The wind howled across the jagged cliffs of the mountain near Kühl Region, carrying with it the scent of pine, smoke, and the faint, metallic tinge of magic. There, just beyond the main roads that led to the city of Hohenburg, a group of twelve black-robed mages crouched in waiting, their faces hidden beneath deep hoods.
"Chief, it hasn't even been half a year since the last time the nobles paid us to ambush someone, has it?" said a young man under his black hood, asking the elder leading them. The young man seemed a bit restless, uneasy about having to strike again so soon. But the old mage remained calm and confident.
"It's only been three months."
The young mage frowned. "And we're striking again already? Has the Magic Association's branch in Hohenburg changed directors again?"
"That's a common occurrence," the old mage replied with a dry chuckle. "The nobles treat Hohenburg as if it were their family estate. The Association is just an inconvenience to them—a fire they keep trying to smother with coin and blood."
"And we're the smoke," the young man muttered bitterly.
The old mage tilted his head slightly toward him, one brow raised beneath the hood. "You'd rather they chose someone else for the job?"
The young mage hesitated, then sighed. "I just don't see the end of it, that's all. How many more times do we have to act as their knives?"
"As many as they need us," the old mage said bluntly. "They provide us with unrestricted access to Hohenburg's magical resources. In exchange, we clean up their messes. If we refuse, they'll simply sharpen a new blade."
"But who?" the young mage pressed. "There aren't any other rogue factions nearby. We're the only ones left who still operate outside the Association's laws."
"Anyone can become a wandering mage. All they need is desperation—and the courage to burn their badge. Remember Barret?"
"He tried to muscle in on our territory."
"And he lost," the old mage said, with a faint, almost amused nod. "Now he's groveling as the Association's vice director. But he was willing to try. So will the next one. Never forget—wandering mages are the nobles' favorite kind of monster. We act without chains. If we don't accept the task, someone else will."
"..…"
A heavy silence settled over the group again. The young mage crossed his arms and stared down the slope, toward the distant torches of the city. "Still feels wrong," he muttered.
The old mage turned toward him at last, his voice now colder. "This world doesn't run on right or wrong, boy. It runs on who can stay useful. If you want to survive, you'd best remember that."
The young mage fell quiet, chastised. He looked down at his gloved hands. They didn't tremble, but they felt heavier than usual.
In the silence, he recalled the last mission—the one that had shaken even their hardened ranks.
"That last director," he said quietly, "the one we attacked in spring—he wasn't like the others."
"No," the old mage agreed. "He was a competent one."
"We lost three people trying to take him down."
"Only because we were cautious," the old mage replied, dismissively. "I had to restrain myself. Couldn't let the Association trace our magic style. Had I fought with our full techniques, I would've ended him alone."
"But we didn't kill him," the young mage said.
"No," the old mage said, with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "But we killed enough of his guards. Half his retinue, reduced to smoldering corpses. It sent the right message."
The old man turned his gaze toward the city lights of Hohenburg.
"He fled that very night. Packed what little pride he had left and vanished without a word. Resigned within the week. He hasn't stepped foot in the Northern Lands since."
The young mage exhaled. "Still… I've got a bad feeling about this one."
The old mage didn't move, but his attention sharpened. The younger man continued, more anxious now.
"They say she's… strong. Really strong. She caused a scene at Graf Konrad's banquet. Alone. No backup. Just walked right in and—" he paused, searching for the words, "—she blasted a hole through the side of the castle. A direct hit. Her magic cannon blew through solid stone like parchment. The explosion lit up the sky — like a second sun. The whole city saw it."
The old mage scoffed. "Hmph. Flashy tricks for a room full of non-mages. Frightening nobles with fireworks is no real accomplishment."
"But she escaped unscathed," the young mage pressed. "In the middle of the banquet full of nobles. With half the guard on alert. That's not just theatrics."
"Escaping from nobles? What's there to boast about?" the old man replied, brushing it off with a wave of his hand. "They wouldn't know how to cast a ward even if you etched the magic circle on their foreheads."
"But… Barret was there too."
"Barret? That crippled has-been? How many years has it been since he actually fought? Ever since the nobles cut off his leg, he lost all ambition. He's neglected his magic practice and spends his days scheming. I could beat him with one hand."
"But that magic cannon lit up the whole night… That's terrifying. Just how much mana does it take to create such a spectacle?"
"It's fine. Don't worry. Those who graduate from the Association's system follow formal methods — very different from us small factions who study magic privately. Their style is solid, sure, but they prefer textbook spells to suppress their enemies. They're good at theory and fighting demons. But when it comes to killing people? That's our domain."
"Chief, this new director studied in Kribi — the City of Magic. Mages from there are better at combat than any others, whether it's against demons… or humans."
"We've killed mages from Kribi before. Just harder to kill, that's all. You haven't seen what true horror looks like. Back during the examiner era, those who survived the insane death-trial assessments — now those mages were real killers. Their mana was stronger, their reflexes faster, and they were ruthless to the core… Ambushing those old-timer mages? That was real suicide."
"That was years ago…" the young mage grumbled. Every time he complained about how dangerous a mission was, the old mage would sigh and reminisce about the examiner generation — always saying those mages had been forged in death and violence, unlike the soft new blood nowadays.
"Yes, many years ago… I was there too, actually. Took part in the most brutal magic trial in history." But the moment I saw the chief examiner, I got crushed by her mana and couldn't even pass the level-three standard."
The old mage seemed to recall those days with a trace of longing.
"That chief examiner from the history books was that powerful?" The young mage perked up. He hadn't expected such a legendary figure to have crossed paths with his teacher and leader. "So what happened after? Did you ever find out where she went? There's been no news of her for years. Many think she died."
"Haven't heard of her in ages. She did give me some advice back then… With her strength, how could she just disappear? Maybe she went to fight demons and died on the battlefield."
The old mage's eyes gleamed with reminiscence. If only he had held on a bit longer… maybe he could have passed that trial and earned a mage badge bearing the examiner's name — a mark of true qualification. Any nation would have treated him like an honored guest.
Instead, here he was, calling himself a faction leader but living like a bandit.
Killing people in the shadows in exchange for magical resources to continue his training.
While he was lost in memory, the young mage suddenly called out from the cliff's edge:
"She's here, Chief! …But why is she alone? She didn't bring any guards? That's great! This time we won't lose anyone!"
"No guards?" The old mage didn't share the younger's excitement. At the news that the new minister had come alone, his brows furrowed in deep concern.
He squinted down at the figure walking through the center of the valley, trying to make out her face — but his eyes weren't as sharp as they used to be. All he could see was a small, purple dot.
Vaguely humanoid in shape.
The young mage shouted to the others hidden nearby under their hoods:
"Quick, long-range magic attack! Everyone at once! Even if we miss, if we fire rapidly enough, we'll hit her eventually and kill her!"
"Wait! Stop now!" The old mage halted the urge of those behind him to act, then turned to the younger mage beside him. He had finally picked out what was wrong from their earlier conversation. "Kribi... You said she came from Kribi—do you mean she was officially dispatched by Kribi as a direct appointee? Or did she just study there?"
"Is there a difference?" the young mage tilted his head, confused.
"There's a huge difference!" the old mage's eyes widened. "Quick, confirm it—was she some rogue transferred from who-knows-where that studied in Kribi, or was she directly sent here by the kribi itself?!"
"The latter, I think," the young mage said after a moment of thought.
"Damn it, those bastard nobles have screwed us!"
"Who signed her commission letter?"
"It wasn't President Zanzer of the Association, but some unfamiliar name… 'Serie'? Who even is that?"
"Fuck it. We're leaving!"
"We're not going to kill her, Chief?"
"Kill who?! You want us all dead?! I've told you guys time and again to study the history of the Continental Mage Association. It's bad enough you don't know who the examiner twenty years ago was—but you don't even recognize the name of the founder of the association?! Serie hasn't interfered with association affairs in years, but that doesn't mean she's dead! She's an elf—she could live a thousand years! She'll outlive us all!"
"But... not even test her? Nothing? We're just walking away? What do we tell the nobles?"
"If that new Director gets hurt—or worse, dies—whether or not a mage was behind it, Kribi will send a Great Mage leading an entire purge squad to crush us as traitors."
"Who's the traitor?"
"We are."
"But we're far away, the Association doesn't even know who we are! And we didn't use any of our school's signature magic—there's no evidence. How could they accuse us?"
"They don't need evidence. Every mage faction in Hohenburg will be purged indiscriminately."
"And what if it really was just an accident—like a landslide or something?"
"That's even worse—more suspects, broader scope. The result's the same: everyone involved dies. To the Association HQ, if a directly-appointed director dies in your jurisdiction, it doesn't matter whether it was murder or misfortune."
The old mage knew his place. Hiding in the shadows, doing dirty work for nobles? That was fine. As long as the nobles covered for him, even killing a few association mages and staging it as a demon ambush wasn't out of bounds.
But to strike at someone directly dispatched from Kribi to perform oversight?
Forget it.
The Great Mages of Kribi didn't care who or what had attacked. They'd just obliterate every faction capable of doing so. And that would bring peace to Hohenburg—by wiping the slate clean.
"Have those good-for-nothings been blinded by the idea of bloodline supremacy? Do they really think the Association HQ will take their noble status into consideration and not take action against them?!"
"The monsters at the peak of magic… not one of them gives a damn about royal lineage."
The old mage cursed under his breath, putting away his staff and motioning for his entire minor school of mages to retreat.
But suddenly, the young mage shouted:
"Chief! Ahead—up ahead—!"
"What?"
"There's someone up ahead."
"Hm?"
The old mage lifted his head—and saw a figure slowly emerging from the forest path beyond the cliff. She wore a purple hat, a tailored, elegant mage's robe, and dragged behind her a massive battle axe, carving a long, narrow groove into the ground.
"Chief, it's the new Director we saw walking through the valley earlier! When did she spot us?! Damn it, there's no choice now—we have to kill her and deal with Association HQ afterward!"
"...…"
"Chief?! Chief? Chief—!"
"...…"
The young mage called out three times but received no response.
Turning his head in confusion, he saw a look of pure terror on the old mage's face.
"...Examiner?"
The old mage stared blankly at the distant figure in purple, whispering to himself.
Examiner? Was that supposed to mean something?
The young mage didn't understand. Their entire school was here—at worst, they could still escape even if they faced a First-Class mage.
So why wasn't the Chief fighting or fleeing?
Was he really going to just stand there and wait to die?
Then, after standing still for a long moment, before the woman had even approached, the old mage suddenly removed his hood, held his staff horizontally across his chest, and gave a formal bow in the direction of the figure—a traditional mage's student salute from before the Association was founded.
It was a gesture of deep respect—once, even a single casual pointer from a high mage merited such reverence.
But modern mages had long since forgotten this tradition.
Even the old mage wasn't sure why he did it.
Perhaps it was fear.
Perhaps it was reverence dredged up from memory.
Or perhaps it was the last shred of dignity clashing with the instinct to beg for mercy…
Whatever the reason, his body moved on its own.
That distant figure in purple, with eyesight naturally better than the old mage's, also paused in surprise upon seeing the long-familiar ceremonial gesture suddenly appear on the enemy's body. Then, she rested her axe by her side.
Aura removed her hat, lifted the hem of her luxurious mage's robe as if it were a noble's formal gown, and returned the gesture to the old mage with composure.
She had once mimicked this human etiquette countless times during her tenure as an examiner. Now, performing it again, it was exactly as it had been—graceful and unchanged.
The old mage lifted his head in a daze and looked at the two horns—one long, one short—revealed when Aura took off her purple high hat.
The moment he saw those horns, he understood.
No one present here today can survive.
"The High-Hatted Demon Reaper…" the old mage murmured the name from memory.
So that's what it meant.
After completing the examination salute—
Aura slowly put her high hat back on. With a faint smile on her lips, she unhurriedly picked up her axe, swung it in an elegant arc, and rested it on her shoulder.
Her purple eyes calmly regarded the hunched figure of the old mage opposite her as she spoke gently:
"Candidate, please check within five minutes whether your mana reserves are sufficient, whether your spell formulas are intact, and whether your mage emblem is undamaged."
"Candidate, prepare your weapon. There are no restrictions on magic format, magical tools, rules, or end conditions for this examination."
"This assessment has no upper limit. Your objective is to kill the examiner and survive until the trial ends."
"Once the candidate's life ends, the assessment ends. The examiner will collect any damaged tools and handle the remains."
"This is my one-thousand-seven-hundred-and-third field examination. I am Examiner Aura. Please instruct me well."
With that, the purple-haired demon bowed low, brushing her robe.
"…Candidate Christopher. I beg your instruction."
In silence, the old mage—body hunched—bowed in turn, tears streaming down his face.