A fireball shot out towards him, Han barely managed to duck down in time.

"What the—"

Before it could escape the chambers, the fire died out and vanished into the air. He clutched his head and found that his hair was not scorched with flames. Han sighed in relief.

"Keep your eyes open idiot!" Timothy called from behind, he and the other two students were already approaching.

Han bit back a curse and moved forward and then stepped back as spikes sprung up from the floor.

"Moving through—" Sir Harrington sprinted through the walls and landed down the other side. He then resumed running forwards and disappeared into a blur.

Timothy slapped him in the back, "Jump!" The guy flung himself past the floor, a small blast of fire in his palms helped project him forward.

Could he do this—?

This wasn't real anyway so the pain wouldn't mean much—taking a step back, a cloaked figure glided through the air and stumbled at the edge of the safe floor before running off.

He was the slowpoke in this one?

Not a chance.

Mustering energy in his legs, he leapt forwards and barely reached the safe portion of the floor.

And then he kept running, jumping past hurdles and blockages in the path. It made him feel like he was some sort of horse—what was this a trade fair show?!

Before he could complain further, he saw three hallways that split into more winding paths. Which should he use?

He heard a whistling in the air in one, a yelp from a girl. Timothy was nowhere to be found. Where did the plan to watch each other go? He stared at all the available halls and shot forward towards the middle.

Traps were everywhere.

This was an obstacle course after all.

So all he had to do was avoid them and get to the finish line.

He heard the sound of slicing in the air and got down as an axe shot and beheaded a statue of armor. This hall was like a nobleman's corridor, different paintings adorned the walls along with metal suits of armor that adorned the vicinity.

Except for that flying axe, no other weapon slung itself toward him.

And that made him all wary.

So when the clang of boots sounded, Han was barely able to parry as a sword clashed with his dagger.

His weapon flew from the air and he fell back on the floor.

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Han quickly rolled as the sword descended on the carpet, sprung up as another suit of armor brought down his mace to finish the job. In his field of vision, a popup appeared.

[ Enchanted Suits of Armor ]

The identification of the enemy wasn't really that helpful—the status was actually a nuisance as he mentally swiped it away from his sight.

Han leapt back as a glaive was swung at his last spot. He didn't fancy being skewered any time soon. There were six of them, all adorned with different weapons. He eyed the dagger that skittered underneath a table and wondered how sturdy the wood would be.

"Tactical retreat!"

. . .

"Cowardice." Somebody spat.

Another simply rubbed their moustache, "Well, he's making up for the lack of [ Skills ]. What else can he do? He can't face it head on."

"One must know when to flee the battle to win the war." An older female shrugged as they watched the spectacle in their office. A large mirror was divided into four sections, each one portraying a different person.

It was a short discussion for the professors of Kraelonia Academy, they watched the four students make their way through the chambers.

Harrington sliced up the arrows that flew through the air with grace and elegance. A look of determination on their face as they ventured forward in their path.

Timothy burned the vines that shot out from the flower pots while screaming obscenities. "Tree rots!"

The girl evaded and sped through the test, a whisk of dust around her that even blurred the scrying that was placed on her area.

And Han was being chased by the suits of armor, dodging the weapons that were thrown his way. It was an added challenge that the weapons also flew back to their assigned wielder—he couldn't pick one up and use it against them.

"Ah, Harrington is talented as always." The man with the moustache nodded pleased as others made hums of approval.

A lady cleared her throat and motioned to the newcomer. "But look at that boy, ingenious. That's not a [ Spell ] is it? Their mana reserves are still the same. What's his name, [ Headmaster ] Pierce?"

"Timothy Cook." The older man answered gruffly, watching from behind his table while the other teachers gathered closer to the mirror.

"Oh. So that [ Skill ] of his must be..."

"He had repurposed it. Using a non-offensive [ Skill ] for multiple purposes."

"She's only deflecting them, never bothering to fight back." Another sighed at the cloaked figure. "It's a little boring watching her. Is this on purpose perhaps?"

. . .

Han was running out of time—who knew if those three had already arrived at the designated finished line. But he couldn't get those suits of armors off his back.

He had been nearly slashed, bludgeoned, beheaded or made a kebab as he tried to keep his distance from them. So far, he was managing but his energy would run out while these magically enchanted objects could keep attacking.

Wasn't there supposed to be a boundary for how long they could chase him? It felt like they had been chasing him for half an hour already with all their nonstop attacks.

If he moved too close, a sword would come his way. If he was slightly out of range, the glaive wielder would stab at him while another had thrown a freaking trident at him.

A spear whistled through the air and struck against a painting—right above his head.

"Can't you give me time to think!" He shouted and kept his gaze at the spear that nearly stabbed his head.

It didn't automatically flew back as the weapon struggled to escape its predicament.

Han grabbed the small table behind and threw it back at the suits of armors. It barely deterred them but it was just enough time to slow them down for a bit. Thankfully they didn't move along at once or else it would have been impossible to do this.

Jumping up to grab the spear's handle, he began to tug it out.

It escaped from the painting and zipped back to the armor.

The spear brought him along with it.

And he crashed both of his feet at the suit of armor.

Through sheer force of momentum—the normally immovable suit of armor was flung back towards its companions and their parts scattered and unhinged from one another. A pile of mess on the floor.

Han didn't have enough time to sigh in relief as he took the chance to evacuate. Speeding up as much as possible to escape into the next corridor.

He was going to this.

It may have been just the imagination of the professors—but Han was looking right back at them. A triumphant grin on his face.