I can evolve everything

The next morning.

As the knights' horns pierced the morning mist, a dozen or so candidates who had passed the preliminary selection were already standing on the east side of the field.

Compared to the others, Ryan Wilder stood at the end of the line, appearing somewhat too calm, or even... guilty.

"First test: Trial of Strength."

The person in charge of the first test was a knight with a full beard. He swept his fierce gaze across the crowd.

Behind him were a row of rock locks of varying sizes, and several heavy training dummies.

"For a knight, strength is the primary standard of competence. Knights only need to know one thing: how to plunge your sword into the enemy's skull!" The bearded knight coldly proclaimed the assessment criteria. "Passing standard: Lift a three-hundred-pound stone weight with one hand and hold it for ten breaths. Or, push that five-hundred-pound dummy ten paces away!"

Three hundred pounds.

This is quite simple for a young man like the one from yesterday who was as big as a brown bear.

Sure enough, the young man was the first to step forward.

He roared, grabbed the huge stone lock, and easily lifted it above his head.

"Pass!" The bearded man recorded the message expressionlessly.

Next was that young nobleman.

Although he struggled and his face turned red, he managed to barely meet the standard thanks to the foundation he had built up from childhood in his family.

It's Ryan's turn.

All eyes were on him.

Among this group of people, although Ryan's physique has recovered quite well after a month of training, he still appears somewhat thin.

"Your turn, Wilder's." The bearded knight gave Renn a strange look.

Renn took a deep breath and stepped forward.

He walked up to the stone lock.

The bottom of that stone lock was etched with a one-time [Anti-Gravity Inscription (Inferior)] by an alchemist who received a large sum of money.

These inscriptions are very unstable and have a very short lifespan, and are usually used for moving huge stones when building houses.

This was Linus's arrangement.

As long as Raine's finger presses on a specific spot to activate that tiny bit of residual magic, the weight of this 300-pound stone will be reduced by half in a short period of time.

Ryan bent down and gripped the stone handle with his right hand. His thumb pressed precisely into an inconspicuous groove on the inside.

Right now.

He could feel a faint tingling sensation at his fingertips, which was the signal that the inscription was being activated.

"rise!"

Renn gave a low shout and exerted force from his waist and abdomen.

"One...two...three..." The sergeant counted slowly and deliberately, his pace almost irregular.

"...Ten! Put it down!"

"Thump!"

The stone lock slammed heavily onto the ground.

Renn, panting heavily, retreated back into the group.

"Barely acceptable," the sergeant coldly commented, then made another mark on the paper.

A few chuckles came from the crowd, seemingly mocking the Wilder family's young master's disheveled appearance.

But no one doubted the weight of the stone—after all, the dull thud of it hitting the ground was undeniable.

Except for one person.

At the front of the line, a young man with dazzling blond hair frowned slightly.

He is Cedric van Amsel.

Hailing from an ancient knightly family in the capital, his family crest is said to bear the blood of a griffin. He received the most orthodox knightly training from a young age and possesses a keen eye for talent.

He stared at Ryan's right hand, which was still trembling slightly, with some suspicion.

"His muscle engagement is wrong..." Cedric muttered to himself. "The muscle contraction isn't strong enough to support a static load of 300 pounds. And when he lifted him, his center of gravity didn't shift backward..."

But he didn't say anything.

At this level, accusations without evidence are foolish, and he disdains to expose such a low-level trick.

"The second skill demonstration I drew this time is: equestrian show jumping!"

The second test required candidates to ride military horses, cross three obstacles within a specified time, and hit two scarecrow targets.

As everyone knows, Ryan Wilder's riding skills are absolutely terrible.

But when the quartermaster in charge of the stables led out the black horse, Ryan knew he was safe.

This horse looks tall and mighty with an untamed look in its eyes, but it is actually a retired old warhorse that has been fed an alchemical feed called "Drunken Dream Grass".

This herb puts horses in a delicate state of extreme excitement yet extreme obedience—they will instinctively run wildly along the route they have been trained on countless times, even if they are carrying a sack of potatoes on their backs.

Ryan mounted his horse, his movements still somewhat stiff.

"start!"

With a whistle, the black horse charged off as if its tail had been burned.

All Ryan had to do was hold on tightly to the horse's neck or the reins, as long as he didn't fall off.

The horse galloped away, and Ryan could only cling tightly to its neck amidst the jolting. As they approached the obstacle, he had no idea how to control the horse to leap, and could only instinctively close his eyes.

However, the dark horse automatically adjusted its pace, used its hind legs to propel itself, and gracefully leaped over the obstacle.

Next comes the target.

Raine thrust his training spear wildly.

If it were a normal horse, it would have lost its rhythm long ago due to the shift in its center of gravity.

But the horse was remarkably steady; it even subtly adjusted its position, deliberately placing the target to the side onto the tip of Ryan's spear.

"puff!"

bingo.

"Pass." The bearded knight didn't even glance at the crooked target before announcing the result.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

After two rounds of assessments, the eight candidates were taken to the rest area in the inner courtyard of Dawn Castle to await the final trial.

This is a semi-circular stone-stepped viewing platform, directly facing the circular sandy area below.

By this time, a few people were already sitting around.

The test takers were resting in the preparation area; some were drinking water, while others were praying nervously.

Renn sat in the corner, unscrewing his water pouch and taking small sips. The first two rounds of assessment had taken a toll on his physical strength, but more importantly, it had taken a toll on his mental energy.

"This is truly eye-opening."

A voice came from not far away.

Renn probably guessed who it was.

Cedric van Amsel was standing not far away, wiping the practice sword that the Knights had given him.

This knight from the capital performed flawlessly in the first two rounds of assessment.

He lifted the four-hundred-pound stone weight and even did two deep squats; he moved on horseback as if it were flat ground, and each shot pierced the scarecrow's throat with pinpoint accuracy.

Cedric's gaze wasn't on Renn, but rather on the sand below, as if he were talking to thin air.

"That stone lock is clearly faulty; even I can tell. And that horse—its eyes are glazed over like a drug addict's." Cedric chuckled dismissively, sheathing his sword.

"The Wilder family must have spent a lot of money on this assessment, right?"

Several other test-takers who were resting nearby stopped what they were doing and their eyes darted between the two.

Some people gloated, while others looked on with disdain.