The participants of the final stage of the exam gathered in the underground coliseum. The vast space was illuminated by pulsating lights resembling artificial suns, casting sharp shadows on the uneven metallic surface of the track. At the center stood a massive, circular starting platform, surrounded by tiered stands filled with examiners and invited guests.

  Isaac’s heart raced as he glanced at Cornelius, who stood with his arms crossed, completely unfazed.

  “Looks like it’s going to be intense,” said Pilsudski, trying to hide his nervousness.

  “Just don’t get left behind at the finish line,” Cornelius retorted, adjusting his red scarf.

  Suddenly, the director’s voice echoed across the coliseum:

  “Welcome to the final stage of the exam! The participants who have made it to the finals are: No. 3 Cornelius, No. 6 Clara, No. 10 Makoto, No. 12 Adhiraj, No. 13 Sora, No. 15 Maya, No. 34 Anna, No. 66 Grace, No. 74 Vitold, No. 77 Lucy Serafin, No. 140 Tommy, and last but not least, No. 647 Isaac Pilsudski. Since this is the decisive match, I’ve taken the liberty of inviting your loved ones...”

  This announcement took Isaac by surprise, and he began scanning the stands. He spotted his mother, Angela, and his younger sister, Olivia, among the crowd. Olivia, noticing his gaze, waved at him enthusiastically. A mix of joy and sadness filled him—happy to see his family, but acutely aware that they were never truly safe around him. Ultimately, he decided to trust Philip’s judgment in bringing them here.

  “…And now, a little about the final stage. It will be a race. The track is made up of multiple platforms, some of which you can fall from. There are plenty of traps, so watch yourselves. As for the rules, there’s only one: no killing. Other than that, anything goes. Only the first six to finish will win, so it’s every man for himself. Let the race begin!”

  Before the race could start, the entrance doors to the arena burst open with a loud crash. The room filled with murmurs as a group of elegantly dressed individuals marched into the coliseum. Leading them was a man with silver hair and a golden crown—it was none other than King Joseph Poniatowski, dressed in a regal outfit adorned with gold and the symbols of his royal lineage. Beside him walked his son, General Peter Poniatowski of the royal guard, a young man with long golden hair and a cold, piercing gaze. Following them was the king’s adopted son, Michael Poniatowski, general of the inventor’s guild and one of the youngest generals in history. He was also a recent graduate of the elite class, his face marked with the same red streaks under his eyes as Lucy.

  “It is an honor to witness such promising candidates,” the king declared, his voice calm but firm. “Good luck. Let this race be a true test of your determination.”

  Isaac and Cornelius exchanged glances. The boy in the red scarf simply shrugged, as if the presence of the king himself was nothing extraordinary. Isaac, trying to mask his emotions, felt a shiver run down his spine.

  The royal family took their place in a VIP box. Prince Peter, known for his extreme views and favoritism towards the nobility, began scrutinizing the participants.

  “I see we only have two nobles this year: Pilsudski and that girl from the Moniuszko family… what was her name again?”

  “Maya,” Michael replied coldly.

  “Ah, yes. Maya. Along with the prince from India, they’re my top picks,” Peter added smugly.

  “You always judge based on heritage. One day, that’ll be your downfall,” Michael said, adjusting his collar.

  “Oh? Speaking up for them because you’re a commoner yourself?” Peter sneered.

  Their conversation was cut short by the king.

  “Peter, show respect to your brother and to the participants. In my view, the chances are even.”

  The first prince reluctantly fell silent, and Michael followed suit. However, the younger Poniatowski couldn’t take his eyes off Cornelius.

  “This can’t be…” Michael thought, his expression darkening. “How did he survive…?”

  The underground coliseum buzzed with energy, the air thick with anticipation. The starting line was crowded with participants, each ready to face the final challenge. Cornelius glanced at Isaac, who was tightening the bandage on his arm.

  “Focus, Pilsudski. I’m not dragging you through this,” he said curtly.

  Isaac met his gaze briefly but didn’t have time to respond as the starting signal blared. The participants surged forward, and chaos erupted instantly.

  The first segments of the track were filled with pitfalls, laser barriers, and moving platforms. Numbers 3 and 647 quickly formed a temporary alliance, helping each other navigate the hazards.

  “Jump on my signal!” Cornelius shouted, pointing to a rising platform.

  Isaac obeyed and managed to land safely on the next stable section of the track. Despite his detached demeanor, Cornelius demonstrated exceptional strategic thinking.

  Meanwhile, Makoto, wielding his katana, effortlessly slashed through the mechanism controlling one of the barriers, forcing several competitors to stop abruptly. Grace, with dark energy swirling in her eyes, attempted to dominate Maya but failed.

  “Tough luck,” Maya remarked, executing a flawless dodge before leaping to a higher level of the track.

  Elsewhere, Vitold tried to outwit Anna. Pretending to help her up from a trap, he attempted to push her down to gain an advantage.

  “Let me help you, young lady,” he said with a polite smile.

  Anna grabbed his hand, but at the last moment, Vitold yanked her downward. Her scream caught Lucy’s attention, who appeared out of nowhere.

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  “Bad people don’t deserve mercy,” she said coldly, severing Vitold’s arm. The older man recoiled in agony, and Lucy helped Anna to her feet.

  “Thank you…” Anna whispered, visibly shaken.

  “Don’t thank me. Just be more careful,” Lucy replied before charging ahead, a single thought echoing in her mind: “If I win, I can become a hero like my mom.”

  Adhiraj, the prince of India, was one of the most distinguished participants, at least in appearance. His elegant outfit, adorned with golden embroidery, and his confident smile revealed that he was not accustomed to losing. However, the race proved to be far more challenging than he had anticipated.

  In the first stage, he attempted to manipulate the situation to his advantage. Seeing how easily Lucy leapt over obstacles, he ran up to her and quietly proposed:

  "Help me win. I’ll deposit a million dollars into your account if I make it to the finish line first."

  Lucy paused for a moment, giving him a cold stare.

  "Do you think everything can be bought?" she asked, her voice laced with irritation. "I want to win because that’s how I’ll become someone great."

  The prince raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised by her response.

  "Are you sure? It’s a very generous offer."

  "Leave before you lose more than just money," she shot back, turning on her heel and continuing the race.

  Adhiraj tried the same tactic with other participants. Grace merely laughed dismissively, rejecting his offer. Sora completely ignored him, focused on the obstacles. Even Tommy, who usually kept to himself, replied curtly, "Not interested."

  Eventually, the prince began to lose his patience. At one turn, where the walls moved in a chaotic rhythm, he tried to rely on his cunning. He waited for the other competitors to act first, analyzing their mistakes. However, his hesitation caused him to fall behind.

  In the middle of the track, separated from Cornelius, Isaac faced his first real obstacle—an injured but unyielding Vitold. Despite missing an arm and showing visible fatigue, the older man’s face still radiated determination.

  “It won’t be that easy, young man,” Vitold challenged, his voice laced with defiance.

  Isaac took a deep breath, analyzing the situation. Despite his age and injuries, Vitold moved with surprising agility. When Isaac attempted to pass, Vitold countered with a sudden kick, forcing him to dodge.

  “I’m disappointed in you,” Isaac taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm, as he baited his opponent into making another move.

  Seizing the opportunity, Isaac feinted an attack and used his speed to slip past Vitold. The older man reached out with his remaining hand but lost his balance, collapsing to the ground.

  “Maybe it’s time to give up, old man,” Isaac quipped before moving forward.

  Grinding his teeth, Vitold remained on the ground, too exhausted to continue.

  As Isaac advanced, he encountered Adhiraj, who was tackling one of the track’s most challenging sections—a moving ramp lined with laser barriers.

  “Falling behind too, Pilsudski?” Adhiraj sneered, his voice tinged with forced confidence.

  Isaac smirked.

  “And what about you? I thought rich boys had everything handed to them.”

  Adhiraj clenched his jaw.

  “It’s strategy. I don’t need to be first to win. Maybe we can work together?”

  “No thanks. I prefer doing things my way,” Isaac replied, brushing off the offer.

  Adhiraj attempted to block Isaac’s path, but the younger participant used his agility and determination to vault over the obstacle, leaving the prince far behind.

  A few meters ahead, Isaac spotted another obstacle—Grace, standing dead center on the track with her hand raised, brimming with spiritual energy. Her glare was sharp, her stance unyielding. She was clearly ready to unleash her frustrations on anyone daring to pass.

  “You think I’ll let you get ahead of me?” she growled, launching a shadowy wave of energy straight at him.

  There was no time for hesitation. Isaac steadied himself, recalling Philip’s relentless training. He knew the only way to counter spiritual energy was with precision and confidence. Taking a deep breath, he summoned a faint aura around his body, then swiftly moved his hand, dispersing Grace’s attack like smoke in the wind.

  “Not bad—for an amateur,” he taunted, shifting into a defensive stance.

  Grace’s face twisted with frustration, and she hurled herself forward, her energy crackling like a storm. But Isaac had already noticed her momentary lapse in focus. With a quick sidestep, he dodged her strike and countered with precision, targeting the weakest point in her attack. The shadow disintegrated, forcing her to stumble back.

  “Luck won’t protect you forever,” she hissed, retreating with visible frustration.

  Isaac didn’t bother responding. He could see she’d lost her edge, and without missing a beat, he surged forward.

  Further along the narrow track, Isaac encountered another challenger—Sora. The precise and focused Asian stood in the middle of a bridge spanning a deep chasm, his arms crossed in an air of calm confidence.

  “You know you don’t stand a chance, right?” he said, his smirk barely breaking the surface.

  “You’re not very original. Grace said the same thing,” Isaac replied, keeping his tone cool.

  Without another word, Sora sprang into action. His movements were lightning-fast, each kick and strike a calculated attempt to force Isaac back. The blows came with such precision that Isaac found himself taking a defensive step, then another, struggling to stay on balance.

  When Sora tried to shove him off the bridge entirely, Isaac spotted his chance. Blocking the attack, he twisted to the side and slipped past his opponent, delivering a sharp jab to his ribs as he went.

  Sora faltered, losing his balance, and tumbled into the chasm below, landing on a lower platform.

  “Thanks for the sparring session,” Isaac called over his shoulder, leaping across the bridge and continuing his race.

  As the track curved closer to the final stretch, Isaac came face-to-face with Clara. Despite the challenges she had faced earlier, she was still holding her ground, her icy glare fixed on him as she adjusted her glasses.

  “Ugh, another idiot shows up?” she sneered with disdain.

  “Maybe. But at least I watch where I step,” Isaac replied, a sly grin forming as he pointed toward the ground.

  Clara instinctively looked down, but it was already too late. Isaac had activated a hidden trap, and the floor beneath her feet gave way. She plummeted into the pit with a yelp, managing to spit out:

  “You idiot! You’ll regret this!”

  Isaac sighed at her outburst but didn’t let it distract him. The finish line was close, but he knew more obstacles awaited.

  Just before the end, a shadow emerged—Tommy. Isaac had barely noticed him throughout the race, but now the boy stood in his path, casually holding his handheld console. His lack of visible fatigue made Isaac pause, an uneasy feeling settling in.

  “Completely forgot about him,” Isaac thought, narrowing his eyes.

  “Speed +20,” Tommy announced with a cocky grin. In the blink of an eye, he was suddenly beside Isaac.

  Realizing the race was truly on, Isaac pushed himself to move faster, the two of them running neck and neck as the finish line drew closer. Tommy, however, seemed to have another gear. Without warning, he surged ahead as if propelled by a hidden reserve of energy.

  Caught off guard, Isaac didn’t react in time to block when Tommy landed a sharp blow to his injured arm. The pain was blinding, momentarily breaking his focus. Seizing the opportunity, Tommy pulled ahead by several meters and crossed the finish line as the sixth and final qualifier.