Reincarnated into Another World With Chat GTP-Chapter 23: The Games Actually Begin

Chapter 23: The Games Actually Begin

After the written exam, we hit up one of the fanciest restaurants in the capital.

Because why not?

I had money. And passing a brutal mind-melting test deserved some celebration.

The waiter bowed so low I thought he'd faceplant on the table.

Crystal glasses. Steak so soft it practically apologized when you cut it. Dessert served on glowing rune plates.

Noel, sitting across from me, poked her food with a fork like she didn't trust it.

"...You're not eating?" I asked.

"I'm making sure it's not enchanted."

"...It's not poison. It's just expensive."

She stared.

Then slowly began eating.

I took a bite of the steak. Heavenly.

"So. How was the test?"

She wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin. "I did fine."

"That's it?"

"The wolf helped me."

That made me pause mid-bite.

"...Right. Him."

She glanced at me. "You said something about him before. That he's... not normal."

I nodded. "Yeah. My 'source' mentioned something. Said it might be part of a demon lord."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. But she didn't deny it.

"...That would explain a lot."

"Like?"

"It's been trying to make a contract with me since I was six."

"...That's not concerning at all."

She sipped her drink like she didn't just say something world-ending.

We moved onto dessert.

"So," I asked, leaning back, "what's next?"

GTP, Give me a rundown on the practical exam.

[Activating Practical Exam Report.]

[Out of roughly 4,000 applicants, only 800 will pass the written exam.]

[The practical portion consists of ten survival stages. Each one harder than the last.]

[And yes. People die.]

I blinked.

...It's a death game.

[Correct. Historically, fatality rates hover around 8%. Instructors claim the pressure simulates real battlefield conditions. The truth? They enjoy the spectacle.]

I looked across the table at Noel.

She was calmly licking cream off a spoon.

"...Noel."

"Mm?"

"Don't die."

She tilted her head. "I wasn't planning to."

"Cool."

I stabbed my cake.

Because apparently, after dinner, we'd be entering fantasy Octopus Starving Games with spell grenades.

* * *

The Grand Hall buzzed with hushed voices.

Of the thousands who had entered yesterday, only around a thousand remained. The best of the best. The survivors of the written exam.

At the top balcony—standing tall in black and gold robes—was Headmaster Caerwyn Eloria.

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Her eyes, sharp as moonlight and calm as the void, swept across the hall below, watching the examinees file in.

Her posture was straight. Expression composed.

But her mind... was elsewhere.

It had happened late last night.

A sudden bang echoed through her office. The heavy doors, enchanted to open only by her will, had swung wide.

Professor Meril Dathen rushed in, pink hair messier than usual, eyes blazing with urgency.

"Headmaster," she said, practically slamming a test sheet onto the desk, "you need to read this."

Caerwyn had taken the paper wordlessly, scanning the first few pages with her usual sharp precision.

Correct answers. Efficient structure. Calm logic.

Impressive.

Then she saw Question 100.

Hellflame.

One of the Five Great Magical Mysteries. A paradox that had plagued mages for millennia.

A flame that consumed everything—caster, mana, the very soul of the spell itself. No one had ever proposed a solution that didn't end in ruin.

And yet...

What she read wasn't just theory.

It was a blueprint.

Layered circuits. Controlled incantation timing. Internal redirection loops. It was madness. And it made sense.

A theoretical stabilization of Hellflame.

If proven right, it would rewrite the foundation of destructive magic theory.

And the name written at the top of that test?

Sam Avencroft.

Now, standing above the hall, she saw him again.

He didn't sit like a noble. Didn't carry himself like a genius.

He was just... relaxed. Confident. Tapping his fingers on the table.

Like this was all just routine.

A writer, she thought.

The boy who created Titanheart Chronicles. A genius with fiction.

And now...

Her gaze lingered.

...possibly a genius of magic, too.

Caerwyn's lips curved into the faintest smile.

"Just how capable are you, Sam Avencroft?"

And inside Sam's head, at that exact moment....

GTP. GTP.

[Yes?]

Tell me a joke. I'm bored.

[Why did the mana crystal fail its academy exam?]

...Why?

[Because it cracked under pressure.]

...You're the worst.

[And yet, you keep coming back.]

* * *

The thousand remaining applicants were gathered once again in the Grand Hall.

This time, the tension wasn't academic.

It was survival.

Whispers bounced through the room like sparks off dry parchment. Nervous faces. Hands fidgeting. Swords being checked. Mana flowing under skin.

And then—

Caerwyn Eloria stepped onto the central platform.

Silence fell like a guillotine.

She looked over the gathered examinees with her usual unreadable expression, then raised her voice without magic—yet it echoed like thunder.

"Congratulations. You've made it to the second phase of the entrance examination."

A few tried to cheer.

She raised a hand, and they shut up instantly.

"This next portion is simple: survive."

She let that word hang.

"You will be transported to a randomly selected zone within the Outerworld."

Gasps.

Murmurs.

Even I saw a few students pale.

I leaned back slightly, arms crossed.

GTP, I thought, cue the worldbuilding drop.

[Ready.]

This world—Iserath—was split into two parts.

The Innerworld was everything people knew.

Human kingdoms. Trade cities. Magical beasts with intelligence. Civilization.

But the Outerworld?

That was the dark edge of the map.

Where monsters weren't just threats—they were extinction events.

Goblins. Ogres. Wyverns. Devils. Dragons.

Things that had no interest in politics or diplomacy. Only hunger.

Even the air itself was unstable with wild mana currents.

No one lived there.

Only fools—and soon, a thousand students—walked its soil.

"WHAT?!" someone shouted. "The Outerworld?! Are you insane?!"

"That's a death sentence!"

Caerwyn's face didn't change.

"You will each be equipped with a Return Sigil Bracelet. Should your vital status drop below 20%, it will forcibly teleport you back to the Innerworld."

More gasps.

A flicker of relief—

"However..."

And there it was.

"...these bracelets are not guaranteed to activate in time. Magic delay. Interruptions. Physical destruction."

"You may still die."

Complete silence.

Then—

I grinned.

"...Now that's what I'm talking about."

A vast, glowing magic circle began to unfold beneath our feet—spiraling outward from Caerwyn like a living storm of runes and light.

Students looked down in panic as the glyphs reached their rows.

"You will be graded not just on survival," Caerwyn continued, "but on your choices. Your actions. Your adaptability. Your power."

"Let the trial... begin."

The circle flared.

And we vanished.