So ti in the near future.
The skies above Grimholt City roared with life.
A colossal coliseum stood at its heart, the walls carved from white stone and ancient runes, large enough to swallow tens of thousands of spectators.
This was the stage chosen for the selection tournant tied to the opening of the Legacy World, an event so important that elders, professors, and powerful figures from multiple factions had gathered in person.
At the very center of the arena, surrounded by floating figures radiating overwhelming pressure, stood a single young man.
Elion was hunched low on one knee, one hand pressed against the shattered stone beneath him as he struggled to breathe. Each breath ca out heavy and uneven as he forced mana through his body, trying to accelerate the healing of his injuries.
Blood dripped steadily from his chin, his hands, and his eyes, staining the arena floor, while his limbs felt impossibly heavy, as though his blood itself had turned to molten lead. His body was covered in wounds, and yet his expression remained calm.
To say he was wounded everywhere would be an understatent.
Cuts, burns, fractures—his body bore the marks of a battle no one his age should have survived.
Surrounding him were powerhouses so far above his station that the scene itself felt absurd. Old fogies, grand mages, arch mages, a sage, and elders of the academy floated high above him, radiating pressure that could crush mountains.
Officially, Elion was only an Adept Mage, which made the situation look even more one-sided. In truth, he had already reached the Advanced Mage realm, but even if he revealed that now and burned every single ounce of strength in his body to fight, it would not have changed the outco in the slightest.
Against the forces gathered here, that difference was aningless. In fact, only one of them had acted, and he was already in a sorry state.
Elion lifted his head slowly and looked up at the people who called themselves the pillars of the academy. His expression was calm—unnervingly so. There was no rage in his eyes. No panic. Only disappointnt.
"I see," he said quietly, his voice carrying clearly across the arena. "I guess there is no place left for here."
There was not a sign of bitterness in his tone, only disappointnt, because while he had never truly trusted them, he had still hoped things would not end like this.
Knowing that sothing can happen was different from watching it unfold before your eyes. It was... disappointing.
"Do not be impulsive, boy!" Professor Halbrecht thundered, his voice echoing loudly through the arena. "Sotis you must learn to bow your head, listen to your elders, and accept your fate. There is still a chance for you, but only if you learn how to take a loss." His words carried authority, but they rang hollow to Elion.
Elion let out a chuckle filled with contempt. "Don’t bother," he replied simply.
A ripple of shock passed through the spectators.
"How dare you spit in the face of Professor Halbrecht’s kindness!"
Several senior students surged forward in anger, unable to tolerate his disrespect, but before they could move any closer, a single raised hand stopped them in their tracks.
Maximus.
The Grand Principal floated forward slightly, his ancient staff hovering beside him. "It would pain to see such a talented youth die so young," he said calmly. "I understand your frustration. We are giving you face because we all respect your talent, Elion Nova. Surely, you can afford to give the elders so face in return."
A glowing scroll of mana unfurled before Elion.
"Sign this," Maximus continued, "and we will let you live and return to your studies as usual." The implication was clear to everyone present, even if it was not spoken aloud.
Elion suddenly burst out laughing, the sound echoing across the coliseum and cutting Maximus off mid-sentence.
Professors frowned, and so elders shook their heads slowly, while spectators in the stands sighed in pity. "I guess he’s lost his mind." It wasn’t clear who said it first, but they all ca to the sa conclusion.
"I wouldn’t bla him," Evander said quietly, his expression conflicted. "Anyone would break after having to deal with shalessness like this." He spoke to a Liora whose usual carefree smile had completely vanished, replaced by a rare serious expression.
She didn’t answer him, as though she couldn’t hear him. In truth, she really didn’t hear a word he had said; it looked like her line of sight was completely focused on Elion, but if you looked closer, you would see that her gaze was distant.
mories she had buried deep inside were resurfacing, like she was living through the events of that day all over again.
What it was, only she knew.
Evander wasn’t very happy either, but he was powerless. Every elder floating above Elion could crush him with a thought. And there was too much at stake.
He couldn’t help but feel indignant, after all, hadn’t he given Elion promises of protection? Now was the ti to deliver, and yet, here they were. He wasn’t willing to stick his neck out when it actually mattered.
What did that say about him as a person?
To his credit though, Elion’s stubbornness wasn’t helping the situation either. But that was probably sothing he told himself to help him sleep better at night.
High in the stands, Mira, Aria, and Isolde stood among their peers, with wrong looks on their faces. Isolde was crying silently, tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled not to sob aloud.
"LET GO!" While Aria strained forward with all her strength, trying desperately to rush down into the arena to stand beside Elion.
Mira, who looked like the calst of the three, held Aria down firmly, her expression terrifyingly controlled, but the fire in her eyes perhaps burned even hotter than the grief and rage of the other two.
She was only holding herself together because of one thing.
Trust .
That was all Elion had sent through their ntal link, and she was clinging to those words with everything she had.
Nearby, several familiar faces watched with complicated expressions. Selene and Eveline stood tense, clearly unhappy with the situation but neither willing to act.
George stood beside them wearing his usual faint smile, which seed unusually genuine today, though that was to be expected, since he was partially responsible for how things had turned out.
Floating above the arena was his brother, Cain Dawncrest, holding his battered son William by the shoulder, and it was Cain who bore the greatest bla for Elion’s battered state.
Elion’s laughter slowly faded, and when he spoke again, his voice was calm in a way that unsettled everyone listening. "You want to turn into a slave," he said plainly.
The words caused discomfort to ripple through the arena, because while Maximus had not explicitly said it was a slave contract, everyone understood the truth.
"A mana contract is not a slave contract," Maximus replied evenly.
But he wasn’t really fooling anyone. A mana contract could be worse than a slave contract if its terms were twisted carefully enough.
Elion chortled and t his gaze without fear. "If you twist the terms enough, it might as well be."
His eyes hardened.
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