Round 2 Ended
The world around them collapsed into light.
One by one, the warriors of the Valhalla Tournament—Arthur, Feldine, Georgina, and the many who had endured the brutal Phase 3—fell unconscious as their connection to the virtual world was severed. In the real world, panic didn't erupt, but a grave silence spread like wildfire through the hallowed halls of the Valhalla Temple.
Priests in silver and crimson robes moved swiftly through the temple corridors, their hands glowing with divine mana. The unconscious bodies were carefully lifted from their capsules and laid onto enchanted hospital beds, each one surrounded by magical devices designed to detect any sign of soul damage.
"Healing Potions. Soul-Stabilizers. Bring the Pilana crystals, now!" barked one of the senior priests.
For the first time in eight thousand years, the Virtual War System—a sacred creation designed by the 5th Pope, a man who once stood at Peak Rank 9—had failed.
This was no ordinary system.
Forged with divine craftsmanship and powered by the essence of the War God Mars himself, the Valhalla Virtual System was hailed as the most secure construct in the entire world of Elydrion. It could not be hacked by mana engineers, nor disrupted by any known artifact, not even those ranked beyond comprehension. A full-power strike from a Peak Rank 9 being wouldn't even leave a scratch on its walls.
And yet… today, it was breached.
Without warning. Without permission. Without a trace.
No being was allowed entry or exit without the system's explicit authorization—such was its god-tier encryption, a blend of divine law, mana computation, and celestial isolation. Generations of Mana Engineers, drawing on the knowledge of the ancients and the blessings of gods, had enhanced it to a level beyond imagination.
But now? Now every terminal blinked red.
The core interface had crashed.
In not just one province.
Not just one temple.
But across the entirety of Elydrion.
Every province that hosted a Virtual War Simulation… had been breached.
And none could say how.
The administrators stood frozen in disbelief. The guardians of the temple whispered prayers. Even the high council of Elydrion had no answers.
Phase 3 was terminated.
Not by design. Not by choice.
But by force.
The system had been broken by an entity—or force—that the world had never accounted for. The question echoed in every corner of the temple:
Who… or what… could do this?
Far from the chaos unfolding across Elydrion, on the eastern continent in the sacred land of Tenjiku, silence reigned.
Inside a boundless white chamber, unmarred by any detail save one—the sigil of the Valhalla Temple—a figure sat cross-legged on a glowing white floor. The sigil on the wall was etched in gold: a blazing sun enclosed by twelve silver swords forming a circle, with a single tear of blood dripping from the center—the mark of balance between war and sacrifice.
The man's eyes opened slowly.
Black.
Cold.
Timeless.
His index finger twitched, and the ring upon it flared with deep red light, as if awakened by a force it had long slumbered to resist.
The air cracked. Reality warped around him.
A voice, deep and laced with power, thundered through the chamber, though he barely whispered.
"Who dares… to breach the System?"
The door to the sanctum burst open.
A figure cloaked in pure white robes, bearing a platinum sun sigil over his heart with twin vertical swords crossing behind it—the sign of a Cardinal of Valhalla—stepped inside with urgency.
His mana surged in all directions, a wave of light that warped the floor beneath his feet. His presence screamed Peak Rank 8.
He bowed deeply, his voice steady despite the tremors beneath the temple.
"Your Holiness… the breach is confirmed. Phase Three has collapsed. Every terminal. Every realm. The system is compromised."
The man in white dared not meet the gaze of the one before him.
He was called many things: "The Twilight Pope", "Healer of War", "The Silent Blade", and above all—
"His Holiness, Arkan Thalor—The 10th Pope of the Valhalla Temple."
Arkan looked barely into his twenties. His face was sharp, his black hair like silk ink, his skin unmarred by time or battle. But the aura that emanated from his very being twisted the room itself. The air refused to remain still. The divine fabric of the chamber shuddered around him.
Peak Rank 9.
And more.
A warrior blessed by Mars.
A healer touched by divine light.
A mage who wielded sacred and forbidden arts alike.
He was not merely the leader of the temple.
He was its final defense.
Arkan stood slowly, and with it, the floor cracked beneath his feet.
He didn't ask for confirmation.
He already knew.
The ring pulsed again—once, twice, then dimmed.
Arkan Thalor, the 10th Pope of the Valhalla Temple, stood motionless in the silent chamber, his gaze fixed on the pulsating red glow of his ring.
He spoke, voice calm yet ominous.
"Where did it start?"
The man in white stepped forward, head bowed in reverence.
"From the data flowing through the Divine Grid… the breach originated in the northern quadrant of Elydrion."
Arkan's eyes narrowed.
"Be specific, Cardinal Lucien."
Lucien Thalor—his adopted son and trusted aide—answered, sweat forming at his brow despite the sanctum's frozen calm.
"It was traced… to Valerian County."
The name hung in the air like an echo of fate.
"…Valerian County."
Arkan turned slowly. His black eyes reflected no emotion—only inevitability.
He said nothing for several breaths.
Then finally, he spoke to the world itself.
His voice rang like prophecy, echoing into the white void, carried by the temple's sacred web.
"Let the realms know…
A Shift has occurred.
The System has been touched.
Stability is broken. Balance is threatened.
Let this be known as the Day of the Red Sigil."
Cardinal Lucien swallowed.
"Your Holiness… I believe this breach must be investigated. There's only one who could tamper with the system so cleanly. I suspect the work of the Emperor of Elydrion."
A deep silence fell.
Arkan turned sharply, his aura flaring like a black sun.
Lucien gasped as his knees hit the white floor, forced down by pressure no mortal could resist.
"You fool."
The chamber darkened slightly, reacting to the divine fury of the Pope.
"You dare speak his name so lightly?"
"Do you intend to provoke annihilation? Do you wish to see the Valhalla Temple burned from the skies?"
Lucien's voice quivered.
"N-no, Your Holiness—"
But Arkan was not listening. His eyes were distant now… staring into something far beyond this room.
Flashback — 1000 Years Ago
A shattered battlefield.
Three titans stood atop the broken realm:
The Dragon Emperor Zephyros, wreathed in celestial flame.
The Demon King Nyreth, devourer of soul and sky.
And Arkan Thalor, bearer of divine law and light.
They faced one man.
He stood alone, his robes fluttering, a calm expression on his young face. No weapons. No armor. Only presence—as though the world itself bowed to him.
His hair was silver-gold, eyes like twin universes, and the very air twisted around his existence.
He moved once.
And the battle was over.
Three of the most powerful entities in history lay in defeat—wounded, broken… spared only by his whim.
Present
Lucien, on his knees from divine pressure, dared to speak again.
"Then… who breached the system, Your Holiness?"
Arkan's voice was low, like ancient stone grinding.
"You still do not understand."
He turned toward the Valhalla Sigil — a ten-spoked star overlaid with a vertical sword, wreathed in halos — etched in pure divine metal across the white wall.
"There is no breach…"
"There is only his will."
Lucien's eyes widened.
"But the System itself—"
Arkan cut him off.
"The System belongs to the Divine Realms."
"He stands above the Realms."
"The Thrones, the Wills, the Laws… they bend when he walks."
A heavy silence descended.
He turned, slowly, his black eyes as deep as the abyss.
"He is not the Emperor of Elydrion."
"He is the one whom Elydrion itself kneels to."
Lucien felt as though the air itself froze.
Arkan looked into the distance — memory and fear woven into his every word.
"The being you speak of has no throne because the world is his kingdom."
"He has no army because existence obeys his command."
"He does not rule Elydrion. Elydrion is but one echo of his shadow."
"…And Alaric Valerian?"
Arkan chuckled, though there was no warmth.
"Alaric is a son in title… a mere spark from the inferno of that man's soul."
He finally turned fully toward Lucien.
"You ask for his name?"
"There are none in the world worthy to speak it."
"But if you must call him something…"
His words dropped like falling stars.
"Call him the Crownless King."
"The Sovereign Beyond Stars."
"The One Whom Even the System Dares Not Judge."
And then, almost in a whisper:
"The Architect of Silence."
The massive white doors creaked open once more.
Another figure rushed in, breathless, immediately dropping to his knees in submission. He was younger than Cardinal Lucien, dressed in formal priest robes embroidered with silver flame patterns along the sleeves—markings denoting his status as a System Executor, one of the few permitted to interface directly with the tournament algorithms.
He didn't raise his head.
But his words spilled out in a single breath.
"Your Holiness… I-I came to report the design of the enemy for the final battle of Phase Three."
Arkan's gaze flickered.
"Speak."
The Executor gulped.
"The final enemy for Phase Three… was a Peak Rank 1 Golem. It's been engineered with anti-magic alloy and… it possesses hidden adaptive abilities."
Silence followed.
Even Lucien, still kneeling from his earlier reprimand, looked up in disbelief.
Arkan spoke softly.
"Peak Rank 1? Forged with anti-magic alloy?"
The Executor hesitated.
"Yes… Your Holiness."
Arkan's voice dropped to a blade-like whisper.
"Against Rank 0 candidates?"
The Executor gave a trembling nod.
"Yes. But… but the Temple Council insisted this generation is unlike any we've seen in centuries. Some call them the Golden Generation. Several show signs of Heaven's Weight, and at least two are believed to be reincarnations of ancient champions from the Era of Flame."
He raised his eyes slightly, a spark of pride—misplaced and dangerous—lingering in his voice.
"I thought… this challenge would be good for them."
Arkan stared at him, and for a moment, time itself seemed to freeze.
Then—
Crack.
The floor beneath the Executor shattered in perfect geometric lines.
"You thought?"
Arkan's voice was cold enough to turn breath into frost.
"You thought, with your limited understanding and council-fed arrogance, that children—children—with half-formed mana cores, unstable spiritual frameworks, and underdeveloped skills should be thrown against a golem that requires a full stage above just to counter its resistance?"
The Executor paled.
"But… with enough talent—"
"Talent does not replace foundation."
Arkan's hand rose, and with a flick of divine will, the Executor's legs buckled. He collapsed to the floor, pinned under the crushing weight of Rank 9 aura.
"You have no idea what true power is," Arkan whispered, voice steeped in ancient fury. "Even the weakest from the Old Era would obliterate these children without effort. And yet you throw them at war-born abominations and call it growth? You are not cultivating champions. You are executing prodigies."
The walls dimmed. The sigil of the Valhalla Temple glowed blood-red.
"I sentence you to four years of penitence. You will serve the outer provinces. Heal the sick. Rebuild war-torn villages. Mend the broken, not the system. That is your punishment."
The Executor shook, head pressed to the stone.
"Yes… Your Holiness…"
Arkan turned to Lucien.
"Announce this immediately: Phase Three shall mark the final evaluation of this cycle. Before the mutated golems were released."
Lucien bowed.
"And the matter of compensation, Your Holiness?"
"Announce this as well: the Valhalla Temple will provide resources for any chosen participant to ascend to Rank 1—if they so wish. Furthermore, in the final round of the Young Champion Tournament, even Rank 1 candidates will be allowed to participate."
Lucien nodded. "Yes, Your Holiness."
Arkan looked back at the Executor, now retrieving his tablet with shaking hands.
"How many have qualified under the revised selection criteria?"
The Executor scanned the screen quickly.
"With the updated requirements, we now have 500 candidates with Mana Circuit Level 9… and another 500 with Circuit Level 8."
Arkan closed his eyes for a moment.
"Good. Proceed."
His gaze lifted toward the sky, beyond the temple's ancient walls.
"This generation may be blessed… but even the blessed must walk before they ascend."
He turned away, voice barely a murmur.
"…Not all stars survive the fire."
......…
Valhalla Temple Official Announcement
Elydrion Empire — Top 1000 Rankings After Round 2 of the Valhalla Tournament
By decree of the Valhalla Temple, the preliminary phase of the Tournament has concluded. The top 1000 warriors have been confirmed based on accumulated points earned through combat prowess, strategy, and mana control.
The elite contenders who have distinguished themselves thus far:
Rank Name Points
1. Elias Elydrion. 7,899
1. Arthur Valerian. 7,899
2. Julian Reinhart. 7,000
3. Feldine Sagnius. 6,800
4. Veylan Drakmore. 6,500
5. Carelum Ravencroft. 6,300
6. Nyx Akers 6,200
7. Thalira Cindervarl 6,050
8. Lysandra Mornveil. 6,000
9. Kael Voss. 5,950
10. Zerina Thaloriel 5943
11. Davis Eisenworth. 5,900
12. Elric Thorne. 5,850
13. Georgina Evans. 5,820
555. Leona. 2,600
578. Jace. 2,550
677 Ron. 2,300
700. Nikolai. 2,250
767. Tess. 2,100
789. Sera. 2,050
899. Rodin. 1,800
905. Drake. 1655