"That was admirable," Guinevere said once William returned, her tone composed yet sincere. "While the threat level was unexpected, you didn't panic and handled everything flawlessly."

Emma flashed a genuine smile at the assessment, her shoulders easing just a little. She knew Guinevere well enough to recognize the pattern. Whenever praise came this directly, a correction followed close behind. It was not meant to belittle, but to sharpen.

As expected, her instincts did not fail her.

"But," Guinevere continued, her gaze steady, "you neglected the survivors and risked their lives during the battle on the bridge. Your attacks could have harmed them, or worse, left them traumatized."

The air shifted subtly.

William stood with his hands at his sides, posture straight, expression unreadable. He neither defended himself nor acknowledged the criticism outright. To an outsider, it may have seemed like acceptance. In truth, his thoughts were far from aligned with her conclusion.

He understood her point. From an instructor's perspective, protecting civilians was a core principle, especially during assessments meant to test judgment under pressure.

But his own experience painted a harsher picture.

If survivors were already trapped in an ambush, surrounded by Devils with no clear escape, their minds were already scarred. Fear had already done its work. There was no version of that scenario where they walked away untouched.

Dragging the fight out to preserve an illusion of safety would only increase the chance of casualties.

Speed ended suffering.

That was the reality William operated on.

Still, he chose silence.

Arguing would serve no purpose. This was an evaluation, not a debate. Prolonging it would only waste time and draw unnecessary attention. So he stood there, calm and quiet, letting Guinevere say what she needed to say.

Satisfied, or at least finished, Guinevere dismissed the matter.

Soon after, the others were commanded to march ahead and complete their assessments one by one. The day stretched on, the sun slowly descending as cadets were tested, observed, and silently judged.

By late afternoon, exhaustion had settled into everyone's bones.

They were finally dismissed and ordered back to their rooms to rest for the day.

Based on their performances, teams would be distributed the following morning. After that, formal team training would begin.

As they walked back through the wide corridors, William stretched his arms before interlocking his fingers behind his head.

"I can't seem to understand the motive behind this lame test," he muttered, eyes drifting toward the high ceiling. "It felt unnecessary."

Emma walked beside him at an even pace, her expression neutral. "They just wanted to make us aware of what we should expect from this training programme."

William shrugged. The explanation did little to impress him.

Awareness was one thing. The execution felt shallow.

They continued in silence for a few moments before Emma spoke again, her tone casual but her words deliberate.

"Back then, on the bridge," she said, "you pulled those Ravens close to you to mask Nyx, didn't you?"

William glanced sideways at her before breaking into a cheeky grin. "Well, I knew you'd figure it out."

The truth was simple. Enduring the full force the stag poured onto him head-on would have been close to impossible without allowing the survivors to get involved. Any fluctuation that large would have triggered alarms, questions, and eyes he did not want on him.

So instead, he manipulated the battlefield.

He pulled the flying Devils closer, letting their presence to camouflage his Nyx. Then he amplified his telekinetic arms just enough to crush the stag swiftly, cleanly, and quietly.

Efficient. Controlled.

Emma studied him with quiet curiosity. "Are you planning to use Nyx more often now?"

William tilted his head slightly. "Before I answer that, I want to hear your thoughts."

She sighed, gaze drifting forward as she crossed her arms. "It's a part of you," she said slowly. "Something you've been using, in one form or another, for years. Much like aether."

She continued, choosing her words carefully. "Trusting what you've told me, you've never lost control over your emotions either. So avoiding it entirely only increases the risk. Sudden reliance on something unfamiliar is how disasters happen."

Her eyes flicked toward him briefly. "If you use dark energy regularly, in controlled situations, you reduce the chances of misfortune later."

Then her expression hardened slightly. "That said, you need to be careful. You're already being watched by many. Some are simply observing. Others are waiting for a reason to pull you down."

A faint smile tugged at her lips. "One solid piece of evidence and we might have to take Nana and elope."

William laughed. "Tempting," he admitted. "But I know what I need to do to keep this secret."

His smile faded gradually, replaced by a seriousness that rarely surfaced.

"I know exactly when I'll use that side of me," he said. "Whenever a Death Sink appears. They radiate Nyx so heavily that it becomes indistinguishable."

He exhaled. "That'll be my safe place."

Emma nodded. She did not argue.

She understood that some weapons were only meant to be drawn in very specific circumstances.

---

"I don't understand how someone in your position could differentiate between cadets like this."

Brutus's voice was calm, but displeasure edged every word.

Guinevere sighed quietly. She had anticipated this meeting the moment the decision was finalized.

They were in her office, the doors closed, the air heavy with restrained tension. Brutus stood straight, hands at his sides, his posture respectful but rigid.

The decision made by the higher-ups to challenge William with something more demanding had struck a nerve. Especially for someone like Brutus, who had always been hailed as the strongest in his homeland.

Guinevere met his gaze. "The decision was made based on his past performance during the contest and his dungeon trials."

Brutus's brow furrowed. "So the others from Ardentia failed to perform well enough to warrant similar challenges?"

The silence that followed spoke volumes.

Guinevere knew she was not convincing anyone, least of all Brutus. The justification sounded hollow even to her own ears.

"If preferential treatment is how this will proceed," Brutus said, his voice firm, "then my team and I see no reason to waste our time here."

His stance was unmistakable.

He had not come for comfort or favoritism. He was here to grow. To struggle. To face something that demanded effort.

Watching someone else receive meaningful challenges while he was handed shallow ones was an insult.

Guinevere felt irritation coil within her.

Very few dared to speak to her like this. Fewer still could maintain that tone without consequences. And yet, she held herself back.

'Cool, Guinevere,' she reminded herself. 'Arthur expects a positive conclusion.'

After a moment, she spoke evenly. "Tell me what the Great Hall can do to prevent you from leaving."

It was not an offer she enjoyed making, but diplomacy required restraint. The alliance between the two empires was not temporary. It was meant to last.

Brutus remained silent for a few seconds before answering.

"Place me and Miss Emma on the same team."

Guinevere blinked. "Why?"

Brutus explained without hesitation. "She is a remarkable mage. Someone I can learn from. That is why I request to be assigned alongside her."

His words were measured. Clear. Free of arrogance.

Despite everything that had occurred, he had not lost sight of his purpose.

This was not a childish demand born of infatuation.

Or at least, that was how he presented it.

He had not come to Guinevere to complain or beg. He had come to negotiate, knowing exactly what he wanted.

Because fulfilling his mother's wish required him to grow closer to Emma.

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