The Genius Mage Was Reincarnated Into A Swordsman Family

The battlefield was silent.

Not with the peaceful stillness of relief, but with the heavy quiet that followed a narrow escape from death. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, mingling with the faint, acrid scent of scorched fur. The ground beneath the trainees' feet was uneven—scarred from the battle that had consumed the last hour of their lives.

And yet, it wasn't over.

Melo stood atop the platform, his silver mask catching the dim torchlight. His golden eyes, visible through the mask's narrow slits, swept across the coliseum floor.

The corpses of the Shadow Wolves, drained of their essence, lay like hollow shells. The massive Alpha's lifeless body dominated the center of the arena. Its core, shattered by Klaus's sword, still radiated faint tendrils of dissipating dark-colored mana.

The trainees stood in small, uneven clusters. Their swords, some chipped and bloodstained, dangled from exhausted arms. For most of them, the thrill of passing the endurance test had been utterly replaced by a harsher truth: this was not the heroic path they had imagined.

This was a battlefield.

And real battlefields didn't care about potential or dreams. Read new chapters at My Virtual Library Empire

***

Klaus's breath steadied as he sheathed his sword. His ribs ached with each inhale, but the pain was manageable. His gaze drifted across the arena, taking in the remaining trainees.

Thirty passed the rune mechanism test, he thought. And now they've seen what that really means.

They had survived the first wave. Barely.

The aftermath painted the reality vividly: one-third of them severely wounded, the others mentally and physically battered. For many, this was the first time they'd faced an enemy that genuinely sought to kill them.

He saw it in their eyes—the hollow recognition of mortality.

The boy near the back who kept flexing his fingers like he was trying to convince himself they still worked.The girl who stood too stiffly, eyes unfocused, as if still seeing wolves lunging at her throat.The trio in the corner whispering to one another, exchanging looks that teetered between determination and dread.

They're cracking.

And he didn't blame them. He remembered his own first real fight in his past life. That moment when theory, practice, and drills crumbled in the face of raw, predatory intent.

The difference was that Klaus had fought alone back then—no crowd, no system to guide him. And no masked figure standing overhead, waiting to dangle a rope for the drowning to grab.

***

"You have survived the first wave."

Melo's voice, calm and deliberate, sliced through the silence.

The trainees flinched collectively.

"But the trial is not over," Melo continued, stepping forward slightly. His presence dominated the arena despite his stillness. "What you have just endured was only the beginning."

The tension thickened.

"You were told this would not be a simple test. That joining an armed group before the standard timeline would demand more than talent."

He gestured toward the lifeless Alpha Shadow Wolf. "You have now seen what that means. Real combat does not care about bloodlines or ambition. It only cares about resolve."

The younger trainees shrank slightly under his words.

"So now," Melo said, his voice sharp enough to cut through their exhaustion, "I offer you a choice."

He extended one hand toward the large, iron gates on the arena's far side. They creaked open slowly, revealing the tunnel beyond.

"If you wish to give up, step forward now," Melo announced.

His gaze swept over them like a hawk eyeing prey.@@novelbin@@

"There is no shame in it," he added. "You are not cowards for acknowledging your limits."

The arena held its breath.

No one moved.

Klaus stood near the front, arms crossed. He already knew what would happen.

The psychological pattern was predictable. The mind could endure pain far more easily than uncertainty.

The trainees who still stood here had hoped that the worst was behind them. Now, faced with the knowledge that this was just the first wave, that fragile hope splintered.

The first crack appeared in the form of Ken Lionhart, a wiry boy with dark hair and trembling shoulders.

He took one shaky step forward.

The sound of his boot scraping against the ground echoed unnaturally loud in the stillness.

Ken's lips quivered. He hesitated, looking back toward his peers as if seeking permission to turn around.

But no one said anything.

He lowered his head and kept walking.

That single step was all it took.

Another boy followed.Then a girl.Then another.

The trainees began moving like droplets breaking away from an ice sheet. One after another, they walked toward the gate. Some moved swiftly, eager to escape the pressure. Others trudged like prisoners accepting their fate.

Within two minutes, the group had halved.

Fifteen remained.

***

Nicholas's eyes remained impassive as he watched the exodus.

This isn't new, he thought. I've seen this before.

In every life he had lived, tests like these inevitably led to the same outcome. The majority would crack under the realization that strength wasn't about potential or talent—it was about enduring fear without letting it consume you.

He recognized some of the faces of those leaving. People he remembered from past timelines. People who, years later, had become formidable warriors.

But this time?

They were walking away.

Nicholas clenched his jaw. If only I could tell them what they're giving up.

But even if he tried, they wouldn't listen. Not now.

His eyes shifted to Alex, who stood off to the side with his usual defiant posture. Blood stained his uniform, but his gaze burned with frustration. He wasn't used to losing.

In every past life, Alex had always joined an armed group earlier than most—but never this early.

And the difference this time?

Nicholas's gaze moved to Klaus.

He's the anomaly.

In every scenario, the timeline of events had followed predictable patterns. But Klaus's presence was changing everything.

The first wave had been more brutal. The reactions, more extreme. Alex, more reckless.

And Nicholas wasn't sure what that meant for the future.

***

Melo waited until the last footsteps of those who left faded into silence.

Then he spoke again.

"Fifteen remain."

The trainees shifted uneasily.

Many stared toward the gate, some with regret, others with relief. Those who stayed exchanged nervous glances, as though unsure if they should feel proud or terrified.

Melo clasped his hands behind his back.

"Your decision is now final. There will be no more opportunities to leave. The next wave will come soon—and it will not be like the last."

The ground rumbled beneath their feet.

Low growls vibrated from the sealed gates beneath the arena floor.

The remaining trainees stiffened.

"You have five minutes," Melo said. "Prepare yourselves."

The air seemed to compress under the weight of those words.

Melo turned away, stepping back toward the platform. His mask remained tilted downward, watching the arena with unblinking interest.

***

The trainees erupted into motion.

Some immediately checked their weapons. Others knelt to secure armor straps or rewrap bandages.

Klaus remained still, gaze locked on the gates. He didn't like how the ground trembled beneath him.

"Five minutes," Nicholas said softly, stepping beside him. "Not much time."

Klaus gave a short nod. "Long enough."

Nicholas exhaled. "They're scared."

"They should be," Klaus replied. "But if they made it this far, they can push through it."

Nicholas's eyes lingered on Klaus. He didn't know if that was true.

Because this timeline had already deviated so far from the pattern.

***

From the platform, Melo studied the group below. Fifteen remained.

Fifteen children on the precipice of either greatness—or destruction.

His eyes lingered on Klaus for a moment longer than the others.

Then he turned toward the sealed gate.

The second wave stirred.

And it was almost time to unleash it.