Three days passed.
Ryn arrived at the Eastern City Gate, where a large number of trainee soldiers and mages had already gathered, with more still arriving by the minute.
The air was thick with tension.
Everyone stood in silence, waiting for orders.
Yet among the crowd, many eyes were drawn to Ryn.
He was not particularly tall, but the long sword strapped to his back looked oversized—almost absurdly so for his frame.
Whether he wanted it or not, he had become a point of attention.
Around him stood burly soldiers carrying war hammers, massive axes, and colossal greatswords that suited their powerful builds.
Regular infantry bore longswords, twin blades, or iron spears, depending on their personal fighting style.
The mages, meanwhile, wore fitted combat attire—light, flexible, and practical.
Nothing like the elaborate robes Ryn had seen during his training at Aurelia's mansion.
At their waists hung longswords or daggers, kept for emergencies when magic alone was not enough.
Before long, the sound of hooves echoed across the square.
Three men on horseback rode into the assembly area.
Every gaze turned toward them at once.
The man in the center pulled on his reins and brought his horse to a halt.
Then he spoke in a loud, commanding voice.
"I am Dorian von Galatier, the leader of this campaign."
His cold eyes swept across the gathered forces.
"Listen well. My orders are absolute.
Under no circumstances will disobedience be tolerated."
With that, he urged his horse forward to the front of the formation.
The other two Divine officers began counting the soldiers and mages.
Once they confirmed the numbers, the command was issued without hesitation.
"Advance!"
The entire force began marching westward.
And so, without fanfare,
the first trial for Ryn—and many others—had begun.
The journey was uneventful.
They were still within Central's territory, where the land was flat and ideal for troop movement.
The army continued onward until evening, when they reached a campsite near the edge of a forest.
Orders were passed down for the soldiers to set up camp and prepare dinner.
Ryn was assigned to gather firewood with several others.
As he crouched to collect dry branches, a heavily built soldier approached, carrying a bundle of logs.
The man stood nearly one hundred and ninety centimeters tall, with a broad, powerful back—and a massive iron axe strapped across it.
"My name's Goran—Goran Rogg."
The man spoke in a friendly tone.
"First time taking the trial."
Ryn looked up and replied,
"I'm Ryn. It's my first time as well."
Goran's eyes drifted to the sword strapped to Ryn's back. He frowned slightly.
"Hey… isn't that sword a bit too big for you?"
He let out a low chuckle.
"Or are you just carrying it to impress the mage girls? If you ask me, you should switch to something else. This isn't a game—we're heading into real combat."
Ryn gave a strained smile.
"Thanks for the warning,"
he said calmly, then bent down to keep gathering firewood, showing no sign of irritation.
But Goran wasn't done yet. He stepped closer, his bearded face looming near Ryn's.
"I'm serious,"
his voice grew more earnest.
"This is our first trial for both of us. I don't want to see you die for nothing."
Ryn paused, then turned and offered him a polite smile.
"Thank you,"
he said evenly.
"But trust me—I handle this blade better than you think."
Just then, a clear, sharp voice rang out from behind them.
"Are you two slacking off and letting the rest of us do the work?"
They both turned toward the sound.
A female mage stood there with her arms crossed, looking distinctly displeased.
She wore a fitted black robe trimmed with silver, practical yet elegant.
At her waist hung a longsword that still looked brand new, as though it had never tasted real battle.
Her face was small and well-shaped, her eyes large and bright.
Long, glossy black hair was tied neatly behind her.
"Hurry up and finish already,"
she said with a faint scowl.
"It's almost nightfall. I don't feel like getting punished because of you two."
Goran flinched and straightened up at once.
"Y-Yes, ma'am!"
Then he broke into a wide grin and quickly introduced himself.
"Uh, I'm Goran. And this guy here is Ryn. So, what's the name of the beautiful lady?"
The young mage let out a soft sigh before answering,
"My name is Alize—Alize Willowbane."
Her gaze swept over Ryn from head to toe, lingering—just as Goran's had—on the oversized longsword strapped to his back. She stepped a little closer.
"Your sword…"
she tilted her head slightly.
"It does look cool, but I think you shou—"
Before she could finish, Ryn turned to her at once.
"Thanks,"
his voice was calm and flat.
"But trust me. I can use it."
With that, Ryn turned and walked away, leaving Goran and Alize standing there in mild confusion.
Night fell. Campfires were lit throughout the encampment, and dinner was distributed among the soldiers and mages.
Many of them already knew one another from previous trials and had gathered in lively groups, chatting and laughing together. Others—those who had come alone for the first time—sat quietly beneath the trees, eating in silence.
Ryn was one of them.
He finished his meal, then closed his eyes, focusing on the sounds and scents around the camp—watching for any sign of lurking Calami.
But a deep voice shattered the silence—and his concentration.
"Well, well. Sitting all alone, huh?"
Goran walked over and dropped down beside him.
Ryn opened his eyes and looked at him with a puzzled expression.
Goran frowned back.
"What?" he asked.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"This is my first time here," Goran continued with a grin.
"How would I already have friends like everyone else?
And hey—you're my first friend in this unit. Be proud of that."
Ryn smiled, holding back a laugh.
He wasn't annoyed by Goran in the slightest. If anything, he understood that feeling all too well.
"Hey," Goran went on,
"if things get rough tomorrow, just hide behind me."
Ryn chuckled softly and replied in a teasing tone,
"I think it's you who should be hiding behind me."
"Ohhh, confident, are we?"
Goran whispered with a grin.
Ryn didn't answer.
Instead, Goran's presence reminded him of the friends he once had—back when he was still a village guard, before his journey to Central ever began.
"Hey,"
Goran spoke again, his voice growing a little more serious.
"There's something I should warn you about."
"If it's about the sword—"
Ryn began.
But Goran quickly waved his hand to stop him.
"No, no, no. That sword is your business,"
he whispered in a low voice.
"What I'm warning you about is the commander—Dorian von Galatier."
Ryn listened at once.
"He's the eldest son of one of the biggest figures in the Central Council,"
Goran continued.
"I've heard some nasty rumors about him. Seems like every time he passed a trial, it was because someone else carried him through. During the trainee exam, he hired mercenaries to guard him. And for his first two Divine trials, he used his father's influence to get assigned to elite units so he could survive."
Goran nodded toward the camp where the Divines were standing.
"See the guy on his right? That's Bernard Elderstein. One hell of a strategist. I bet this time, Dorian's letting him handle the planning again."
Ryn frowned slightly before asking,
"Then what about the fact that there are more female mages than soldiers? What's that supposed to mean?"
Goran scratched his chin, thinking as he spoke.
"Eh… I'm not really sure. But there's a rumor that he likes showing off in front of girls.
Probably wants an audience when he wins."
Ryn couldn't help but smile faintly.
From what Goran described, it matched his own impression almost perfectly.
And the more he thought about it, the harder it was to find any other reason for bringing so many mages—especially when their destination lay deep within a dense, unforgiving forest…