The arena stood in stunned silence, the aftermath of the cloaked figure’s presence still lingering in the air like an oppressive weight. No one dared to speak; the prodigies, still frozen in place, exchanged looks of disbelief, their faces pale as the magnitude of what had just occurred settled into their bones.
Fear gripped the hearts of those present, not only because of the mysterious figure’s unnatural entrance, but because of the unmistakable power that emanated from him.
The Headmaster, his usually composed demeanor shattered, stepped forward, his voice strained as he addressed the crowd.
“Do not mistake this for a trivial spectacle," the Headmaster declared, his eyes narrowing in calculation. "That... being is a manifestation of power beyond what you can comprehend.”
The elders, who had remained silent until now, spoke in unison, their voices resonating with authority. "Peak Astral Ascendant Stage. The realm... almost reaching the Sixth Stage of the Aetherforge Cultivation System."
The words hit like a thunderclap. Raen’s heart skipped a beat. The Astral Ascendant Stage was already a level of power that few could ever hope to reach. But to be on the cusp of the Sixth Stage of Aetherforge... a realm where the very fabric of space could bend to one's will? The thought was enough to freeze the blood in his veins.
One of the elders continued, his gaze sweeping across the assembly, noting the fear in their eyes. "Even the Headmaster, at his Sixth Stage of Soulforge, stands no match against such power . This... power is unseen in this region ."
Raen swallowed hard. The realization was inescapable. They were nothing—no one—compared to the unknown being who had graced their presence. His entire perception of power, of his place in the world, had been shattered in an instant.
The Headmaster, now fully recovering his composure, spoke with a grave tone. "You all must understand something. What you witnessed today was a lesson, a reminder. Not of how great you are, but of how small you are, how insignificant your struggles are in the grand scheme of things."
The words hung heavy in the air, the weight of them pressing down on the young prodigies.
The air still hummed with the silence of the mysterious figure’s departure when the arena doors creaked open once more. A figure stepped in, his footsteps light but purposeful, carrying with him an aura of quiet yet undeniable strength. He was a boy, no older than five, yet there was an ancient wisdom in his eyes that seemed to see far beyond the surface of things.
The young disciple approached the Headmaster with a humble bow, his movements graceful, as though each step was guided by an invisible force. His dark robes shifted with an elegance that matched his poise, the symbols woven into the fabric pulsing with faint energy.
“Your words ring true, Headmaster,” the child spoke softly, his voice calm and respectful, carrying the weight of someone much older. "The world is not as simple as we often wish it to be, and greatness is a path fraught with trials that shape us into something beyond our current understanding."
The Headmaster, still recovering from the unexpected visitation, inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Indeed, your Master’s presence is... not easily forgotten. Thank you for joining us, young one.”
He bowed his head slightly toward the Headmaster. "I am Elion, disciple of the Master you just witnessed," the child said, his voice still soft but resonating with authority
Elion approached the group of top 10 competitors who had gathered in the center of the arena, all still reeling from the events that had just transpired. He stood before them, his presence commanding despite his small stature.
“Your strength is impressive,” the child spoke softly, his voice calm and respectful, carrying the weight of someone much older. "But my Master believes you have yet to face true power, and you are still far from reaching your full potential."
The top 10 exchanged wary glances, confusion and curiosity reflected in their eyes. They had all felt the immense energy of the mysterious figure who had just vanished, and now this boy, barely old enough to walk, was speaking of true power with confidence.
“I am here to challenge you,” the boy continued, bowing his head slightly. “By the orders of my Master.”
The declaration struck like a thunderclap in the silent arena.
Raen, still on his knees from the shock of earlier, lifted his gaze slowly to meet the boy’s. The sight of him—so young, yet so impossibly strong—made his chest tighten. A deep, unsettling realization washed over him.
At five years old, the boy was already in the Sixth Stage of Essence Weaving—an accomplishment that is never seen at this age.
The audience was in an uproar. Whispers spread like wildfire, and the shock was palpable.
Raen’s mind spun. “Impossible,” he muttered under his breath. “A child… in the Sixth Stage?”
The top 10, standing tall and proud in their newfound positions of power, could hardly believe what they were hearing. Some stiffened, others sneered, but all could feel the boy’s overwhelming presence.
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The boy met their eyes, his calm expression unwavering. “I am here to challenge all of you,” he said again, voice steady, “and to show you the true meaning of strength. You will see the gap between your power and what lies beyond.”
Elion’s gaze swept across the top 10 cultivators, his eyes calm but unyielding.
“I challenge all of you,” he said, voice steady and firm. “At once. Come together.”
Gasps echoed through the arena like thunder after lightning. The sheer audacity of his words sent ripples of disbelief across the crowd. Challenging the top 10 together? Madness.
The Headmaster stepped forward, his brows furrowed. His voice carried weight, heavy with authority and concern.
“Even if you stand a realm above them, child,” he said, “do not take this lightly. Against all ten, you may not be a match. This is not mere sparring—it could cost you.”
Whispers followed the Headmaster’s warning, murmurs of agreement spreading like fire through dry grass. The top 10 weren’t just names—they were legends in the making, each one a prodigy.
But Elion did not waver.
His expression remained composed, his posture relaxed, but his presence felt like a blade drawn in silence.
“I will win,” he said simply.
Not with pride. Not with defiance. With conviction.
Silence fell.
And then, slowly, the first of the top 10 stepped forward, eyes locked on Elion with a mixture of curiosity and caution.
A ripple of tension surged through the crowd.
The air bent as the referee gestured down.
Begin.
The first to move was Yue Lian, the blind girl from the Temple of Hollow Flame.
Her staff struck the ground, and from the cracks poured violet fire, twisting and coiling like serpents toward Elion.
At the same instant, Cassian Duskvale raised his hand lazily—and black and gold waves pulsed from his body, corrupting the space between them, making even the air scream.
Elion’s eyes sharpened.
Two attacks—perfectly layered.
He side-stepped the violet fire, but the distorted space from Cassian bent his evasion. A streak of violet singed his robe, smoke rising.
He gritted his teeth—but no fear entered his gaze.
From the side, Mei’Ren floated forward, vines of luminous emerald light lashing toward him, attempting to bind him midair.
At the same time—Thorne Crelle moved.
The silent boy from the Ebon Crown stepped forward, and two pillars of dark aether erupted behind him. One was black mist, the other solid silver.
Their combined force froze the surrounding space—movement became sluggish, unnatural.
Elion’s body slowed—caught for a half-second.
From above, Sereya Kael, the silver-haired Skybreaker , descended with a slash of pure aether lightning, her cracked skin glowing ominously.
Boom!
Elion blocked—barely. The shockwave sent him skidding back, his feet carving trenches in the arena floor.
Then came Riven Anor, artifact fused to his spine. His arms gleamed with steel runes as he hurled himself into melee, fist crashing toward Elion like a meteor.
Clang!
Essence met essence.
Elion parried, but the blow shook his bones.
Before he could counter, Aelric of the Hollow Sea sang—a haunting, melodic note—and the very light around Elion bent, throwing his senses into chaos.
For a brief moment, the world twisted upside down.
And in that vulnerable instant—Nyra Vey appeared, twin horns flashing beneath her veil. A demonic slash of crimson essence ripped toward Elion’s exposed side.
He ducked under it at the last second—but not without cost. Blood splattered onto the cracked stones.
The crowd gasped.
The golden boy—the so-called prodigy—was bleeding.
Then—
Zephiel Nocturne entered.
The pale boy walked forward slowly, casually, as glyphs blinked out of existence around him.
An aura of pure negation.
A death zone for techniques.
Elion felt the golden runes woven around his own body flicker and die.
And finally, calmly, Kato Shin approached.
He didn’t move fast. He didn’t need to.
His pillar shimmered gold—then transparent, slipping between realms of reality.
Kato raised a hand.
The world froze.
Elion smiled—a fierce, almost feral grin.
"Good," he whispered.
"Let's see if you can handle this"
The ground beneath his feet flared golden—
Aether Wheel: Second Rotation.
A pulse exploded outward, shattering the chains of light, dispersing Mei’Ren’s vines, nullifying Zephiel’s death zone for a heartbeat.
Elion blurred.
First, toward Yue Lian—he twisted low, dodging her violet flame, and struck her staff with two fingers, shattering its aetheric core.
Yue Lian staggered back, coughing blood.
Next, he weaved through Cassian’s black and gold pulse, his steps erratic, almost drunken—but always precise.
With a sudden palm strike, he broke Cassian’s guard and sent him flying into a pillar.
Boom.
Mei’Ren screamed, unleashing a barrage of emerald thorns—but Elion bent backward unnaturally, letting the thorns pass overhead, and delivered a heel kick to her stomach. She crumpled to her knees.
But the real danger came now.
Thorne Crelle, wielding twin essences, unleashed a crushing gravity field while Sereya and Riven launched synchronized attacks from left and right.
Elion’s golden shield flickered—then cracked.
He took a hit.
Then another.
His lip split.
But he roared through the pain.
"Solar Fold—Unleashed!"
He absorbed the electric attack, spinning it into a golden spiral that exploded outward, throwing Sereya and Riven away like rag dolls.
The arena cracked even deeper—chunks of stone floating in midair.
Aelric’s voice rose again—sharper now, trying to bend Elion’s vision.
Light bent into knives.
But Elion didn’t dodge.
He dove into the illusion, using it to hide his next move.
Nyra’s demonic strike tore through the mirage—but missed.
Elion reappeared beside her, whispering:
"You’re fast—but not fast enough."
He struck a vital point near her collarbone.
Her demonic energy recoiled—and she collapsed, gasping.
Zephiel and Kato were all that remained.
The pale boy frowned for the first time, layers of negation shields forming around him.
Kato, calm as always, simply stood there—a final, insurmountable wall.
Together, they moved—negating, phasing, striking.
Elion fought like a storm .
Each movement clean, desperate, brilliant.
He caught Zephiel’s wrist, twisted, shattered it with a crack, then ducked under Kato’s ghostly strike.
Blood flowed freely from Elion’s arms, his ribs burned from earlier wounds—but his golden essence only grew brighter, more furious.
In a flash of motion—
Elion roared,
grabbed Kato’s transparent arm—
—and broke it .
A burst of pure, golden aether shattered the invisible defenses.
Kato staggered back, coughing blood for the first time.
With one final lunge, Elion unleashed his finishing move:
Aether Wheel: Third Rotation – Heaven Sundering Strike!
A golden spiral slashed through the arena, ripping apart the remnants of seals and glyphs.
Boom!
The two final opponents fell.
Silence.
The dust cleared.
Only Elion stood.
Bloodied, battered, grinning like a devil who'd seen the gates of heaven and laughed.
The crowd...
At first, they could only gape.
Then a roar.
A wave of shock, admiration, and fear rippled through the stands.
“ELION!”
“Unbelievable!”
“He beat all ten! Alone!”
The Headmaster's hands trembled slightly. His voice was hoarse:
“A five-year-old... no a monster even among monsters…”
__________________
Up in the clouds above the arena, invisible to all , a tall man in black robes stood watching. His face was half-shadowed by a drifting fragment of mist, eyes like molten steel—ancient, cold, and calculating.
Suddenly, the air beside him shimmered.
She arrived like moonlight.
A woman stepped through a tear in space, her presence delicate but terrifying. Hair like flowing silver, eyes the color of distant nebulae. Her skin glowed with a faint, ethereal sheen—like her body was not fully bound to the laws of this world.
Her voice was like chimes in a quiet forest.
“You’ve trained him well,” she said, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “Too well, perhaps.”
The man did not look at her.
“He had no choice.”
She tilted her head slightly, a glimmer of something unreadable behind her gaze—pity? Admiration? Regret?
“Then prepare him. The wheels are already turning. What awaits him next… will be much more difficult.”
The man’s gaze narrowed—but said nothing , the space around them twisted, and in a flash of iridescent energy, both figures vanished, leaving only drifting motes of gold and silver behind.
