The Test of Endurance Begins

Rufeal sat in his dormitory, reflecting on his encounter with the Arch Sorcerer. His pride had taken a blow; he had never experienced defeat before. Since birth, he had effortlessly dispatched any monsters that dared to approach him. However, facing the Arch Sorcerer, he felt an immense disparity in power for the first time. He considered himself fortunate that the Arch Sorcerer valued peace and was not inclined towards battle, or else he might not have survived.

“I must become stronger,” Rufeal resolved, his determination intensifying.

“Hey. Messenger of Oriel,” he called aloud.

[..]

“How can I become as strong as that Arch Sorcerer?” he asked.

[Analyzing Thirben Thornfield’s Strength From Memory.]

[Analyzing Your Strength]

[Estimated Time Required To Close The Gap: 2 years(Means: Rigorous Training)]

“Too long.”

[Alternative Ways: Blood Consumption]

“Blood,” Rufeal repeated, knowing it was an arduous task. The blood of normal humans wouldn’t suffice; he needed the blood of skilled mages or sorcerers. However, killing them was not an option. Ebon Citadel valued its magical practitioners, and any disappearance would trigger an investigation. If the missing individual belonged to a noble family, the consequences would be dire.

He needed to be clever and meticulous.

After pondering for a while, he opened an official letter that had been sent to his room. It bore the stamp of the Valerian family, indicating it was from his professor.

“An urgent summons,” he read aloud. All members of the Vanguards were to convene at the Ebon Coliseum tonight.

With six days remaining until classes began, Rufeal wondered why the 15 of them were being summoned.

Crimson

“Such grandeur,” Lysander Malachite breathed in awe.

“Truly magnificent,” Isolde Ravenshaw agreed, her eyes wide with wonder. The group, comprising Thaddeus Ironsoul, Genevieve Thornfield, and Percival Starbourne, stood together, marveling at the colossal structure before them.

Though most of them had been to the Coliseum as spectators before, experiencing it from the arena floor was an entirely different sensation. As they gazed up at its towering walls, stretching over 5000 meters wide and standing 40 meters tall, they couldn’t help but feel the weight of its history. Designed to accommodate over 10,000 spectators, the Coliseum was built to withstand battles between mages up to the rank of Chief Sorcerer.

“Any guesses as to why we were summoned?” Reginald Stormwind inquired politely, joining the conversation. Nearby, Celestia Astrid, Leopold Valerian, Seraphina D’Amore, Maximilian Caelum, and Elara Nightshade gathered in another corner, their expressions a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

“Who knows?” Celestia replied icily, her demeanor distant.

In contrast, Thaddeus Ironsoul, Octavius Blackthorn, and Rosalind Silvercrest remained silent, simply waiting for the professor’s arrival.

As the last member of the Vanguard, Rufeal Ryuk, entered quietly, all eyes turned to him. There was a palpable curiosity surrounding the mysterious figure who bore neither a noble name nor lineage yet had earned a place in the Mystic Vanguard Seminar.

His crimson eyes glinted in the dim light of the Coliseum, his tall and imposing figure leaving a lasting impression on those present.

Following the instructions in the letter, each member of the group stood within the designated sigils scattered across the arena. However, there was no sigil for Rufeal Ryuk, highlighting his unique status among them.

Positioned in a circular formation across the vast expanse of the arena, they were separated by considerable distances. Communication required raised voices to traverse the space between them.

As everyone settled into their places, a brilliant pillar of light suddenly illuminated the centre of the arena, heralding the arrival of their professor—Grand Sorcerer Arafeus Aristo Valerian.

In awe, their eyes widened as his imposing presence commanded their attention, sending shivers down their spines.

All of them bowed respectfully, offering their greetings as a sign of reverence.

“A thousand years from now, when my flesh has turned to dust and my bones lie forgotten, the world will still echo with my name. My contributions are timeless,” proclaimed Arafeus Aristo Valerian, his voice resonating with pride and a hint of arrogance. “I have slain the great demon of the east. I have torn the heart from the dragon prophesied to end the world. I am Arafeus Aristo Valerian, destined to ascend to the pinnacle of magic.”

His words hung in the air, igniting a surge of intensity in everyone’s hearts.

“But,” he continued, his tone shifting, “who are all of you?”

The sudden change in demeanor caught everyone off guard.

“To reach the heights I have reached, I endured unimaginable struggles. Sixty years of relentless pursuit of sorcery. I became a professor to impart my knowledge and nurture those who shared my passion. But after a decade, all I had were apprentices seeking to advance their ranks and climb the social ladder, apprentices who abandoned their studies after achieving the title of Chief Sorcerer, apprentices who perished in futile attempts to emulate my achievements. All disappointments.”

Arafeus’s gaze swept over the assembled students, his eyes shining with an otherworldly brilliance.

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“The greatest joy for a sorcerer like me lies in finding someone who values my knowledge and seeks to transcend it,” he declared. “Henceforth, I shall teach only those whom I deem worthy, not those deemed worthy by the academy.”

His announcement left the students stunned.

As the professor’s eyes glowed with an ethereal crimson light, a small sun emerged atop the coliseum, casting an intense glow that illuminated the night.

“This shall be your trial,” Arafeus proclaimed. “All of you, save for one, hail from noble families, provided with every advantage from birth. Your worth will be determined by your willpower and thirst for knowledge.”

In the darkness of the night, the coliseum blazed with the brilliance of the artificial sun, causing many to shield their eyes and cry out.

“For the next five days, any who leave their designated spot will be dismissed from my class,” Arafeus declared, his voice carrying the weight of authority.

“Five days?” murmured the students, lost in contemplation. Each of them believed they could endure the trial for that duration. The intensity of the heat and light was formidable but not unbearable.

In the center of the arena, Arafeus took out a book and began to read. His focus was undeterred by the discomfort surrounding him.

“Well, this is boring,” muttered one of the students.

However, barely moments into the test, one of them collapsed to their knees, drawing the attention of the others.

“As expected of a lowborn,” chuckled Lysander Malachite, his words lost amidst the distance separating them.

Rufeal’s breathing grew ragged, and he struggled to stand. His weakened state surprised no one; he was the outlier, lacking the prestige of a noble family name.

Arafeus remained engrossed in his book, paying no heed to Rufeal’s plight. Yet, no one understood the true reason for his collapse.

“Damn it,” Rufeal gritted his teeth as his skin seared with pain.

[Caution…]

[Your Health Is Deteriorating Rapidly.]

[Your Body Cannot Withstand This Level Of Sunlight.]

“To think he can conjure something akin to the sun,” Rufeal mused, recognizing the formidable power of a Grand Sorcerer.

[The Intensity Of The Heat And Light Exceeds That Of The Sun Due To Proximity. It Also Contains Traces Of Holy Magic. You Must Withdraw From This Trial.]

[Health Below 20%.]

[Once Below 5%, Your Body Will Begin To Evaporate.]

“You can’t make me,” Rufeal refused to yield. As an Upiór, the trial was inherently disadvantageous; his greatest weakness lay in the sun’s rays. It had taken him a year after birth to adjust to sunlight, and even now, his strength waned under its influence.

While others perceived the trial as merely a sweltering day, Rufeal suffered significant damage.

[Health Below 15%.]

[Health Below 10%.]

Taking a deep breath, Rufeal recalled his battle with the Arch Sorcerer, who had unleashed “God’s Judgment,” a potent holy spell that had nearly incinerated him. His flesh had been seared, yet his unique physiology had allowed him to survive.

“I may not comprehend my origins or the purpose behind my existence, but one truth remains immutable: I am a being destined for evolution, resilient against all odds,” Rufeal declared with unwavering conviction.

Professor Wizer’s gift of a vast reservoir of Aethrium to awaken his Aethrium heart bestowed upon Rufeal a reservoir of untapped potential. Within his heart still lay a substantial quantity of this potent energy.

Driven by an insatiable thirst for survival, Rufeal’s body instinctively began to consume the stored Aethrium. His innate regenerative abilities, bestowed upon him by his unique physiology, stirred into action. However, these remarkable powers lay dormant in the presence of sunlight or the influence of holy spells.

In the realm of sorcery, those capable of harnessing Aethrium were revered as extraordinary beings. Among them, those who could not only wield Aethrium but also create their own unique spells, untethered from tradition or tutelage, were hailed as prodigies.

In that crucial moment, faced with the dire threat of annihilation, Rufeal tapped into the depths of his being and forged a spell of survival: “AntiLight.”

[Health Dropped Below 7%.]

Rufeal collapsed, his body rendered immobile, as the spell “AntiLight” activated, preventing his body from vaporizing but leaving him incapacitated.

[Health Dropped Below 5%.]

On his knees, Rufeal found himself immobilized, unable to move, speak, or even display the faintest trace of emotion.

[Spell: AntiLight (Active)]

His body commenced the production of antibodies, a desperate attempt to stave off vaporization. Yet, rather than restoring him to full health, the spell merely maintained him in a precarious stalemate, rendering him incapable of movement.

As the relentless assault of searing heat intensified, each passing moment brought with it an escalation in temperature. The air grew drier by the minute, making each breath an arduous task.

“How much time has elapsed?” one of them inquired, voicing the unspoken query on everyone’s mind. Time seemed an elusive concept in their current predicament, devoid of any means of measurement.

However, amidst their suffering, Celestia Astrid, Leopold Valerian, and Reginald Stormwind appeared unaffected, displaying not a hint of discomfort.

“The Valerian family’s specialization in heat makes this trial ideal for Leopold,” many speculated, attributing their composure to familial expertise.

Yet, they would soon come to realize the fallacy of their assumptions.

[Health Below 4%]

The newly forged spell proved inadequate in eradicating Rufeal’s inherent vulnerability to sunlight. Consuming precious Aethrium reserves, its efficacy was limited, leaving him with dwindling time.

“Why do I hesitate to leave?” Rufeal pondered, grappling with existential uncertainty. Risking his life in pursuit of apprenticeship under a grand sorcerer, he questioned the worthiness of his endeavor, uncertain of his ultimate goal.

“So that was it.” Glancing towards Arafeus, Rufeal discerned the truth in those crimson eyes. For the first time, he encountered someone bearing the same hue as his own, a semblance of kinship amidst his perpetual isolation.

Always an outsider, perceived as a monstrous anomaly, encountering someone with a similar aura of arrogance and crimson eyes ignited a longing within him—a desire to understand the riddle that was Arafeus.

Driven by an inexplicable sense of familiarity, Rufeal resolved to endure, regardless of the cost.

“Argh! I cannot take this anymore,” Isolde Ravenshaw exclaimed, rushing toward the exit. “This is not good for my skin.” As someone who took immense pride in her beauty and pampered upbringing, she had always been accustomed to having her desires met. With the assumption that her noble status and father’s authority would secure her reentry into the Mystic Vanguard Seminar, she underestimated the gravity of her decision—a miscalculation that would later prove disastrous.

Except for Isolde, no one else chose to leave on the first day.

[Health Dropped Below 2%]

Rufeal teetered on the brink of death as a full day passed, enduring agonizing pain and defying the odds by persevering through his debilitating weakness. While others endured their own struggles, none could fathom the extent of Rufeal’s ordeal within a single day.

Despite the seemingly hopeless situation, a sudden cessation of the scorching heat left everyone bewildered.

“What happened? Is the trial over?” murmurs of confusion rippled through the group.

As the miniature sun above the coliseum transformed into clouds and rain cascaded from the sky, signalling a stark shift in the trial’s dynamics, Rufeal’s eyes gleamed with renewed vigour.

“Rain..”

His innate recovery mechanism automatically surged to life, propelling him to his feet as the downpour drenched the arena.

The 2nd phase of the trail would be to survive a storm.