The stands started to fill up with other sections of the examinations, as the hours passed. After three hours of straight running around the arena, the contestants that failed to pace themselves at the start had long passed out from exhaustion. The same happened to contestants, whose physical shape could not be considered extraordinary.

Those who remained were in the best physical shape of all the applicants, showing their pure drive to pass this test. People that still managed to run, did so with zombie-like characteristics. Sweat covered the dirt floor of the arena, marking a self-made path from the exam. For most examinees, the world spun; some barely “ran” in a way that counted.

No longer could this be considered a test of stamina. That logic was thrown out the window in the second hour with the unfazed face of the examiners that didn’t throw out the stumbling people that failed to maintain form.

But it was clear that the exam had become one of pure will. Out of the hundreds of combat participants, fewer than thirty remained. A select few had paced themselves in a slow jog, faring better than the rest. I had spotted exceptional ones that looked unfazed by the whole ordeal.

I ran along with another participant, matching my pace to his, trying to copy the occasional stumbling in his gait. Occasionally, I would have to pretend to huff and puff under the watchful eyes of the soldiers proctoring the exam. Throwing my head back, I lifted my hand to wipe the imaginary sweat off my forehead, mustering the best-tired expression I could conjure.

Ahead of the main pack of runners, another participant collapsed on the ground with a thud. His body went limp, as his sweat-covered figure was pulled out of the pathway by examiners.

Even in this human form, my stamina was inhumanly capable. Dragons couldn’t be exhausted from something as meandrous as this. Quite literally, I could do this for weeks.

A horn sounded throughout the arena to the relief of runners that looked over at the lead examiner signaling the end of the running. Matching the others, I instantly sat down, peering at who remained. In the arena, twenty-five participants remained sprawled on the ground in the space. Chatter rose amongst the crowd that gathered from the stands of the ones whose exams finished an hour ago.

Similarly, I had spotted Jamie sitting in the stands. His eyes gazed down worriedly at the nearly passed-out combat participants. Officials went around, gathering a head count of who was left.

“Line up!” The lead examiner called out. Some of the soldiers that helped the proctor, lifted exhausted participants off the ground to a marked line in the center of the arena.

I sighed, getting up to brush the dirt off my pants before heading to the called position. Few of the participants walked over themselves, but most were supported by the arms of others, their faces pale from the excursion. Three examinees never left the ground, passing out as soon as the stop signal was given. Unfortunately, this called for their failure in the exams. Soon, they were carried out by soldiers, disappearing into the exit hallway.

Surely, it was cutthroat. Yet, I couldn’t help but applaud the methods of the examination’s way of dwindling down the absurd number that started.

Once all the examinees got to the line, the lead soldier marched along the huffing line. His eyes are firm and strict, as he profiled the remaining humans. Sizing them up, it was amusing to watch him scoff at those that barely could stand. There was no mercy for the puke-covered ones that should have given up hours ago. The clanking of his boots filed down the line, eventually coming up to my position. I faked a heavy breath, my chest rapidly constricting and expanding, faking exhaustion. Eyes meeting mine, I tried to look dazed.

Showing no reaction, he continued down the line, finally stopping after sizing the last participant.

“We will now start sparring.” He announced. The other soldiers in the arena wheeled out a rake of wooden weapons.

A dulled spear, a wooden sword, a bow, and paint-covered arrows. The array of weapons was the standard choice for non-magic combatants. He pointed to the two participants to my left, guiding their attention toward the rack.

“Choose wisely. Anyone that fails to subdue their partner will fail.” He warned, watching the exhausted participants trudge up to the selection of weapons.

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A lean woman chose the spear, walking over to the positioned soldier to wait for the spar to start. The other, a human male in his twenties, picked up the wooden sword and limped over to position. A horn sounded. The two charged at each other, both equally strained from the running. A sword swiped at the woman’s face, barely missing. The spear struck the side of the man, who fumbled back with curses, his free hand clutching his side.

Both their gazes were dazed. Between both, none could coherently keep fully on their feet. Their probable solid fighting forms were lackluster from pure exhaustion. The spear-barring woman barreled forward, charging her spear while tucking her side into a spin. The human male yelled, as the spin woman stopped, the end of the spear hitting the back of his head.

She followed through with a lowered kick to the back of his knees, forcing him to the ground. He rolled to his side, attempting to get up, before gasping as the woman jumped. Her knees dug into his gut; a spear pointed at his neck.

The spectating soldiers stepped in, pulling the woman off, and calling the match. The spear beat the sword. The victor was taken to a bench and given water, and the loser of the match was taken out of the arena.

“Next!”

Another match. The sword wielder won.

“Next.”

Again, another match. Another sword wielder.

The numbers slowly dwindled till I was pushed into the arena with another participant. I was one of the last ones to get called on. The last remaining two. He smirked, flashing a cocky glare. The man rushed to the rack before I could bother to get there, snatching the wooden sword off the rack. His hands gripping it like he’d just picked up gold.

He scoffed, boldly proclaiming to the lead examiner, “Since I’ve had time to recover. I’ll try my best to show my skills to everyone!”

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he had already won the match.

I scoffed, perturbed by the sight. My tongue clicked, as I rolled my eyes at this thick-legged, twigged-arm loser. Surely, he wanted a reaction from me. It is one that I would not give. In fact, I could care less.

Honestly, it was unnecessary to even bother to use the weapons. Wasn’t this a combat exam? I strolled over to the soldier, swaying in waiting for the match to begin. Let’s just get it over with.

The lead examiner raised an eyebrow, “Examinee 553! Are you not picking a weapon from the rack?”

I cocked my head, “Is it a requirement?” It would be more work to use a weapon. I was used to magic and pure physical force.

Although, I was quite confident in my ability to manage any weapon. If I had to, then I would have no problems doing so. I waited for his answer.

He didn’t do much but shake his head.

“Of course, not. Your body counts as a weapon too. If that’s your choice, then so be it.” He informed, blowing the horn to start the battle.

It was close combat, but the sword would have more reach. I made no move to charge after the horn. Instead, I watched intently as the sword-barring human launched himself sloppily at me. Swinging widely at my head, I simply moved to the side to dodge the first strike.

He smirked, swinging the sword to the side. I dropped to my knees, my eyes peering at the sword that swooped above my head. Dropping down, I leaned back and launched backward.

Slow.

He was too slow. I could dodge these in my sleep.

God, he was ridiculously slow.

His footwork, his arms, and his front-leaning shoulders. Trash. His lack of combat training was evident, the fool made no moves of efficient sword techniques. All I could do was lazily dodge his attempts. Seems like all he was capable of was running for a long time. What good was that if you weren’t skilled in the first place?

I didn’t want to end it too soon. It would be bad to stand out any more than I already was.

He charged, yelling and swiping the sword across. I jumped, my boot even tapping the tip of it.

“What,” He attempted to strike my landing body, “are you too afraid to attack?” He smugly mocked through ragged breaths.

I hopped over the lower strike meant for my feet, “Not really.” I answered, blankly.

This was getting boring. During my dodging, my eyes met the instructor, whose gaze never peeled from mine. Perhaps, dodging all the attacks was showing off. I suppose it didn’t matter how rubbish they were, a normal human would have gotten hit already. I sighed, watching in slow motion as the sword struck my arm. He was surprisingly weak, for a human. It felt like a mere tap to my side.

Still, I needed to play the part. Try to.

“...Ouch,” I cried in the most “Woe is me” voice I could muster.

Peering over again, the examiner showed no response. As I suspected, I should just end the match.

Very well. A light toss then. Then I’d try not to draw attention by using a few more light hits before I won.

Gentle. Simple. A good plan.

The fool swung again, I lunged forward grabbing his wrist, using his awful positioning against him. He cried as I brought myself under, using his lean into the attack to send him flying over my shoulder.

He landed with a thud, a crack sounding at his impact with the ground. I prepared myself for him to get up.

Another two or three hits before I actually knocked him out. I waited. He was taking his jolly time…

Still…Why wasn’t he getting up? Fuck.

No, he wasn’t moving. Like at all.

The horn sounded, and the instructor called out, “Examinee 553 is the victor of the match. Please proceed to the passing area.”

There was silence in the arena before an outbreak of cheers sounded from the spectators who gasped in amazement. I walked over to my fellow participants that passed in shock. Some patted my back in celebration of the unintentional takedown.

“Dude! You’re such a badass!”

“You were amazing!”

“Where did you hide all that skill!”

“One hit takedown!”

“What a legend!”

Please stop. Please.

All I could do was plop on the bench in confusion, as the crowd roared behind me. I swore I hadn’t thrown him that hard. A light toss, even. I really didn’t mean to.