As night gave way to dawn, golden rays of morning sunlight spread over the imperial skyline.
Today marked the next round of the tournament—and for Arthur Valerian, it was another step into a future lined with power, politics, and peril.
Inside the Valerian estate, Arthur stood before a mirror, clad in a regal black combat uniform embroidered with crimson lines. His family crest—was engraved subtly at his collar. His hair, black with streaks of crimson, was neatly combed with side part. His golden eyes glinted with composure.
Behind him, Leona adjusted her gloves in silence while Drake double-checked the runes etched into his staff Both had grown quieter in recent days. The weight of what was to come pressed on them.
Neither knew what kind of trial awaited them.
Arthur, on the other hand, was calm.
His thoughts drifted to the last words Elaris had spoken, but he quickly cleared his mind.
He didn't want to involve himself in matters of divinity just yet.
It was better to bury those thoughts, to store them away somewhere in his memory for the future.
Upon landing at the capital's high-security airstrip, Arthur was the first to step out. His boots touched the stone with a quiet tap, but it echoed with presence.
They drove directly toward the Valhalla Temple Combat Zone—a colossal complex, famed across the empire.
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As they arrived, the sheer scale of the arena came into view.
The Combat Zone of the Valhalla Church was the largest in the empire—a cathedral-sized colosseum built with mana-imbued obsidian and sacred silversteel. The outer walls reached skyward like a fortress, shaped with ancient architecture and modern reinforcements.
Mana police stood stationed at the gates, carrying sleek mana rifles, scanning every participant and onlooker. While impressive, such weapons were worthless against Rank 1s and above—the average elite could dodge a bullet, block it with magic, or slice it out of the air.
In truth, swords, spears, and spells ruled this world.
The inner sanctum of the combat zone was open-air and circular, but the heart of its grandeur was the massive sigil etched deep into the central platform.
Arthur's eyes moved to the center of the open arena. There, engraved into the very battlefield, was the sigil of the Valhalla Church:
A blazing sun, encircled by twelve silver swords, forming a perfect ring.
At its heart, a single drop of blood glowed faintly, forever unmoving.
The convoy of sleek, black vehicles slowed to a stop in front of the colossal combat zone of the Valhalla Temple. The air outside shimmered with mana, thick with tension, purpose, and destiny.
Arthur stepped out of the car first, his golden eyes scanning the surroundings. Behind him followed Count Alaric Valerian, his father—dignified and composed, draped in a cloak bearing the Valerian family sigil: a sword piercing a crown. Leona and Drake exited next, silent but visibly tense. Knights and magicians trailed them in perfect formation—fifteen strong, each a guardian sworn by blood and honor.
Awaiting them was a group of priests clad in the ceremonial garb of the Valhalla Church, their robes a flowing blend of white and crimson, embroidered with the sigil of their faith: a blazing sun encircled by twelve silver swords, and a single drop of blood suspended at its core.
"Welcome, Count Alaric Valerian," one priest intoned with reverence. "Your chamber is ready. We shall guide you."
Alaric gave a single nod, and without a word, the group ascended the grand staircase that wrapped around the coliseum like a coiled serpent. They passed through vast marble halls, into a private chamber perched high above the central arena—crafted with space magic, elegant enough to host nobles, yet cold with the air of impending battle.
The priest bowed again. "Call us if anything is required."
They left, and silence took over the room—only the faint murmurs of the crowd below echoed like distant thunder.
Arthur took his seat by the wide, mana-infused window. Leona and Drake sat beside him, both unusually quiet. The entire stadium stretched beneath them—a sea of steel, dust, and fate. Somewhere down there, their battle awaited.
Then, the lights dimmed. A moment later, a voice—deep, resonant, infused with ancient magic—boomed through the sky.
"—Welcome, citizens of the Elydrion Empire… to the Third Round of the Young Champion Tournament!"
The crowd roared. A wave of sound swept through the coliseum like an earthquake.
"In the last round, 1,000 young warriors were chosen from across the land—each one shining brighter than the rest."
"But now, only 100 will be chosen. Only 100 will advance, and in doing so, be granted what others dream of for a lifetime—ten years' worth of cultivation resources, and artifacts of Rank 2 or higher."
Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly. So the real rewards started here.
"As for the Top 10… they shall receive not just wealth, but glory beyond compare—direct admission into the Erion Guard Academy. The most prestigious awakening school in the world."
A visible stir passed through the competitors gathered across the arena.
"Erion—the place where legends are born, where the next heroes of humanity are forged in mana and blood. Its exams are so brutal, even nobles fear them. But you… you ten will walk through its gates freely."
"And the one who emerges Rank 1…"
The voice paused—letting suspense flood every heart in the arena.
"…shall receive a special gift. Its nature shall remain undisclosed—for now."
A low buzz ran through the stadium. Whispers, gasps, excitement and dread tangled into one.
Then the tone shifted.
"The rules for this round are simple."
"No more team trials. No more hunting games. No more group evaluations."
"Fight. And win. That is all."
The crowd exploded with cheers.
"Round One tested your survival and hunting instincts. Round Two judged your teamwork and leadership under pressure."
"But this round—Round Three—will test the core of your being. Your will to win. Your hunger for greatness."
"We begin with the awakened ones who've unlocked their 8th Mana Circuit. They shall battle in multiple rings scattered throughout the combat zone."
"Victors will then face the warriors with the 9th Mana Circuit."
"And the strongest among them… shall earn the right to battle against those of Rank 1—the peak of the young generation."
Arthur leaned forward in his seat slightly. The battlefield had been drawn. The strongest would rise now—not with words, but with swords, spells, and blood.
"Your matchups will be determined based on your performance in Round Two. Prepare yourselves."
"Now—let the battles begin!"