The Most Arbitrary Wizard

At the Table of Truth, a contestant challenging a Judge isn't considered "brave"—it's "disrupting order."

Otherwise, if every one of the thousand-plus Wizards came up for a challenge, how could the competition even go on?

So, no matter how unwilling he was, he had to suppress it.

The only way was to first win first place at the Table of Truth and gain the Saintess's approval. Then, if he were to challenge Sean, it would seem perfectly reasonable, and Her Highness the Saintess would surely grant him the courtesy.

However, he was still oversimplifying things.

It wasn't a question of whether he could take first place. To begin with, he couldn't even get past the traditional first-round test...

Sean was the last Judge to arrive. After he took his seat, Catherine announced that this year's Table of Truth had officially begun.

"Please remain quiet, everyone."

As she finished speaking, the audience quickly fell silent.

Catherine tossed the exam paper in her hand into the air. It immediately erupted in a brilliant glow. The paper seemed to melt away, dissolving into the air, leaving only lines of shimmering golden script floating in its place.

There were thirteen questions in total, numbered 0 to 12.

There were no multiple-choice or fill-in-the-blank questions; they were all free-response problems requiring proofs or solutions.

This made many of the Wizards attending or watching the Table of Truth for the first time, like Kave, curse inwardly.

'Damn it, they're not giving us an inch.'

'No multiple choice to guess from. You can't even scrape by for a few points.'

With so many people watching, performing well would bring great prestige. But failing to solve a single question would be a genuine disgrace. You'd probably have to walk with your head down in the streets from then on.

Kave gritted his teeth and, throwing caution to the wind, decided to at least write down the word "Solution."

Based on his past exam experience, just writing "Solution:" could earn you one point, a nod from the grader for having the right attitude.

But in the next moment...

As if noticing his actions, Catherine spoke with a meaningful tone. "Some of you are new this year and may not be familiar with the rules of the Table of Truth, so allow me to explain. There are thirteen questions, each worth one point. You get a point for a correct answer and lose a point for an incorrect one. Not answering results in no change to your score. The person with the highest score at the end will be the winner of this round."

To be considered correct, not only must the final answer be right, but the entire process must also be flawless.

Any error whatsoever meant the answer was wrong.

Clearly, the Table of Truth had a very strict definition of "right" and "wrong," and the same applied to "not answering."

If you weren't confident in a question, don't even touch it. The moment you write a single word—such as "Solution"—it's considered an attempt.

Kave: "???"

'Seriously, how is anyone supposed to play like this?!'

'Not getting points for writing 'Solution' is one thing, but now I'm going to lose a point for it?'

'This is a nightmare for every slacker student!'

Ryan, on the other hand, calmly put down his Magic Pen.

He chose to give up.

He wouldn't attempt a single question.

Sean noticed his roommate's decision to just give up and couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

'His roommate was actually pretty clever.'

He had analyzed Diana's methods before. This generation's Saintess, Her Highness, loved to be efficient, accomplishing multiple goals with a single action.

So, behind these bizarre exam rules, there was likely a deeper meaning.

It wasn't just a test of the Wizards' knowledge, but also of their attitude in the face of adversity.

The Holy Temple Remnants lived precarious lives in this era. One slip-up, and they could be captured by the Church Court and burned at the stake. These questions were like dangerous missions: succeeding would bring great rewards, but failure would come at a steep price.

And if you weren't sure you could succeed, it was best not to act at all. Losing your own life was one thing, but you might end up dragging your comrades down with you.

An attitude of "no action, no mistake" wasn't ideal, but at least it wouldn't bring trouble to the Holy Sanctuary. In contrast, those who courted disaster knowing a task was impossible were the ones truly unfit for great responsibility.

'This generation's Saintess is so damn cunning,' Sean thought, his gaze drifting to Diana in the main seat. 'I wonder who she learned it from...'

Coincidentally, Diana was also looking at him at that very moment.

Their eyes met.

Sean: "..."

He immediately turned his head away.

'Avert your gaze, avert your gaze.'

'It's rude to stare at a girl. Besides, she's so sharp and clever, I can't let Her Highness the Saintess see that I have ulterior motives.'

Little did he know, Diana wanted him to have those exact ulterior motives.

After all, how could a married couple, separated for centuries, resist whispering sweet nothings and expressing their longing for each other upon reuniting?

Even if the time and place were inappropriate and they couldn't openly acknowledge each other, their eyes couldn't lie.

There was only one possible reason Sean was avoiding her gaze.

'This man hasn't recognized me.'

'And I even wore this formal gown specifically for him.'

'Since that's how it is... there's no need for me to be nice tonight.'

Diana gave Sean a deeply meaningful look, then retracted her gaze.

Meanwhile, around the Table of Truth...

The "exam" was reaching a fever pitch.

Everyone was silent, their expressions varying as they stared at the questions in the sky. Some were deep in thought, others vexed, while a few had sudden epiphanies and began writing furiously, using their Magic Power as ink.

In fact, during the earliest iterations of the Table of Truth, this written portion allowed for collaboration. It still does, technically, as it's meant to be an academic symposium, not a true exam. But people are selfish, of course. What if you shared all your ideas, only for someone else to keep quiet, secretly get a perfect score, and leave you in the dust?

Over time, the "open-book exam" had effectively become a "closed-book" one.

The few Wizards who dared to whisper to each other rarely discussed anything of substance.

Diana didn't particularly like this atmosphere, but she knew that if a person was completely selfless, never considering themselves or their family, and cast aside all human emotion and desire for the sole pursuit of knowledge, they wouldn't truly be human anymore.

Take a certain Mr. Blake, for instance.

Diana figured it was a harmless development. Besides, having them work individually better showcased each Wizard's personal abilities, so she didn't intervene and let them be.

And so, for years, the first round of the Table of Truth had been a test of individual skill.

But slowly, the Wizards began to realize that this year, discussion might be unavoidable...

Because they discovered a very strange question.

Prove: 3 = 8

The Wizards: "?"

How can three possibly equal eight?

Their first reaction was identical to Laelando's. 'This has to be a mistake, right?' they thought.

Or was it "written" incorrectly?

Theoretically, the questions should have been vetted by all the Judges, so there shouldn't be any errors. Yet no matter how they looked at it—sideways, right-side up, even upside down—8 was still 8, and 3 was still 3.

For a moment, the thousand-plus Wizards around the table were plunged into a state of bewildered self-doubt.

The audience, too, was utterly baffled.

Three is three.

And eight is eight.

Even a kindergartener knows three is less than eight. How could they possibly be equal?

Even the ever-confident Tony was stumped by this question.

He racked his brain, applying everything he'd learned in class this month, but he still couldn't find a logical proof.

Finally, someone couldn't help but speak up.

It was that "old man" from before who had been trying to guess Diana's intentions.

"How on earth are we supposed to prove this?"

There were thirteen questions in total, and he had already attempted twelve of them. Whether his answers were right or wrong, he had at least found an approach for each. But this last one... he'd scratched his head so much that he'd pulled out several strands of his already sparse hair, and he still had no idea how to solve it.

"Are you sure they're not just messing with us?" a Wizard complained.

The question was so counterintuitive, he was convinced the Judges were doing it on purpose.

"3=8... I don't even know what formula to use! Who came up with this question? It's so hard!"

"Who else could it be? Mr. Scholar, of course."

"He always likes to torture us students."

Laelando, who was drinking tea: "?"

'Torturing you? That's called tempering! It's for your own good! What a bunch of ungrateful brats. Besides, I didn't write this question. What does it have to do with me?'

So, when he saw numerous Wizards staring at him resentfully, and even Her Highness the Saintess shot him an inquisitive look, Laelando decisively set down his teacup. He turned to Sean beside him, redirecting everyone's attention to the true perpetrator.

Sean: "..."

'What? Why is everyone looking at me? Is it because I'm so good-looking?'

He immediately turned the tables. "What, are you all finished? Confident you've got a perfect score? Should I start collecting the exams then?"

The Wizards: "?"

'Collect our exams, my ass!'

'Why don't you take a look at the ridiculous question you wrote before you open your mouth?'

'3 = 8.'

'You prove it for us!'

...

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