The examination field had become unusually quiet.
Hundreds of applicants watched from afar.
Assistant instructors stood near observation platforms.
Even several senior instructors from neighboring examination grounds had turned their attention toward Field Seven.
The reason was simple.
Aedon Flinth.
The explorer recommended by Nameless.
The student who had supposedly worked directly under the creator of Divine Spoon Art.
And now—
Senior Instructor Varian Holt had personally modified his examination.
Naturally.
Everyone wanted to watch.
Meanwhile—
Kel stood upon the examination platform.
The ancient formation glowed beneath his feet.
The mountain wind brushed against his cloak.
His expression remained calm.
At least outwardly.
Inside his mind—
Seiren had already surrendered to laughter.
"This is your fault."
Kel ignored her.
The Guardian continued.
"You created a throwing technique."
"It was not a technique."
"And now an academy instructor is testing students using it."
"It was a normal throw."
"You should stop saying that."
The laughter returned.
Far away.
Fish throughout Scarder Lake probably wondered why strange waves kept appearing.
Meanwhile—
Varian stood opposite him.
The spoon remained in his hand.
Always.
The instructor looked entirely too happy.
Which concerned Kel greatly.
Then Kel asked:
"What exactly is the test?"
Varian smiled.
The dangerous smile returned.
Several nearby applicants immediately shivered.
The instructor pointed toward a distant section of the field.
Nearly five hundred meters away.
A stone pillar stood there.
Ancient.
Massive.
Covered in runes.
Then Varian spoke.
"You may use any object."
Kel listened.
The instructor continued.
"Throw it as fast as you can."
Reasonable.
Then—
"The resulting explosion must reach me."
Silence.
The field became quiet.
Several applicants blinked.
Then blinked again.
Meanwhile—
Kel stared.
Long.
Hard.
At the instructor.
Varian stared back.
The grin widened.
Inside his mind—
Seiren suddenly stopped laughing.
"...he made an entire examination around it."
"Yes."
"This man is insane."
"Yes."
The Guardian sounded genuinely impressed.
Meanwhile—
The applicants finally understood the test.
And immediately became excited.
One whispered:
"It's Divine Spoon Art."
Another nodded.
"No."
"It is Divine Spoon Art examination."
A third looked ready to ascend spiritually.
Kel silently questioned his life choices.
Then Varian continued.
"The farther the distance."
The instructor raised one finger.
"The higher the score."
Another finger.
"The greater the control."
Another finger.
"The higher the score."
Then—
"The more precise the impact."
The spoon pointed toward Kel.
"The higher the score."
Silence followed.
Then Varian smiled.
"Simple."
No one believed him.
Meanwhile—
Kel sighed.
Deeply.
A very ancient sigh.
Then asked:
"Can I choose the object?"
"Of course."
"Anything?"
"Anything."
Kel thought for a moment.
Then replied.
"I need a spear."
The instructor blinked.
Several applicants blinked.
Then confusion spread.
A spear?
Why not a spoon?
The field immediately erupted into whispers.
"Did he abandon the spoon?"
"No way."
"Maybe the spear is the advanced version."
"Perhaps Divine Spear Art."
Kel almost left the academy.
Meanwhile—
Varian looked interested.
Very interested.
Then he snapped his fingers.
A nearby assistant instructor immediately moved.
Moments later.
A spear arrived.
A simple academy training spear.
Nothing special.
Just balanced.
Reliable.
Practical.
The moment Kel held it.
His posture subtly changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Enough for experienced warriors to notice.
Enough for instructors to notice.
Enough for Varian to narrow his eyes.
The spear settled naturally into Kel's grip.
As though it belonged there.
As though it had always belonged there.
Inside the observation area.
One instructor frowned.
"Interesting."
Another nodded.
"Very interesting."
Because true weapon users possessed habits.
Natural movements.
Instinctive familiarity.
And Kel's relationship with the spear clearly exceeded casual training.
Meanwhile—
Varian observed carefully.
His grin slowly faded.
Not completely.
Just slightly.
Because for the first time.
The instructor began treating this seriously.
Then he pointed toward the horizon.
"Whenever you're ready."
The field fell silent.
Every applicant watched.
Every instructor watched.
Even distant examination groups had started paying attention.
Because regardless of the outcome—
This would be entertaining.
Meanwhile—
Kel calmly walked toward the edge of the platform.
The spear rested upon his shoulder.
The mountain wind flowed around him.
His silver eyes measured distance.
Terrain.
Wind direction.
Atmospheric resistance.
Pressure.
Everything.
Years of exploration.
Years of combat.
Years of survival.
His mind automatically calculated possibilities.
Inside his mind—
Seiren spoke.
Softly this time.
"How much are you going to show?"
"A little."
"Define little."
Kel remained silent.
The Guardian immediately became concerned.
Meanwhile—
Varian watched closely.
The spoon remained in his hand.
The applicants leaned forward.
Anticipation filled the field.
Then—
Kel lowered his stance.
Not dramatically.
Not impressively.
Simply efficiently.
His feet rooted themselves.
His spine straightened.
His muscles relaxed.
The spear moved behind him.
Everything became still.
The wind.
The field.
The atmosphere.
Even conversations died.
Because suddenly—
Something felt different.
The applicants couldn't explain it.
The instructors could.
The old warriors present could.
The explorers present could.
The moment a weapon truly became dangerous—
The world always felt quieter.
Then—
Mana flowed.
Aura flowed.
Not outward.
Not visibly.
Everything compressed inward.
Into the spear.
Deeper.
Further.
Denser.
The energy vanished from perception.
Several applicants frowned.
Because they couldn't sense anything.
Nothing at all.
Yet the instructors' expressions changed.
Immediately.
Varian's eyes widened.
One assistant instructor stood.
Another dropped his notebook.
Because unlike the students—
They understood exactly what was happening.
The energy wasn't absent.
It was compressed.
Perfectly compressed.
Contained entirely within the spear.
Not a single fragment leaked outward.
Inside his mind—
Seiren laughed softly.
"You know."
"What?"
"The instructor is going to regret this."
Meanwhile—
Kel exhaled.
A single breath.
Then—
Threw.
BOOM!
The sound barrier shattered instantly.
The spear disappeared.
Not moved.
Disappeared.
Several applicants lost sight of it completely.
The projectile crossed hundreds of meters almost instantly.
The stone pillar exploded.
No.
It vanished.
The spear punched through it.
Continued forward.
And continued.
And continued.
Until—
A distant explosion erupted beyond the testing grounds.
A second mountain ridge shook.
Dust rose into the sky.
Shockwaves rolled outward.
The compressed energy finally detonated.
The explosion wasn't massive.
It wasn't flashy.
Yet it was precise.
Violently precise.
The kind of precision that terrified professionals.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
The applicants stared.
The instructors stared.
Even nearby examination fields had gone quiet.
Meanwhile—
Kel calmly straightened.
The throw complete.
Nothing more.
Inside his mind—
Seiren whispered.
"Little?"
Kel remained silent.
"That was your definition of little?"
Still silent.
The Guardian laughed.
Meanwhile—
Far away.
The explosion's residual shockwave finally reached Varian.
A gentle gust.
Nothing dangerous.
Nothing harmful.
Just enough.
Exactly enough.
The instructor slowly lowered the spoon.
Silence remained.
Then—
One applicant whispered.
"..."
Nothing came out.
His brain had stopped functioning.
Several others shared the same condition.
Meanwhile—
Varian stared toward the distant destruction.
Then toward Kel.
Then toward the destruction again.
The grin slowly returned.
Except now—
It looked less amused.
And far more dangerous.
Because the instructor had just realized something.
This wasn't merely a student of Nameless.
This was someone who had genuinely learned from him.
And suddenly—
Varian became very interested in seeing what else Aedon Flinth could do.
Which was exactly the outcome Kel had hoped to avoid.