Ben might as well have been a zombie as he trudged his way down to the courtyard. Not only were they summoned earlier than their usual training time, but they had also stayed up late due to their nocturnal adventure on Nebuchadnezzar Avenue. The courtyard was shrouded in darkness as he wearily dragged himself across the foyer, deprived of sleep.

Unsurprisingly, he found himself as the last one to arrive at the courtyard. Sybil was already there, her body tense and her eyes fixed on her boots. Wilhelm, Orangier, and Sweeney stood in front of her in a single file, stern looks on their faces. It didn’t bode well.

“Morning sunshine,” Orangier greeted. “Sleep well?”

Ben looked from one adult to another and back again. He tried to discern if they knew about their unsanctioned shenanigans.

“They know about us leaving the manor last night,” Sybil offered, right on time.

“Ah, I understand,” Ben murmured weakly.

“I wonder if you do,” Wilhelm interjected, giving a disapproving stare to Sybil as well. “Both of you. What would you have done if you had been intercepted by Solomonari while you pranced about around the Hanging Gardens on your lonesome?”

Sybil lifted her chin and stared back defiantly at her teacher. “Why would they attack us? I’m Amber Sweeney, am I not?”

Wilhelm sighed in defeat, while Sweeney laughed in delight. Orangier remained silent, as was his usual demeanor.

“We’ve prepared for situations where we can’t reach you. If you keep being reckless, we’ll have to increase our efforts,” Wilhelm stated firmly.

Sweeney cleared his throat and took a step forward. “I’ve devised a gauntlet that will test the limits of what you’ve learned so far from Lightfoot and Orangier. If you can conquer this challenge, we might even become laxer with supervision.”

“You have precisely one moon’s cycle to conquer it,” Wilhelm said, gesturing towards the sky. “Which coincidentally matches the start of the Brigid Festival. That holiday will be your last moment of rest—the Triagonal Trials take place a week afterward, and not long after, you’ll be on your way to Mag Mell Academy.”

Ben raised a hand, and Wilhelm stopped talking so that he could ask away. Ben raised a hand to ask a question, “Could you tell me more about the Brigid Festival?”

“It is a timeless celebration upheld by spirits since ages past. Spring, soon to be replaced by summer, is given a homely farewell.” Orangier explained. “Brigid is naught but the avatar of the season, for whom spirits have particular devotion. There’ll be a big parade and carnival games down in Dool Proper, as is the custom every year.”

“We’ll take you, too,” Wilhelm added. “As long as you overcome the challenge, that is.”

Ben and Sybil shared a hopeful glance. They thought they were going to be punished for sure, but instead, they were given an opportunity to complete their training once and for all.

“You seem to be under the impression that we’re giving you a break.” Orangier mocked him, a deep rumble of amusement in his chest. He unbuttoned and removed his shirt, revealing a muscular, scarred physique that matched the scar on his face. Moving to the center of the courtyard, he exhaled and inhaled deeply, centering himself.

Ben felt a tug in the air as magic flowed toward Orangier, who knelt and touched the tile floor with the tips of his fingers. Once in position, the butler turned his attention back to them. “You’ll be pleading to go back to your regular training by the end of the day.” He said as a wry smile played on his lips.

Wilhelm’s voice cut through the tension as he advised the young sorcerers. “I’d take a step back for this one.” They did as they were told and stood next to Sweeney, who was rubbing his hands in a state of excited anticipation. Now at a safe distance, they fixed their eyes on Orangier.

He cast a powerful spell with a commanding bellow: “Quake, Summit Sigh!”

Ben was familiar with that spell; Orangier had used it countless times before during Bolster practice. Something felt different this time around, though; the sheer amount of magic being used to cast it was far more than usual.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

The ground trembled, and instead of the boulder that he would habitually conjure, a colossal rock obelisk erupted from the middle of the courtyard. A massive cloud of dust spewed forth and enveloped them, obscuring their vision.

With the dust settled and their sight unhindered, they stared in awe at the masterful display of sorcery. The monolithic tower before them stood at least five stories tall, and Ben realized it was also hollow—there were rooms inside it, complete with stairs and other footholds hewn into the stone surface.

Wilhelm clapped, a playful glint of pride in his eyes. “Impressive, isn’t it? Orangier outdoes himself, as always. Now, let’s liven the place up,” he strolled nonchalantly toward the obelisk and pressed his palm on its exterior. He inhaled, magic swirling around him. “Carve, Trap Rune.”

A cerulean light flashed vertically over the obelisk. Rune-inscribed circles appeared in its wake, within and without its veneer. They shone brightly, but after a few seconds, they became invisible. Once the spell was done, he turned around and bowed theatrically at the others.

Sybil arched an eyebrow, her gaze fixed on the imposing structure. “So, we’re supposed to climb to the top of that booby trapped tower? It doesn’t seem like that hard of a challenge.”

“Patience, my beloved fake niece,” Sweeney interjected, a mischievous grin on his face. He protruded a small leather pouch, cupped a handful of seeds from within, and dispersed them on the cracked tile. Afterward, he turned his attention to Wilhelm. “Lightfoot, if you’d do me the honors,”

Wilhelm nodded and pulled out a knife hidden in his bootstrap. He approached the seed-strewn ground and, extending his hand above it, cut a small nick on his finger. The blood trickled over the seeds, which immediately reacted by burrowing underground.

Not a minute had gone by when a smooth, grayish hand emerged from therein. It pulled itself upward, revealing the rest of its body—once its ordeal was done, a plain-faced clay humanoid stood before them, regarding them inquisitively. All around it emerged similar creatures, one for every seed that the Mad Alchemist had sown.

Sweeney laughed maniacally and winked at them. “An old fellow like me needs to have a few tricks up his sleeve, wouldn’t you agree? These are homunculi, by the way—alchemically grown automata, locally cultivated. They’ll follow my every bidding, this lot.” He gleefully turned to bark orders at them as an example. “Soldiers, man your stations! Protect the obelisk and expel all intruders!”

The homunculi whirred to life and immediately scuttled away toward the obelisk. No trap was triggered as they made their way up, so Ben surmised they could only be activated by sorcerers.

Once the gauntlet was ready, Orangier’s gaze fell on them. “Mr. Umber, Lady Blake, a word of advice. You are a team and will continue to be one for the foreseeable future. Yes, your skills have grown as individuals, but you won’t get far without cooperation today. When one’s in a tough spot, I’d even wager it can prove to be the difference between life and death—and I suspect there will be many tough spots coming our way.”

Ben nodded in solemn affirmation, but Sybil had other plans for them. She nudged Ben on the shoulder with her fist, an expression of defiance etched on her face. “Teamwork’s all well and good, but first things first. Race you to the top?”

She had seldom posed the question when she broke into a sprint. Orangier sighed, then shot Ben a quizzical look. “Well, what are you gawking at, Mr. Umber? Some lessons are better experienced than taught. Off you go, lest you lose to Lady Blake.”

“R-Right!” Ben stammered, getting serious as his competitive side awoke from its slumber. He turned to face the towering obelisk in front of him. Alongside the rune traps and the scuttling homunculi, Ben felt dense magic currents emanating from the structure itself. It wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, by any measure. He steeled his nerves and inhaled, ready to cast a spell.

“Quicken.” Ben muttered and walked forward. His surroundings blurred and gyrated. A moment later, the world settled back into focus, and he stood by the entrance of the obelisk. He darted inside with no more hesitation.

The first floor of the obelisk greeted him with a bare room, illuminated dimly by scattered beams of light filtering through tiny apertures. Two stairwells beckoned from the far end, leading further into the labyrinthine structure. A clanging noise attracted his attention to the right corner of the room; there, Sybil fought about half a dozen homunculi in a wild flurry of motion.

Her arms, enveloped by water tentacles cast with Wave Whip, were a flurry of motion as she twirled them around to maintain a safe distance from her assailants. The homunculi had reshaped their clay appendages into spiked clubs and shields, which they deftly swung at Sybil.

Ben smiled slyly at himself as he assessed the situation. With Sybil’s path to the second floor blocked, he had a distinct advantage over her. Shouldn’t look a horse gift in the mouth. He didn’t waste a moment longer as he dashed pasted the distracted homunculi, leaving Sybil to her fate.

“Oh no, you don’t!” She yelled as she saw Ben dart past her. Sybil had had enough with the automata. She swung her arms as quickly as she could, wrapping their heads together and smashing them against each other. The homunculi were dispersed, disoriented, and temporarily incapacitated.

One highspell came to an end as Sybil prepared for another. She stomped one foot on the ground and bellowed, “Quake, Titanic Stomp!” A powerful tremor rippled through the floor, creating a fissure that shot straight at Ben.

Ben hadn’t anticipated the highspell, but he’d seen it before while spectating her training session. He knew that a stalagmite would surge forth at the end of the highspell and ram against him.

Thankfully, he had a perfect counter in his grimoire. My right arm. My right ribcage. My neck. He guided the magic to the corresponding areas of his body, and then he muttered an incantation almost inaudibly. “Fortify.”

As if on cue, the rock spire erupted from the ground and struck him on the side. It shoved him slightly and almost made him stumble, but he continued to run without interruption or harm. Ben smiled. He was getting the hang of his sorcery.

Ben reached the forking stairwell leading to the next floor. He came to a halt and hesitated for a moment. Should he go left or right? Flustered after a few indecisive seconds, he decided it didn’t matter; both led upstairs. He snuck a quick peek behind his shoulder and saw Sybil closing in, and he immediately ascended the left stairs.

A cerulean light flashed below Ben as he was halfway up. He turned his gaze down, panicking; the familiar inscriptions of a trap rune were gleaming into action. The blinding light intensified and enveloped Ben, turning everything white.

When he regained his senses, he found himself sitting on the ground outside the obelisk, confused and woolly-headed. “That can’t be good,” he grunted to himself.

A sudden flash emanated from the entrance, and a second later, Sybil popped out of thin air beside him. After she recovered from the ousting, they exchanged a knowing glance.

“Truce?” Ben asked tentatively.

Sybil nodded, stood up for a second attempt, and then shot a determined look at the obelisk. “Truce it is.” It was going to be a long week.