Sorcerer's Decree
The rain was more punishing than the scorching heat they had endured earlier.
Accompanying the rain was thunder and lightning that shook their eardrums with its deafening roar. Each lightning strike sent a jolt of fear through their hearts, fearing that the next one might be aimed at them.
“This is ridiculous! We could die out here!” Lysander Malachite’s voice rang out amidst the storm, but it was drowned out by the raging tempest.
The lightning grew more frequent, illuminating the intensity of the downpour that made it difficult to even draw breath. The howling wind threatened to uproot them from their places.
Another thunderbolt struck, this time dangerously close to Lysander. “Ah, damn this!” he exclaimed, dropping out of the trial.
Those who had endured the scorching sun in the first phase found themselves struggling to withstand the relentless assault of the storm.
Fear gripped them when a bolt of lightning struck Maximilian Caelum, rendering him unconscious. “But didn’t he have the Valor’s Bracelet? It should have protected him!” Elara Nightshade’s voice trembled with fear.
During the first phase, they had all realized that they couldn’t cast any protection spells due to the anti-magic field cast by Arafeus Aristo Valerian around the coliseum. The sheer power of his anti-magic abilities sent shivers down Celestia’s spine at the mere thought.
“To think his anti-magic is potent enough to render high-end artifacts useless,” she whispered in awe.
“He’s maintaining two such powerful spells simultaneously without effort,” Reginald mused, his voice barely audible over the storm.
Maximilian’s misfortune spurred panic among the others. Seraphina D’Amore, Elara Nightshade, Thaddeus Ironsoul, Percival Starbourne, and Serenity Wyndham—five of them—dropped out of the trial upon realizing that their family artifacts were rendered ineffective, leaving only eight out of the original fifteen participants remaining.
The boy with crimson eyes seemed entirely impervious to the weather's effects.
“What’s happening to my body?” Rufeal asked, his voice laced with confusion.
[It’s Evolving]
The sunlight in the first trial had been a curse for him, but the moment the light disappeared and the rain poured, he felt liberated. His body completely recovered, and the thunder and wind no longer held any fear for him. Even the rain couldn’t harm him. In this second trial, he spent the entire day effortlessly enduring the elements.
On the third day, the clouds didn’t disappear, but they began to turn bluer and bluer. The rain droplets didn’t cease but started to freeze, creating a mesmerizing scene as snow began to fall.
“It’s snowing,” they all exclaimed, marveling at the sudden transformation.
Unfortunately, the beauty of the snowfall was short-lived as the snow soon turned heavy, and the water on the ground from the previous trial froze and started to accumulate. Their already wet clothes became stiff with cold, and they experienced brain-freezing temperatures.
“So cold…” everyone shivered, their teeth chattering from the biting cold. But the cold wasn’t their only problem; hunger gnawed at their empty stomachs. It had been two days since anyone had eaten anything or slept, and they were starved for warmth and sustenance.
The cold became increasingly unbearable, and for most, it was too much to endure. “This is…hell,” Rosalind Silvercrest muttered as she crawled out of the trial, unable to walk.
The frigid temperatures proved to be the end for most of them. They simply couldn’t endure it without any artifacts to protect them or food to nourish them. Almost everyone yearned for the comfort of their warm beds and the luxurious food awaiting them in their households.
After half a day, four more dropped out, leaving only three remaining: Celestia Astrid, Reginald Stormwind, and Rufeal Ryuk. Celestia was clearly affected by the cold, but she persevered, whispering to herself, “For my family…I will make father proud,” as she endured the freezing temperatures.
“He’s strange,” Reginald observed Rufeal. Rufeal had been the first to fall in the first trial under the sunlight, yet during the second and third trials, he appeared almost untouched by the weather. “What changed?” Reginald wondered, noticing Rufeal’s resilience. Despite the toll the trials had taken on him, Reginald showed no signs of weakness. Beneath his carefree and friendly demeanor lay the willpower of a beast.
Bored with the harsh conditions, Rufeal began circulating his Aethrium from his Aethrium Heart throughout his body. The anti-magic field didn’t affect him, so he spent his time wisely, practicing how to control the power of Aethrium.
The third day passed, and with it, the snowfall ceased, and the clouds dissipated into the ether.
On the fourth day, the light vanished completely, plunging them into a realm of utter darkness. They no longer felt the sensation of cold or warmth; it was as if they were suspended in a void devoid of any sensory perception. They couldn’t see, hear, smell, or feel anything. It was a terrifying and agonizing experience—an existence stripped of all stimuli.
This darkness was a reflection of the heart, and it was the fourth trial they faced. Rufeal, being an Upior, a creature of darkness, should have been accustomed to such an environment. However, there was something peculiar about this darkness that even he found unsettling.
Despite his six senses being numbed, Rufeal heard a faint voice echoing within the abyss. “Save me…” the voice cried out, a desperate plea tinged with anguish. “Brother…” it called out, growing fainter with each passing moment. Unbeknownst to Rufeal, a solitary tear trickled down his cheek, his heart weighed down by an inexplicable sorrow. It felt as though he stood on the precipice of a profound revelation, yet it remained just beyond his grasp.
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Meanwhile, Celestia struggled in the darkness, haunted by memories of her tumultuous past. Images of her stepmother’s cruel words and her brother’s brutal beatings flashed through her mind, each recollection a painful reminder of her turbulent upbringing. “Heir of the Astrid family, what a joke…a bastard, that’s what you are,” her stepmother’s voice echoed in her ears, each word a searing indictment of her worth. The memories she had long suppressed surged forth, threatening to overwhelm her fragile psyche.
In contrast, Reginald remained seemingly unaffected by the oppressive darkness, his stoic demeanor betraying no hint of distress or discomfort.
As the fourth day passed, the oppressive darkness dissolved into brilliant sunlight, bathing them in its warm and comforting glow. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness.
“I hate the sun,” Rufeal sighed, relieved that this time it was genuine sunlight rather than the artificial brilliance conjured by the professor.
“Well done, the three of you,” Arafeus Aristo Valerian praised, clapping his hands with genuine approval. He gestured for them to approach him.
“Is it over? Are the five days finished?” Reginald inquired, his voice tinged with exhaustion.
“No, it’s been four days. I’ve decided to forego the last day since I deem you all worthy of becoming my apprentices,” Valerian explained, his tone firm but fair. Celestia couldn’t help but exhale audibly in relief at his words.
“You must have had your reasons for enduring the trials as you did. But for now, go home, eat, and rest,” Valerian dismissed them, his gaze lingering on Rufeal. “Except you,” he said, indicating for Rufeal to remain behind.
Rufeal stayed, a knot of tension coiling in his stomach as he wondered why he was singled out. After Reginald and Celestia departed, Valerian finally spoke.
“Do you understand the significance of being a Grand Sorcerer?” Valerian’s crimson eyes bore into Rufeal, his gaze sharp and penetrating.
Rufeal pondered the question. He was well-versed in the hierarchy of sorcerers, from Novice Mage to Mystic Sorcerer. To reach the rank of Grand Sorcerer was a pinnacle of power, a feat achieved by only a select few in Ebon Citadel.
“It means you’re one of the most powerful individuals in the nation,” Rufeal replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
“Yes, but…” Valerian paused for emphasis, his tone shifting subtly. “My anti-magic had no effect on you.”
A surge of fear gripped Rufeal’s heart, but it was tempered by a flicker of relief. He had meticulously covered his tracks regarding the village massacre, ensuring that the blood wolves he fabricated as the culprits left no trace behind.
“I also know about your confrontation with the Arch Sorcerer,” Valerian continued, tapping his temple thoughtfully. “You possess talents and willpower beyond that of any ordinary human. I even heard about the vow you made to Thriben.”
Rufeal’s fists clenched at the mention of Thriben, his emotions roiling within him.
“I chose to overlook what I discovered because you passed the trial, and I see potential in you,” Valerian stated, his hand resting on Rufeal’s shoulder. “Should you prove innocent, I will protect you, even against the church or the sovereign. But remember, I will protect you only as long as you don’t cross the line.”
Rufeal stood speechless, the weight of Valerian’s warning sinking in. He understood the gravity of those words and the implications they carried.
Class
The classroom, designed for only the most skilled students, exuded an air of mystical grandeur. With desks arranged in a precise semi-circle around a central podium adorned with glowing arcane symbols, it held an atmosphere of ancient wisdom. Bookshelves filled with tomes of magic lined the walls, while sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the polished wooden floor.
Seating only fifteen of the most skilled students, the class was currently occupied by Celestia Astrid and Reginald Stormwind, who sat together, and Rufeal Ryuk, positioned a few desks behind them.
“I wonder what he’s thinking,” Reginald mused, breaking the silence. “The other noble families are protesting since their children were kicked out of this class.”
“They are worried that there might be a shift in the power dynamics among the fourteen families,” Celestia remarked thoughtfully. “More than that, there’s the fact that the Grand Sorcerer didn’t submit to their wishes.”
“Hey, what do you think of this?” Reginald turned towards Rufeal and asked, curious about his opinion.
“I am not interested in politics,” Rufeal replied calmly, his eyes still fixed on the history book he had borrowed from the library.
“Not interested, you say,” Reginald observed, glancing at the book Rufeal was reading. “Then, why do you always read about history?”
“None of your concern,” Rufeal retorted, his tone firm as he returned his focus to the pages before him.
Soon, the Grand Sorcerer Arafeus Aristo Valerian entered the classroom. “Pardon me for being late. There were a lot of nobles barking that I had to ignore,” he announced with a hint of exasperation.
As he settled in, a smile graced his lips. “The first day… what should we do, I wonder,” he mused aloud. “Ah, I am going to teach you about the history of this Citadel and the first sorcerer.” His voice carried a sense of authority and excitement, setting the stage for the lesson ahead.
Whispers
Thirben Thornfield’s injury in battle reverberated through the Ebon Citadel, reaching the ears of Reeve Ravenshaw, the High Chancellor. “That’s no surprise,” he remarked upon hearing the news. “He may be an Arch Sorcerer, but he abhors harming others, be it friends or enemies. I recall a time when he lost to his cousin, a mere novice mage, because he refused to fight back.” A soft chuckle escaped his lips, betraying a mix of admiration and amusement.
Reeve Raavenshaw, as the High Chancellor, bore the weighty responsibility of overseeing matters of diplomacy, law enforcement, and internal security, all of which were essential for maintaining peace within the kingdom.
“Think about that—an Arch Sorcerer losing to a novice mage. He’s such a gentle soul,” Reeve mused, his mind wandering through memories of Thirben’s kind-hearted nature.
“That’s not all,” his secretary interjected, providing additional information. “He used holy spells without the permission of the Church.”
“Holy spells?” Reeve’s eyebrows furrowed in surprise. “Did he encounter a demon or a monster? But it’s nearly impossible for such creatures to breach the tight security of the Ebon Citadel’s border walls.”
“It seems likely,” the secretary confirmed. “A divine spell was cast not once, but twice. The need for such measures would only arise in the presence of a demonic threat.”
“What is the Church’s response to this?” Reeve inquired, his curiosity piqued.
“They sent a letter requesting Thirben’s presence to brief them on the incident. However, Thirben adamantly refused, stating that he would take part in no discussion,” the secretary explained further. “The Council of Cardinals was enraged by this defiance. Consequently, they have assembled a group of twelve priests, led by Bishop Demetrius, and commanded them to bring Thirben to the Church.”
Reeve fell silent, lost in thought as he processed the gravity of the situation. He couldn’t fathom why Thirben would conceal details about his encounter. Who exactly had he fought against? “Thirben is the guardian of Thornfield Hills; he won’t leave that place willingly. Despite his aversion to violence, he remains an Arch Sorcerer. The repercussions of this defiance are bound to be dire,” Reeve concluded with a heavy sigh, a sense of foreboding lingering in the air.
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