mastered enough grappling techniques to subdue someone without causing permanent damage. In theory, this shouldn't push her too far.

The royal guard raised a hand and announced, “Begin!”

The slave lunged, snarling, but Amelia pivoted aside, caught his arm, and redirected his weight. She used his momentum against him, locking his limbs in a controlled hold that forced him to the ground without breaking anything. It took effort to keep him pinned as his frantic thrashing made the scene brutal, but Amelia’s movements stayed precise and efficient. The crowd gasped when she tightened the final hold, the slave’s struggles dying down as he found himself unable to rise.

A heartbeat of stunned silence filled the square before cheers erupted. Even the guards exchanged surprised looks.

The royal guard pointed at Amelia and declared, “Victory! You pass the test. Step back with the other successful candidates.”

As she joined the successful candidates behind the prince, I noticed the looks from the participants who’d failed. They were resentful, jealous, and dismissive. The whispers carried easily.

“She only won because she got lucky.”

“Bet she hides some cursed power.”

“Why is a woman even here?”

Amelia ignored all of it and simply pulled her hood lower, hiding her face in its shadows. I felt her irritation through empathy, sharp and brief before she buried it under her usual calm.

I kept my voice low. “You did well.”

The fights dragged on one after another, and the longer they continued, the more the slave deteriorated. His eyes lost their light, turning glassy and distant, yet his body fought with the desperation of someone cornered like an animal. Every time he was released for the next challenger, he looked less like a man and more like a tool being pushed beyond breaking. The sight stirred an anger in me I had tried hard to bury. Slavery existed in my world too, just hidden behind bureaucracy and corporate smiles, but seeing it displayed this openly made something in my chest twist. Part of me wanted to punish the people responsible, but the slave wasn’t the one who deserved my fury.

Eventually, my turn arrived. The slave staggered into position, froth clinging to his lips, his breathing ragged and uneven. His eyes were bloodshot, pupils dilated to the point of madness, and his mind when I brushed against it was shredded by confusion and pain. It felt like trying to grasp broken glass.

“Drugs,” I muttered, stepping forward. “They pumped him with something.”

He lunged, half-stumbling, but before he could reach me, I delivered a single sharp blow to his jaw. The force traveled cleanly through his skull, not enough to break anything, but precise enough to shut his consciousness down. He collapsed like a stone dropped in mud, twitching once before going still.

I returned to Amelia’s side, joining the line of those who had passed. She leaned in and whisper-scolded, “Did you really have to be so cruel? You could’ve subdued him easily with grappling, but you just had to do that, didn’t you?”

“He’ll be fine,” I said, keeping my voice calm. I didn’t feel calm, but I didn’t want her worrying over what I already regretted. “A clean knockout is better than making him struggle again.”

In the end, the slave was forced awake by inflicting him an injury.

“Annoying,” I clicked my tongue, pissed at the sight.

The examination continued until all the remaining participants either passed or were dragged off the field by the guards. Eventually, the rejects were turned away, some grumbling under their breath, others too injured to protest.

Thirteen of us remained.

Among the group, three stood out sharply against the rest. One was a swordsman whose movements seemed unnaturally smooth, his blade absorbing the momentum of any strike that came at him. The second was a redheaded woman with a burn scar clawing over the right side of her face, her belt and boots studded with daggers of varying sizes. The air around her hummed faintly, a sign of her powers, such as electrokinesis intertwined with telekinesis. The third was a towering man with no weapons at all, his skin faintly grayish, hinting at his gift: invulnerability.

The prince stepped forward with a bright smile and spread his arms in a welcoming gesture. “To those who have prevailed today, I extend my gratitude. Tonight, we hold a banquet in your honor. Let us celebrate the beginning of a partnership that shall bring great fortune to the kingdom and to each of you as well.”

His voice rang clear and warm, and the crowd responded with cheers that echoed through the square.

A banquet, huh? I wasn’t sure if it was a trap, a formality, or genuine goodwill, but either way, it would bring us closer to the target.