The hour that followed felt both too long and too short simultaneously.

Palace officials moved through the assembled delegates distributing small wooden boxes, one per person. The boxes were uniform, unmarked save for a subtle glow emanating from whatever lay inside.

Raze accepted his box and opened it to find a bracelet resting on a velvet lining. The thing looked impossibly advanced, a metallic surface inscribed with patterns that seemed to shift when observed directly. Tiny crystals were embedded at regular intervals, pulsing with soft light that suggested active enchantment rather than passive decoration.

"Put them on," an official announced. "Left wrist, clasp should adjust automatically."

Around the courtyard, delegates complied with varying degrees of caution. Raze slipped the bracelet over his left wrist and felt the clasp tighten smoothly, conforming to fit perfectly without discomfort.

The response was immediate.

A translucent aura erupted around him, a golden shimmer that enveloped his entire body before fading to barely visible outline. The sensation was strange but not unpleasant, like being wrapped in warm water that somehow didn't impede movement. His cultivation responded to whatever energy the bracelet emitted, core pulsing once before settling into new equilibrium.

"What is this?" someone nearby asked, holding their arm up to examine the glowing outline.

"Protection enchantment, probably," another voice answered. "High level work too. The mana density in these things is ridiculous."

Raze studied his own bracelet more carefully. The shifting patterns weren't random but rather some form of runic script he didn't recognize. Ancient work, possibly predating the fifteen kingdoms entirely. Whatever purpose these served went beyond simple identification.

Movement across the courtyard drew his attention. The delegates weren't just milling randomly anymore. Clear hierarchies were forming within each national group, natural leaders emerging as people clustered around individuals who radiated authority and power.

He focused, extending his senses carefully to gauge the strongest cultivators present.

Elmbridge Empire's auburn haired leader stood at the center of their delegation, Master Mid rank cultivation solid and controlled. The way others deferred to him suggested noble lineage combined with genuine capability. Probably ducal family at minimum, possibly even imperial bloodline.

Aeloria's representative was a woman with short dark hair and a scar bisecting her left eyebrow. Master Low rank, but her bearing suggested combat experience that transcended simple cultivation numbers. She wore her authority like a second skin, every movement economical and purposeful.

Cindral's leader was surprisingly scholarly looking, a thin man with spectacles who nonetheless radiated Master Low rank power. Alchemist who'd clearly invested heavily in personal cultivation alongside his craft, an unusual combination that marked exceptional dedication.

Valtor's head was exactly what Raze expected: a mage whose ambient mana leaked constantly despite obvious control attempts. Master Mid rank, specialization in elemental manipulation if the temperature fluctuations around him were any indication.

Kingdom after kingdom, the pattern repeated. Each delegation had naturally gravitated toward their strongest or most politically connected member, forming command structures without official instruction.

Then his eyes found Astoria's group and recognition hit immediately.

The Prince stood front and center, exactly as pompous as Raze remembered from the engagement ceremony. His blonde hair was styled with a product that probably cost more than most people's monthly food budget. His cultivation sat at Master Low rank, respectable but not exceptional among this gathering. The sneer on his face suggested he still considered himself superior regardless of objective measurements.

Behind him, maintaining the proper distance that protocol demanded, was the Princess. She looked uncomfortable in her subordinate position, eyes occasionally flicking toward her brother with expression that might have been frustration or resentment. Her own cultivation matched his rank, suggesting twin birth or very close age despite the obvious gender difference.

Their eyes met across the courtyard. Recognition flashed in the Prince's gaze, followed immediately by something ugly that twisted his features. The Princess's expression was harder to read, more guarded, but definitely aware of who Raze was.

Right. The engagement ceremony where the Prince had made his interest in Fedora painfully obvious, only to watch a commoner elevated Count claim her hand instead. That probably hadn't sat well with noble pride and political ambitions.

The attention Raze was receiving wasn't limited to Astoria's royalty. Multiple delegates from various kingdoms were watching him with expressions ranging from curiosity to calculation. Apparently his reputation had spread beyond Westia's borders, stories about corruption exposure and surviving Sovereign rank assassination making rounds through noble networks.

Movement from his own delegation drew his focus back to immediate surroundings.

Westia's thirty delegates had unconsciously arranged themselves with Raze at the center. Not crowding him, not making obvious display, but definitely orienting their positions around his location. Darius stood slightly to his left, Sera to his right, others filling in the gaps to create loose formation that nonetheless clearly identified hierarchy.

He hadn't asked for this. Hadn't demanded leadership or asserted dominance. But apparently his title, reputation, and demonstrated capability had combined to create an assumption of authority that everyone simply accepted.

Fedora stood beside him naturally, her position as both princess and his betrothed making her inclusion unremarkable. Slith remained coiled around her shoulders, the serpent's scales catching light in ways that drew admiring glances from those who recognized quality bound creatures.

Bephe sat at Raze's feet in dog form, occasionally glancing up at him as if checking for instructions. The prehistoric predator's presence added to the image of authority, a bound creature of obvious power waiting for his master's command.

"I didn't realize we were doing formal leadership structures," Raze said quietly to Darius.

The spear wielder shrugged. "You're a Count, you're engaged to our Princess, you survived a Sovereign rank assault, and you've got bound creatures that make most people's companions look like pets. Who else would we follow?"

"Someone who actually wants to lead?"

"Want doesn't matter as much as capability." Darius's expression was serious. "We're representing Westia at an institution that will judge us constantly. Having clear leadership makes us look organized rather than scattered. And you're the obvious choice even if you didn't ask for it."

Raze processed that, recognizing the practical logic even if he hadn't anticipated this particular development. "Fine. But if I'm leading, then I'm making sure everyone benefits. We succeed collectively or we don't succeed at all."

"Works for me." Darius grinned. "Besides, you've got better strategic sense than most nobles twice your age. I'll take competent leadership over noble preening any day."

The statement drew quiet agreements from nearby delegates who'd overheard. Apparently the sentiment was shared widely enough to have created this spontaneous hierarchy.

Well. If they wanted to make this easy by submitting to his authority without power struggles, he'd use it. Leadership meant responsibility, but it also meant leverage. He could position all of them to benefit from whatever opportunities he identified and claimed.

Swallowing the plot worked better with support structure anyway.

His mind turned to what came next. The examination they'd been warned about, format unknown but imminent. He'd never approached Elmbridge Academy during his time playing Records of Istea, the game's version of him too focused on dungeon rewards and item farming to engage with the Academy storyline.

But he'd read articles. Online forums discussing various quests and events, players sharing strategies and experiences. Something about the Academy entrance examination had generated discussion, though details were fuzzy in his memory.

Culling Ground. The phrase surfaced from scattered recollection. Combat assessment in a controlled environment, testing capability against overwhelming numbers. The articles had mentioned it as particularly challenging for new players who hadn't developed proper crowd control abilities.

Not much to work with, but more than complete ignorance.

Movement on the Academy steps pulled everyone's attention forward. Headmaster Sariah had returned, her silver hair catching afternoon light as she descended toward the courtyard. The ambient noise died immediately, four hundred fifty delegates falling silent in unconscious response to her presence.

"Delegates of the fifteen kingdoms," her voice carried that same effortless projection. "Welcome once more to Elmbridge Academy. The hour of preparation has concluded. Now begins your entrance examination."

She raised one hand and snapped her fingers.

Every bracelet in the courtyard flared with sudden brilliance, golden light erupting from the crystals embedded in their surfaces. Raze felt the aura around him intensify momentarily before settling back to barely visible shimmer.

In the air above the courtyard, a massive screen materialized. Translucent surface displaying row after row of names, four hundred fifty entries arranged alphabetically regardless of kingdom affiliation. Beside each name sat a simple number: 0.

"Your examination is called the Culling Games," Sariah continued, apparently unbothered by the dramatic display she'd just created. "In moments, you will be teleported into a pocket dimension of my own creation. Within that space exist beasts ranging from Novice rank to Master Peak, numbering in the millions across varied terrain and environments."

Murmurs rippled through the assembled delegates. Millions of beasts. Master Peak threats. Pocket dimension. Each detail adding to the scale of what they faced.

"Your objective is simple," the Headmaster said. "Kill as many beasts as possible within three hours. Each kill awards points based on the creature's rank and difficulty. Your bracelet tracks your performance automatically, updating the scoreboard in real time."

She gestured to the massive screen still hovering overhead.

"The beasts within are real, their danger genuine. However, your bracelet provides protection. Should you sustain injury that would normally prove lethal, you will be immediately teleported to our infirmary for treatment. Your examination ends at that point, your score frozen at whatever total you achieved before elimination."

Her expression grew slightly harder.

"Conflict between delegates is permitted. Should you render another competitor unconscious or force their bracelet to trigger emergency extraction, half their accumulated points transfer to you. Choose your engagements wisely. Alliance and betrayal are both valid strategies in the Culling Games."

That prompted more substantial reaction. Delegates exchanging glances with their countrymen, clearly weighing the implications of sanctioned combat against each other.

"Your bound companions' kills count toward your personal total," Sariah added, glancing toward those few delegates who'd brought creatures. "Their performance reflects your capability as their master."

Raze felt Bephe shift against his leg, the creature clearly understanding enough to recognize he'd been mentioned.

"Teleportation will be randomized," the Headmaster continued. "You will not materialize near your allies. The Culling Games test individual capability, not coordinated group tactics. You begin to be isolated and must survive accordingly."

She swept her gaze across the assembled youth one final time.

"The pocket dimension contains varied environments: forests, mountains, swamps, caverns, plains. Beasts adapted to each terrain await you. Use your surroundings wisely. Recognize your limitations honestly. And understand that this examination exists not to eliminate you, but to measure your current capability against objective standards."

Sariah's expression softened slightly, becoming almost maternal.

"You are humanity's exceptional prospects. This is your opportunity to demonstrate why you deserve that designation. Show us the strength of your kingdoms. Show us the depth of your training. Show us that you belong at Elmbridge Academy."

She raised both hands, power gathering visibly around her fingers.

"Good luck, delegates. May your performance honor those who believed in you."

The courtyard erupted with motion. Delegates turning to face their companions, final words exchanged before separation. Raze met the eyes of his group, Westia's thirty representatives watching him for leadership even now.

"Hunt efficiently, watch your flanks, and don't let pride override survival instinct," he said simply. "We're representing Westia. Make it count."

Nods answered him, determination visible on every face despite underlying nervousness.

Then he turned to Fedora. She stood straight backed and composed, princess mask firmly in place. But her eyes showed the anxiety underneath, fear of separation and unknown challenges ahead.

"Good luck," he said quietly.

"You too." Her voice carried warmth despite formal distance. Then, softer: "Be careful."

"Always."

Slith hissed softly from her shoulders, forked tongue flickering in what might have been serpentine well wishes. Raze nodded to the creature, acknowledging the bond they shared through Fedora.

Finally he looked down at Bephe. The prehistoric predator had expanded slightly, anticipation clear in the way his muscles bunched and tail swished. The creature knew combat was coming, instincts responding to the promise of violence ahead.

"Time to go crazy," Raze told him simply.

Bephe's responding growl was pure anticipation.

Headmaster Sariah snapped her fingers.

Golden light exploded across the courtyard, engulfing every delegate simultaneously. Raze felt the world lurch, sensation of falling and flying combined into a disorienting instant of transition. His stomach twisted as reality bent around him, pocket dimension pulling them through space in ways that defied normal physics.

Then solidity returned with jarring suddenness.

Raze materialized in a forest, dense canopy overhead filtering sunlight into dappled patterns across leaf strewn ground. Ancient trees surrounded him, trunks thick enough that three people couldn't encircle them with linked arms. Undergrowth tangled between the massive roots, creating natural barriers and potential hiding spots.

Bephe appeared beside him, the creature immediately expanding to his preferred calf size now that space allowed. The young predator's head swiveled, scanning their surroundings with senses far superior to human perception.

Silence pressed down on them, broken only by distant sounds that might have been wind or might have been something moving through the forest.

Raze checked his bracelet. The display showed his name with 0 beside it, same as when the scoreboard first appeared. Somewhere in this pocket dimension, four hundred forty nine other delegates were materializing in their own random locations, beginning their own hunts.

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