Devilbane: The Broken Demon Heir Emerges As Monarch

The sun sat high, the arena has the archery range came into view. Targets stood tall at four distances—one close, one mid-range, one far, and the last, mounted to a sliding rig that glided left and right, simulating a moving opponent.

Students stepped up in groups, each armed with four arrows. The crowd watched with growing anticipation as arrows flew and scores climbed. Laughter followed the poor shots; cheers echoed for the bullseyes.

Then came the prince.

Alarion stepped onto the line with his usual poise. His stance was textbook—shoulders relaxed, eyes sharp. He loosed the first arrow.Thwack. Dead center.The second—thwack—another ten.The third—ten again.The final arrow flew a breath wide, embedding just outside the center. A nine.

Up on the royal platform, Valen Draegor leaned back slightly.

"Precise. Expected from the prince," he said flatly.

Sir Vale nodded. "Years of training. He won't slip easily."

A few more students took their turn—then Arthur stepped forward.

There was no grace to his stance, no polished discipline. But there was stillness. Focus. His fingers gripped the string, and he pulled back.

The first arrow sang through the air—thwack.Bullseye.

The second—another ten. The third—ten again. The crowd quieted.

Arthur drew in a long breath and loosed his final shot.

Thwack.A perfect line of four center shots.

Draegor sat up slightly, studying the boy. "Huh… told you he is interesting."

Vale said, "He is..."

Then came Nyelle. Her movements were smooth, practiced. She shot with care—not too fast, not too hesitant.

Two arrows landed in the bullseye. Two more followed just shy of center, solid nines.

As she stepped back, Draegor tilted his head, stroking his chin. "Not bad. Isn't she the Drakoria princess?"

Vale replied, "Yes, Aeris Nyelle."

A few more students took their turn, Lucien slackingoff and bottled all the shots.

Then the next archer stepped up—Astrid Caelra.

She didn't blink. The bow in her hand looked like it belonged there.

First arrow—bullseye. Second—ten. Third—ten again.

There was a hush in the crowd.

The fourth arrow was fast. It struck just outside the center—a nine.

Draegor gave a low whistle. "That one… she's sharp."

Below, Arthur didn't know her story—but he was starting to understand the weight she carried.

The sun began its slow descent, casting long shadows across the arena as the students gathered once more in formation.

At the center of the field, an instructor stepped forward, his voice loud and firm.

"This is the Endurance Trial," he declared. "Each of you will hold a sword and shield—double the weight of what a standard soldier carries. Arms extended. Straight. No slouching, no bending. Once the shield drops or arms fold, you're out."

Groans echoed across the formation as assistants moved through the rows, handing out the weapons. The moment the weighted steel touched their hands, students understood—this would be no ordinary hold.

The command was given.

"Begin!"

hundreds of swords and shields rose in unison, metal trembling in young hands. The test had started.

Within the first minute, students began to wobble. Toren, after barely managing to keep his arms up at chest height, let out a tired breath and let his shield fall."Yup. Nope. I'm not built for this," he muttered as he stepped out, rubbing his shoulder.

Nyelle stood longer, her brow furrowed, arms shaking—she grit her teeth, but eventually, with a heavy sigh, her shield dipped and brushed the ground. She closed her eyes and stepped back quietly.

Lucien didn't even try. He lifted the shield lazily, glanced at it, and let it clatter down with a smirk, walking off before the first minute even ended.

The field thinned quickly. Further down the line, 

A few noble-born students, sweating through their fine tunics, dropped one by one. Only a handful of commoners and a large, strong-built youth in patched gear remained beside them.

At the front 2 rows, three stood like pillars—Prince Alarion, Astrid Caelra, and Arthur.

Minute after minute crawled by.

Astrid's fingers trembled, her stance wavered. A twitch hit her shoulder, her lip curling in pain. Then—

Clang.Her shield tapped the ground.

She let out a grunt and bit her lip in frustration before stepping aside.

Now, all eyes turned to the final two.

Arthur and Alarion, side by side, unmoving.

Three minutes.Three and a half.Four.

Sweat dripped from their temples. Their muscles quivered. But neither gave in.The crowd had gone silent—then slowly, cheering built from the royal stands.

"Prince Alarion!" someone shouted.

Others joined in.

Draegor leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, grinning. "Man, this is fun. They're good. Real good. Didn't think I'd enjoy this trial."

Sir Vale stood with arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

At four minutes and thirty seconds, both boys were straining. Their arms drooped inch by inch.

Arthur's shield dipped.Alarion's followed.

Then, at almost the same moment, both shields clattered to the ground.

The entire stadium froze.

A second of complete silence. No one moved. No one knew who lasted longer.

Then, the referee stepped forward. He raised a red flag.

And pointed it toward Arthur.

The crowd paused.

Then erupted—not as thunderous as for royalty, but still proud, still echoing.

Arthur didn't smile. He simply lowered his arms, chest rising and falling with ragged breath, and turned to take his place.

Draegor gave a laugh, leaning back again.

"Ha! I knew it."

Beside him, Vale exhaled softly but said nothing.

Arthur stepped back into formation. Prince Alarion, standing tall, glanced over at him—and gave a short nod.

Arthur returned it. 

After a short break, the students were called once more—sweaty, sore, and dust-covered—back into formation. The sun now dipped low, casting a golden hue across the arena.

An instructor stood atop a platform, pointing toward the stretch of dirt track ahead.

"For the final physical test—strength. Before you stands a boulder roughly matching your size and weight. Your task is simple: push it to the finish line. No rolling. No assistance. Just brute strength."

Groans rose from the group as they approached the row of stones.

The batches began.

One by one, students strained and shoved, feet digging into the ground.

Arthur stepped into his lane, set his shoulders, and began to push. The rock resisted—but only for a moment. With a grunt, he shoved forward in steady bursts, crossing the line smoothly.

In another lane, Prince Alarion moved with smooth, calculated effort, the boulder sliding across the dirt like it weighed nothing.

Astrid pushed in silence, her eyes burning with quiet fire. Her rock rolled past the line with ease.

Nyelle, breathing hard from the earlier tests, struggled. Her feet slipped—but she didn't stop. Gritting her teeth, she inched the stone forward until it barely crossed the line. She collapsed beside it with a tired laugh.

Toren, hands shaking, tried. He pushed, paused, shoved again—until finally, the rock wouldn't budge anymore. He slumped to his knees, muttering, "This rock hates me."

Lucien didn't even try. He tapped the stone with his foot, sighed dramatically, and walked off without a word.

A few more students crossed, most with great difficulty. Some didn't finish at all.

By the time the last group completed their run, the sun had nearly set. The sky above was streaked with violet and fire-orange.

At the edge of the field, Eldric Thorne, head of the academy, stepped forward once more. His voice rang clear across the silent arena.

"That concludes the physical trials for this year's Senior Division Entrance Exams."

He paused, letting the murmurs settle.

"For all students participated in the written and physical tests—well done. Your records will be reviewed."

He turned slightly, his tone shifting.

"The final test, the Magic Ability Trial, will be conducted tomorrow. Eat. Rest. Prepare yourselves."

The crowd applauded, slower now—tired but still proud. The students, dust-covered and drained, began to disperse under the dimming light.

Another trial awaited. And only the strongest would endure.