Destiny Makes a Joke of Talents

When Kilian's name first echoed, not many paid him heed. The "zu" particle ensured that most didn't even bother glancing at him. But curiosity being such an overbearing mistress, all still looked at his result.

"36 Unlocked Roots, no attributes."

Jealousy or scorn? As they stared at those five words, the aristocrats didn't know what stance to adopt.

"Fate does make a joke of talents. Though perhaps, this is for the best," Hanns sighed and shook his head in disappointment. In the history of Arcadia, only two people ever showed more than 18 Unlocked Roots, and amusingly, both had 36.

First, Reinhold von Skoll, the fallen Crown Prince, and Klaus' true self. Second, Kilian.

But while Reinhold possessed seven Innate Attributes and died at seven, Kilian possessed none. That being the case, regardless of Unlocked Root quantity, he couldn't go beyond the High Emissary rank—or so they thought. If not for that assurance, Hanns would now be preparing his murder.

In fact, Kilian did possess one attribute, the Fehl Attribute that englobed all others. But because Fehl left no trace, the altar couldn't detect it. As long as he showed even one Innate Attribute, Kilian knew he wouldn't survive the day. But with none? His magical aptitudes would simply turn into a recurring joke.

"Without at least one attribute, the creation of Elemental Crystals becomes an extreme challenge. When others will take a year, he will need ten. Worst, he will never be able to condense Greater Crystals. What a pity," Carmen von Draken, who like the others observed Kilian's results, sighed in genuine disappointment. Yet, as a compulsive gambler, she couldn't help make a silent bet on Kilian's uncertain future.

The initial torpor made way for a mixture of relief and silent mockery. Ignoring it all, Kilian returned to his seat.

On the scene, there wasn't one individual without at least three Unlocked Roots. Knowing the academy's recruitment criteria, no examinee would show up without at least the unlocked root requirement fulfilled. In the failures' eyes, Kilian was no better than them. At best, he'd become a High Emissary.

A few more examinees succeeded one another before all 54 had their roots and attributes tested.

"So ends the annual banquet and examination. Guests and rejected examinees will now have to leave the island. As for you, the successful 54, welcome to the Imperial Academy," Hanns declared, thus marking the end of the gathering. Hundreds of imperial guards entered, motioning for the guests and rejected examinees to follow them out of the academy. In orderly fashion, the aristocrats departed, leaving behind the 54 and their servants.

"As new students, you will all receive a brown robe. Here, students are not ranked by years and seniority, but by the robes they wear. The brown robe is the only one with neither enchantment nor protection abilities. Once you pass the Lesser Emissary examination, you can get a silver robe," Hanns explained and vanished in swirling red light.

From lowest to highest, the Imperial Academy ranked its students as brown, silver, black gold, white gold, and purple gold. Only those that obtained the white-gold robe before 30 could officially graduate. Others left empty-handed.

Following Hanns' departure, the three department chairs led the new students on a tour of the academy's facilities, at the end of which all received their robes and assigned suite keys. With less than 2,000 students, the majority of which had been there for years, the academy provided a suite for each noble scion depending on their robe-color. The browns' naturally were the worst.

The students then had to register for their majors and pick their classes, with various choices depending on their Innate Attributes and score results. As expected by many, besides the mandatory courses, Kilian chose Technomancy as his major, and Flesh Sculpture as his minor. For the power-craving aristocrats, those were well-known, dead-end choices.

…

Meanwhile, in the comfort of his suite, Ayden received news of the testing's results alongside Tristan and a young lady with identical looks to the latter.

"36 Unlocked Roots? Ha, overkill. You don't even need that many to become an Exarch. Could have been fun if not for the zero attribute thing. Oh well," Ayden jested while pulling the young lady, Estrella von Skoll, closer toward him.

"Ayden, you always take things too lightly. Fortunately, we have Tristan to worry about serious matters," Estrella, Tristan's twin sister, replied without resisting Ayden's embrace.

Used to seeing the two act so intimate, Tristan merely browsed the recording mirrors' various news.

"Although his magical future doesn't look promising, he's the only remaining heir to Ostria's growing wealth. That Celestial Garden sure is a profitable business. His test results also show a sharp and hardworking man. No harm in pulling him to our side," Tristan chimed in. Having done his homework on Kilian, he knew of his "full" background, and bond to Olaf. Needless to say, the info at his disposal had been prepared by Kilian.

"You know the saying, the best money is dirty."

"There is no such saying."

"I just invented it. By the way, book me a room and let's ditch a week's worth of classes in the arms of those so-called goddesses," Ayden gleefully replied while pointing his left index at the flushing Tristan.

"Watch your language! You're the crown prince, not a slumlord! Also, didn't you have enough fun with your last wench?" Before her flustered brother could answer, Estrella shoved Ayden away, and snarled in irritation.

Undisturbed, Ayden pulled her back into his arms.

"That's how you know I failed my orientation. And since when do you care about those women?" Ayden countered. Having never kept any secret from his beloved Estrella, she naturally knew about all his experiments. But before, never showed much care. What changed?

"Nonsense, who wouldn't care? I'm just tolerating them!" She snorted for emphasis and turned her head away from him.

"Alright, alright, no new wench for a year."

"Five!"

"Two, just because I love you to death."

"Four!"

"Three, and I won't go any higher," Ayden ended the auction in a non-negotiable tone. And defeated, Estrella dropped on his lap. Feeling extra, Tristan readied to step out, but suddenly, a frown twisted Ayden's matchless face, and all amusement vanished.

"I'm afraid we will have to shorten this little gathering, Estrella dearest, I will see you later," Ayden stated, kissed Estrella's forehead, and rushed out the door, leaving behind a duo of perplexed twins.

…

Following a succession of teleportation circles' Ayden's hurried steps led him to the headmaster's office. There, Hanns stood beside a cloaked man, back bent in a deferential posture. For the Headmaster of the Imperial Academy, not many deserved such a stance.

But as soon as Ayden walked in, Hanns walked out, and even without seeing the man's face, Ayden bowed in greetings.

"I didn't expect your visit. Please forgive me g-" Ayden began, but before he could finish his words, the cloaked man snapped his fingers.

Red light shone in Ayden's eyes, and for an instant, he stood there, bent in an awkward bow. The light dispersed, and though on the outside, no visible change occurred, Ayden straightened his back, and with none of the previous politeness, stared at the cloaked man.

"What do you want?" Ayden asked in an unwelcoming tone. Undisturbed, the cloaked man turned to face him, but though the hood kept half his face concealed, it couldn't hide the many wrinkles left by centuries of life.

"That's my line. What do you want, Niklas? For nearly 100 years, the Technocracy has been seeping the various echelons of Arcadian society. Even within our house, they have many agents, and though the true nature of their plans remains a mystery, they've recently been making atypical moves," the cloaked old man started in a deep, imposing voice fit for a mighty monarch.

"50 years ago, believing that you had more than enough strength to shoulder its weight, I abdicated my throne and focused on investigating the technocrats. But what do you do? On a moment of impulse, you used a Sixth Circle Spell. That's terrible enough, but worse, before you could suffer the rebounds, your opponent threw the spell back at you.

Without months of hard work, we can't awaken you. And for what? The right to become Arcadia's laughing stock? Now, the empire has no monarch. Emboldened, who knows what moves the Technocracy will make?" Marcel von Skoll, the previous emperor, rebuked the Niklas that hid underneath Ayden.

Yet, faced with his father's reproach, Niklas only sneered.

"You who have thirteen children, how can you understand? Klaus is my child, my life, my everything. I rediscovered the meaning of joy when I first held him in my arms and lost it when he left. The entirety of Arcadia cannot amount to a strand of his hair, and never will I forgive anyone that dares threaten him. Especially not her!

As for the technocracy, let them come! I shall succeed where you failed and erase this scourge once and for all!" Niklas snarled, and again a red glow flashed in Ayden's gaze, reverting him to his true self.

"G-grandfather…" the slightly confused Ayden finished his previous words, once more bowing at Marcel.

"I just wanted to see how you handled the regency, and give you this warning," Marcel stated, and with a fling of his dra, tossed a piece of blue paper at Ayden's hands. There, Kilian's test answers stood, with the final one highlighted in red.

The more they read, the more Ayden's eyes stretched.

"Impud-"

"Truth," Marcel cut Ayden's textbook reply.

"We built the Arcadian Empire as a castle on bubbles, a beast of glass. Its survival relies entirely on our stability. We von Skoll hoard the highest technological secrets, the most destructive magical arts, the most advanced arcane knowledge, and hold 90% of this realm's military might.

70% of Arcadia's known Archons are surnamed von Skoll.

99% of the known Exarchs are surnamed von Skoll.

Arcadia stands if we stand, and falls if we fall, but the aristocracy has forgotten this truth, forgotten the foreign threats, and blindly looks for the means to increase their benefits.

Since they're so foolish as to capitalize on Niklas' fall, let's help them.

Stop threatening the whelps, let them bark. Have your brothers coordinate with you to create an impression of strife among imperial princes. Feign weakness, and allow them to bare their fangs. It is time we destroy the nobility as a landed class, strip them of their ancient rights, and confine their leaders to the Imperial City.

Do not fail me, and you might yet rule Arcadia. As for the one with the mind to write these words, groom or destroy him. Though it is high time you surround yourself with more than tomboys and tomgirls, if you can't tame the man, erasing him is the safest bet," Marcel proclaimed and vanished in swirling red clouds.

Left alone, Ayden slumped his shoulders, sighed and walked out, aware that in the coming months or years, blood storms would sweep the land.

…

In the meantime, after settling in his suite, Kilian dove into the Hellforge, facing the pile of top-notch corpses awaiting his touch with an atypical, eerie smile. Lilac-colored mist akin to Jezebel's aura surged from his pores, making his eyes gleam in the same hue. And with silent, measured steps fit for a predator, Kilian advanced toward his material.

"Now, now, let's get to work."