After the brief exchange between the two students who everyone believed would remain under the spotlight throughout the entire training, the rest of the candidates were instructed to stand in order.

They complied without complaint.

Several feet of space separated each student, forming neat, evenly spaced lines across the vast hall. No one spoke. The air itself felt disciplined, almost restrained, as they stood there in silence, waiting for their mentor to arrive.

Emma had already had her fill of anticipation and cookies earlier. By now, she had settled into herself and found that she did not mind standing here for as long as they demanded.

William, however, did not share the same sentiment.

His impatience was evident in the way his foot tapped repeatedly against the polished floor, the faint sound echoing just enough to betray his irritation. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, jaw clenched as his eyes flicked toward the empty stage.

What exactly was the point of keeping them standing like this when the mentor was clearly late?

"I really don't understand whether they treat us like warriors or just obedient underlings," William muttered under his breath, his frustration nearing its peak. They had already been standing there for nearly an hour.

No staff member was visible anywhere nearby. No announcement had been made. No one had even bothered to inform them when the mentor might arrive.

Just as the irritation began to spread through the ranks, a man finally appeared on the stage.

He wore the standard uniform of the Hall, a dark blaze paired with grey pants, clean and immaculately pressed. His presence immediately drew the attention of the students, and the hall quieted further as he cleared his throat.

"I apologize for the delay," he said evenly, his voice carrying across the chamber. "Your mentor has not arrived yet."

William clicked his tongue in annoyance, but the man continued without pause.

"Meanwhile," he added, "why don't I go over the rules you must follow during these two weeks of your stay here?"

No one protested. There was no reason to. So the man carried on, reciting regulations in a tone that suggested he had delivered this speech countless times before.

"As you were already told," he said, "this training programme has been arranged in secrecy to prevent panic from spreading among the people. That is why any letter you write to your family will first be inspected by one of our personnel. Please be very mindful of what you write."

As the man continued listing rules that were almost identical to what they had been told previously, William's attention drifted.

Something was wrong.

The air inside the hall felt different. He could not quite put his finger on it at first, but there was a subtle pressure creeping in, like an invisible hand brushing against his senses.

He glanced around and noticed that others had felt it too.

Several students stiffened where they stood. Their expressions changed, not into alert readiness, but into something closer to shock. Eyes widened. Breathing faltered. Some even trembled.

"Oh," William murmured under his breath as understanding dawned on him.

His brows drew together as he realized that something was attempting to breach his mental defenses.

Whatever it was, it did not come gently.

There was intent behind it.

Harmful or not, William would never allow anything or anyone to enter his mind uninvited.

His hand clenched into a fist as he shut his eyes, drawing inward. He focused entirely on reinforcing his mental barriers, multiplying them layer by layer, weaving them tightly together to repel the intrusion.

A sorcerer always finds a way to defend against their own spell.

And William could tell that this particular magic was not meant to read his memories. It was meant to manipulate his perception, to force him into seeing something that was not real.

That alone was enough to frustrate him.

With a snarl, William wrapped his mental threads around the invasive energy. The moment he did, he felt resistance. Surprise flickered through the spell as its caster tried to pull back, but it was already too late. The instant the spell touched him, the connection had been formed.

William exhaled sharply and followed the trail.

Through the tightly packed students. Through the wooden floor beneath their feet. Through the stage itself, past the man still speaking, unaware of the chaos unfolding beneath the surface.

And then, finally, William found her.

"Found you," he muttered, a grin stretching across his lips.

He lifted his arm, and in the very next instant, someone was violently torn from their position. A body flew through the stage and across the hall as if yanked by an invisible force.

Panic erupted.

Staff members shouted in alarm. Guards rushed forward, weapons raised. Several students collapsed to their knees as the illusion shattering caused their minds to recoil.

In the center of the chaos stood William, calm and unmoving.

Spears were raised toward him from every direction, but he paid them no mind. Suspended in the air before him was a black-haired woman, held tightly by his unseen grip.

Her identity stunned everyone present.

Including Emma.

It was Guinevere, the fourth seated member of the Great Hall.

William tilted his head slightly, studying her expression. "You don't seem very happy now that your greeting has been returned."

Guinevere snarled and thrust her hand forward.

PUFFF.

Black smoke burst outward, engulfing William completely. His concentration broke, and Guinevere used the moment to wrench herself free, retreating several steps away.

She raised her hand, signaling the soldiers to stand down. Reluctantly, they eased up and backed away. The other staff members followed suit, tension still thick in the air.

Emma rushed forward, coughing as she reached William's side.

"Are you okay?" she asked urgently. "Does it hurt anywhere?"

She was already preparing to chant a healing spell, but William raised a hand to stop her.

"It's fine," he said hoarsely. "It was just smoke."

Still, his heart pounded. Smoke was one of the few things his telekinetic arms could not block. If it had been poisonous, things could have ended far worse.

Guinevere glared at him. "That was your first test," she declared. "And you failed."

William stared at her, unimpressed. "Oh really? Trying to corrupt someone's mind counts as a test now?"

She rolled her eyes. "That was an illusion, you oversmart brat. An illusion meant to test how you would react during an emergency."

The others could understand that. Many of them had seen horrifying visions, loved ones being attacked by devils, chaos unfolding before their eyes. It was meant to measure their responses.

But before they could even process it fully, the illusion had been shattered. All because of William.

He shrugged. "Even so, sensing someone trying to take over your mind and not stopping them seems foolish to me."

Guinevere let out a short laugh. "And what if, while you were tracing the sorcerer, they threw you off balance and stabbed you the moment you lost focus?"

William sighed. "Do you really think I would bother dragging them into the light?" His gaze turned icy. "If this had happened elsewhere, I would have snapped the perpetrator's neck without hesitation."

Silence fell over the hall.

Emma tensed, ready to act if Guinevere retaliated. Others watched with bated breath.

But Guinevere merely straightened. "You have failed the first test, Delimore William. Fail two more, and you will be expelled."

William's eyes hardened.

Expelled?

Did they truly believe he was desperate to remain here?

Emma felt it then. The familiar restraint around William's aether slipped, and raw power leaked into the air.

He was furious.

Before anyone could react, a voice cut cleanly through the tension.

"I don't think you can do that, Guinevere."

Her eyes widened as she turned sharply.

"A-Arthur?"

°°°°°°°°°

A/N:- If you are wondering why is she so salty toward him, remember the Goblet of Honor arc. Thanks for reading.

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