According to tradition, the annual Tax Collector Qualification Exam was held at the Administrative Academy in the Upper District. However, due to external intervention this year, the number of candidates was so overwhelming that the venue had to be moved to Imperial Plaza.
It was named Imperial Plaza because a two-hundred-meter-tall copper statue of the Emperor towered over its center.
When Byrne arrived at the plaza, there was still half an hour before the start of the exam. Thousands of candidates arrived in succession, heading to registration points to claim their seat numbers according to pre-assigned zones.
The vast majority of those attending came from the Lower District, though there were a few well-dressed individuals—civilians from the Upper District or the offspring of low-level bureaucrats within the administrative system.
The expressions on their faces varied wildly. Some clutched their study materials, flipping through them feverishly; others gathered in small groups to exchange last-minute tips. Some stared solemnly at the copper statue of the Emperor, their lips moving in silent prayer, begging the Master of Mankind to grant them a passing grade.
Byrne swept a glance over the crowd before turning his eyes toward the striking statue. If the Emperor sitting on the Golden Throne ever woke up and saw the people of the Empire worshipping him as a god.
I wonder what kind of face he'd make.
Of course, it was just a stray thought. In the Imperium of Man, the Emperor was the ultimate object of faith. Any blasphemous remark, if caught by the Inquisition, would lead to a truly miserable end.
Byrne shook his head, clearing the idle thoughts from his mind, and walked toward the nearest registration point. Fortunately, there were plenty of stations set up, so the lines weren't as daunting as they could have been. It wasn't long before it was his turn.
The registrar was a slightly balding, middle-aged man. Because he wore a mask, Byrne couldn't see his face, but his eyes betrayed a man whose spirit had been crushed by the sheer monotony of the task. Without looking up, the man took Byrne's ID card, scanned it through the terminal, and asked formulaically:
"Name?"
"Byrne Claude."
"Place of birth?"
"19th Street, Lower District, Blackstone City."
At that, the balding man paused and looked up. A faint, barely perceptible flicker of disdain flashed in his eyes before he looked back down to finish the processing. A moment later, the terminal clicked and spat out a card the size of a playing card.
The man pulled it out and handed it to Byrne. "Take it. This is your admission ticket. The number on it is your seat." He waved Byrne off immediately, signaling for the next person to step forward.
Byrne checked the information and began heading toward the corresponding entrance. He hadn't gone far, however, when a series of gasps reached his ears. Surprised, he turned toward the source of the commotion.
In the nearby crowd, a path had automatically cleared. A woman wearing a moon-white, knee-length dress walked forward gracefully, flanked by two bodyguards. She was the youngest daughter of the Lawrence family: Selena Lawrence.
Selena was tall and fair-skinned, with flaxen curls cascading over her shoulders. Unfortunately, her face was hidden behind a mask.
"Heavens, the Lawrence girl is actually here?"
"Hey, are you sure? Is she really a Lawrence?"
"Look at the family crest pinned to her collar. There's no mistake."
"What's a high-born lady doing here? A bottom-tier position like Tax Collector... is that even worth the Lawrence family's notice?"
"Who knows? Maybe she's just bored and wants to experience how the commoners live?"
The candidates whispered incessantly, their eyes darting toward her with curiosity, admiration, or envy. Selena, at the center of the attention, seemed entirely unaffected. Every step she took was poised and elegant; she looked at those she passed with a calm, neutral gaze—no hint of contempt, but no forced friendliness either.
Byrne was equally surprised to see a noble lady at a Tax Collector exam. Though he lived in the Lower District, he knew the Lawrence name. As an Industrial World, Korol's resources were geared toward production, meaning habitable land was extremely limited. Consequently, the population was concentrated within ten major districts. Each city, in terms of scale, was no less than an independent kingdom.
Half were governed directly by the Governor, while the other half were controlled by the Five Great Families, of which the Lawrences were one. They owned vast industries, ranging from civilian machinery to components for Imperial Guard voidships. In terms of power, they were second only to Governor David Rick.
A noble lady born with a silver spoon, who should be living in a manor surrounded by luxury and comfort, had no business taking an entry-level civil service exam.
Byrne had his doubts, but he didn't dwell on them. To him, regardless of her status, she was just another competitor. His only goal was to pass the exam, secure the position, and escape the draft.
Selena walked to a different registration point and presented her ID. The registrar there instantly shed his lethargy, standing up to receive the card with both hands and checking the information with terrified precision.
"Miss Selena, your seat is A-519. Would you like me to assign someone to escort you there?"
Selena shook her head slightly, her voice cool and clear as spring water. "No need. I can find it myself." She took her ticket and turned toward Section A.
As she passed Byrne, her pace faltered for a fraction of a second. Her gaze brushed over him seemingly by accident, then quickly moved away.
Byrne stood there with a bewildered expression. Thanks to his heightened perception, he sensed that her look wasn't just a random glance; it carried a faint, hidden trace of scrutiny.
Does she know me?
It didn't make sense. He was a low-life from the Lower District; how could he possibly be known to a noble daughter? Byrne frowned, watching her figure recede as he searched through his memories. Neither the original owner of this body nor he himself had ever had any contact with the nobility, let alone the Lawrence family.
Forget it. I probably misread it. Maybe she just happened to look his way as she passed, just like everyone else. There was no special meaning to it.
Byrne shook his head, casting the doubt aside. Now was not the time for distractions; the exam was everything. He gripped his ticket tightly and hurried toward Section C.