Corbin walked the desolate corridor toward the circular arena, the site of the year-end evaluation. He glanced around as he moved, a suffocating familiarity pressing in on him. Shields bearing the Vance Clan crest hung at intervals along the walls. Each depicted a dragon, a chain coiled around its neck and a sword piercing its heart. The Wyrmbane Emblem. A frown creased Corbin’s brow at the sight of it. To think I’d see this again with my own eyes. To Corbin, the Vance Clan was both a trauma and an object of undeniable yearning. It was a wall he had never managed to overcome. He’d once thought that by gaining the greatest power on the continent, he could finally erase the shadow of the Wyrmsworn. Perhaps that was why he had fought so desperately. He shoved the heavy door at the end of the Great Fane open and stepped inside. Thud! The circular arena was already filled with children his own age. They were all methodically wrapping their hands in leather straps for Gauntlet Trials, one of the evaluation’s events. Hmm… The assembled children murmured at Corbin’s arrival. He ignored them, his gaze sweeping across the arena. It was a strange feeling, standing here again after so many years. “Heh. Brings back memories.” As a child, Corbin had hated Gauntlet Trials. He was small for a direct descendant of the Vance Clan, and weak. The clan’s young blood, whether from the direct or collateral lines, began living together at the age of seven. For five years, they were subjected to the strict rules, disciplined life, and harsh training of the communal living area known as the “Crucible.” They received basic instruction in swordsmanship, hand-to-hand combat, and physical conditioning before the Blessing Ceremony. Of these, Gauntlet Trials was one of the most important. In the Vance Clan, Gauntlet Trials was a no-rules brawl, little different from actual combat. Injuries were common, but it hardly mattered when they had the highest-grade healing potions on hand—a luxury only the Vance Clan could afford on the entire continent. “Whew…” Corbin took a deep breath, stretching his muscles. Unused to such behavior from him, the other children shot him curious glances. It was then that a voice cut through the noise. “Well, look who decided to show up instead of running away.” Corbin turned his head. A red-haired boy with a spray of freckles across his nose stood there, flanked by two larger, broad-shouldered boys who postured arrogantly behind him. Who is this? Then, recognition dawned. “Ah. It’s you. Leon Thorne.” The red-haired boy’s face flushed a deep crimson, and he gritted his teeth. Leon stalked forward and grabbed Corbin’s shoulder. “Are you out of your mind, you recessive-gene bastard?” At that moment— Grab! Corbin’s hand shot out, clamping down on Leon’s wrist. Crack! Leon’s eyes widened in pain. He wrenched his hand free from Corbin’s grip and glared, his voice rising to a shout. “How dare you! Do you want to die, you recessive-gene bastard?!” Corbin met his furious gaze with unnerving calm. Should I kill him? In his life before regression, Corbin had endured every hardship imaginable while wandering the continent. Killing a twelve-year-old boy who hadn’t even awakened his aura would be trivial. While Leon fumed, the other children watched the unfolding scene in silence. Just then— Ding! The bell signaling the start of the evaluation rang out. Corbin clicked his tongue as Leon backed away. He remembered now. Leon had bullied him relentlessly during their time in both the Crucible and the academy. Leon Thorne. That damn bastard was one of my cousins, too. Corbin had four siblings and more than ten cousins. With the exception of the direct descendants he rarely saw, most of them were insufferable incarnations of the Vance spirit. As Corbin was lost in thought, the instructor strode into the arena. At his appearance, the children fell into neat lines, their movements surprisingly swift for their age. Corbin recalled the instructor’s name. Gideon Cole. He was in charge of our year. Standing in the center of the arena, Gideon Cole’s voice boomed. “This year’s evaluation, like the last, will consist of Gauntlet Trials and sword fighting.” The children tensed, their focus sharpening at his words. The evaluation at the Crucible was directly linked to class assignments at the academy they would enter the following year. After the Blessing Ceremony, the trainees would awaken their aura and enter the academy as Yellow Knights. Their class placement would be determined by their performance here. A higher class meant more opportunities to learn advanced dragon slayer techniques, so the competition was fierce. Corbin clicked his tongue, witnessing the cutthroat atmosphere again after twenty years. How did I even survive this place? As a child, he had been weak, physically and mentally. The Crucible and the academy had been nothing short of hell for him. While Corbin reminisced, Gideon Cole called out the first pair of evaluators. “Aaron! Gareth!” Aaron and Gareth stepped into the arena. Gareth was one of the large boys who had been standing behind Leon. Both were well-built and appeared to be in the same weight class. Gideon blew the whistle. Tweet! Aaron and Gareth lowered their stances, glaring at each other. A moment later, Gareth lunged, trying to grab Aaron’s leg. But Aaron shifted his weight, smoothly evading the tackle and seizing Gareth’s waist. With a grunt, Aaron hoisted him into the air and threw him over his shoulder. Thud! Gareth, slammed onto the arena floor, scrambled to his feet, his face contorted in a furious snarl. “You commoner bastard…” Aaron, his expression relaxed, simply reset his stance. Gareth launched several more attacks, but Aaron’s defense blocked them all. The match ended anticlimactically with Aaron’s clear victory. Hmm… Corbin watched the match with a bored expression. It’s just a kids’ fight. So clumsy. He used to despise Gauntlet Trials with every fiber of his being. Now, it looked like children’s theatrics. Noticing Corbin’s wide yawn, Leon, who was standing across the way, glared at him with murderous intensity. After a few more matches, Gideon Cole called out the next contestants. “Corbin! And…” Gideon hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing. “Leon! Come forward.” Judging from the triumphant smirk on Leon’s face, he had arranged this with the instructor beforehand. The Vance Clan presented a facade of a noble knightly family to the world, but behind the scenes, it was a breeding ground for schemes and deceit. They always said only those who could overcome such tricks were true dragon slayers. Leon stepped into the arena, cracking his knuckles. Corbin followed, trudging listlessly into the ring. Leon fixed his eyes on Corbin. “Recessive-gene bastard. You’re dead today.” Corbin simply looked back at him. “Hey.” Leon glanced down at his own fist, then back up at Corbin. “Say ‘recessive gene’ one more time, and I’ll kill you.” Leon flinched, a flicker of fear crossing his face at the raw killing intent in Corbin’s voice. But realizing he’d just been intimidated, he puffed out his chest and shouted even louder. “You recessive—” Whoosh! Before he could finish, Corbin’s fist cut through the air. Wham! Leon felt as if half his face had caved in. He collapsed to the floor of the arena. “Gasp… M-my face.” He clutched his cheek, writhing on the ground. Corbin recalled the message that had flashed in his mind the moment his fist connected. [Skill Deathblow activated.] So that’s how active skills work. Tweet! The whistle blew shrilly. Gideon Cole stormed forward. “What are you doing? The match hasn’t even started!” Corbin met the instructor’s gaze without a shred of fear. “Does a man shout ‘start’ before he stabs someone on the battlefield? The one who strikes first wins.” Gideon was taken aback by Corbin’s harsh, cold tone. He’s always been the one to run away. What’s gotten into him? Leon, fuming, pushed himself to his feet. “Instructor! Start it again! I’m going to kill that recessive-gene bastard!” Gideon hesitated, then blew the whistle again. “Match start!” Leon took his stance and charged. That was just a lucky punch. This time, I’ll break both his arms and legs. Though small, Leon had a natural talent for Gauntlet Trials. Even bigger kids couldn’t match his fighting sense and often ended up with dislocated shoulders for their trouble. He was also known for his ruthlessness, often refusing to stop when an opponent tapped out, choosing instead to break their bones. Because of this, most children fought him passively. Brimming with confidence, Leon lowered his center of gravity and rushed at Corbin. But Corbin just stood there, his posture betraying none of its usual openings. What is this? In that moment, Corbin’s left hand shot out. Whack! The jab, which should have been out of range, snapped against Leon’s face. “This bastard!” Every time Leon charged, another jab would fly. Whack! “Ugh!” They were light punches, but with his fist wrapped tightly in leather, each blow tore at Leon’s skin and made his head ring. Gritting his teeth, Leon guarded his face and pushed forward, finally closing the distance and wrapping his arms around Corbin’s waist. “Got you, you bastard!” All he had to do was take him down and snap his joints. He tried to throw Corbin over his back, but strangely, Corbin didn’t budge an inch. W-what the—? Corbin leaned in and whispered in Leon’s ear. “I told you. Say ‘recessive’ again, and I’ll kill you.” Goosebumps erupted across Leon’s skin. He frantically tried to pull back. Whoosh! But Corbin, still in close, kicked Leon’s thigh. “Ugh!” It was a heavy blow, far more powerful than a low kick from such an unstable position should have been. As Leon’s balance faltered, Corbin hooked his leg behind Leon’s and tripped him. Thud! As Leon hit the ground, Corbin slammed an elbow into his ribs. [Skill Viper's Kiss activated.] “Cough!” With his ribs broken, Leon couldn't draw a breath. Corbin mounted him, pinning one arm with his leg and driving his knee into the other shoulder. Poised over him, Corbin made a fist and looked down at Leon’s terrified face. Then he began to punch. [Skill Flurry of Blades activated.] Wham! Wham! Wham! Wham! Corbin’s fists rained down relentlessly on Leon’s face. “Gah, gah! S-stop!” Despite Leon’s pleas, the fists didn’t stop. Leon struggled for another moment before his body went limp, his consciousness lost to the merciless beating. Only then did Corbin slowly rise to his feet. “Nothing but a little brat.” The waiting paramedics rushed in and dragged Leon’s unconscious, bloody form out of the arena. Corbin, having turned his opponent into a pulp in an instant, calmly returned to his spot in line. The other children exchanged uneasy glances, struggling to process his sudden, violent transformation. Then Corbin’s voice, low and clear, cut through the silence. “I can hear your eyeballs rolling, you know.” Every child’s gaze snapped uniformly to him. Corbin chuckled. “Now that I’ve worked up a sweat, my head is finally clear. I’m starting to recognize all your faces.” The children just stared, unable to comprehend what he was saying. “If you have something to say, then say it. Stop sneaking looks.” It was then that another voice spoke up. “Instructor.” A boy with a sharp gaze, his eyes showing the whites beneath the irises, raised his hand. “May I choose Corbin as my opponent for the evaluation?” Corbin recognized him. I remember. His name was… right. Joric Ashworth. Another cousin. At Joric’s words, Gideon turned to Corbin. “Corbin, what will you do?” Corbin considered it for a moment, then stood. “Sure. Why not? Let’s sweat a little more. But,” he said, pointing a finger at Joric, “it’s too boring with just you.” Corbin’s finger shifted to the boy sitting beside Joric. “Liam Stone.” The boy, who had been sitting in silence, quietly raised his head. Corbin looked between the two of them. “Both of you. Come at me together.” A grin spread across Corbin’s face. “That seems a bit more balanced.”

Chapter 2: The Wyrmbane Emblem Burned