“Balter Zagani.”
The third name was called out.
The audience watched as the young clansman approached Master Kondle that was holding the wolfskin paper.
In a private compartment, three men sat accompanied by several others. At the periphery stood three servants.
It was the Fang family. Teren sat at the front, flanked by Ralliere and Kalser. The two men beside him were accompanied by their wives and children. On Teren’s lap sat a little girl who appeared no older than twelve, her innocent curiosity fixed on the arena.
In the center of the maids, the matron sat, accompanied by Sarina on her left and Kylina on her right. They all wore simple long skirts that reached their ankles, paired with caps on their heads and bodices wrapping their torsos. On their feet, they wore modest leather shoes.
The matron's clothing differed, her outfit being a desaturated blue, while Sarina and Kylina wore brown skirts and bodices.
It was simple and modest, not eye-catching at all. This was common practice worldwide—maids were expected to serve their masters throughout their lifetimes. To delineate status, colors were used as a silent reminder of the societal structure.
“The awakening ceremony of the Spring Clan, huh?”
“According to my past life, someone will awaken the amethyst fissure, causing a great commotion in the clan,” Sarina thought as she watched Balter ascend the wooden platform. The array activated, the mana stones vanished into dust, and Balter proceeded to inject his mana into the orb. It revealed a single root, indicating he had a bronze-rank fissure.
Balter could only walk back with his head down.
“Dammit, why did I get a useless bronze fissure?” Disappointment filled his eyes at the result.
In this world, one’s aptitude greatly affected their future potential, determining how far they could progress as a magician. A bronze-rank fissure could never break through the 1st circle, forever remaining stuck. In magical society, magicians with bronze fissures were merely cannon fodder, standing at the lowest rung of society.
Balter couldn’t help but feel dejected. In this world, strength was everything, and his future seemed grim. Still, he found some solace in the fact that he had at least formed a fissure. Being a magician was far better than being a mortal. If 1st-circle magicians were fodder, mortals were simply goods with the ability to speak—a class of people whose lives were scoffed at and taken lightly.
“Britney Sander.”
“No fissure, mortal.”
“Benson Rogers.”
“No fissure, mortal.”
“Brad…”
“No fissure, mortal.”
Sarina was slightly amused by the ceremony. Like colors, the awakening ceremony set the standards of the clan’s structure. Why would clans hold these ceremonies publicly rather than privately? It was simple—to display the next generation and reveal the future cards of the families within the clan. Those who obtained high-rank fissures would be celebrated, while those who didn’t would be abandoned.
“Look, my grandson has a good fissure. And yours? Hmph, just an ordinary aptitude. It seems your family isn’t worth much.” Such thoughts would inevitably arise. Observing the Fang and Joto families, the same could be said. Their families had fought for over a generation for benefits, their power remaining relatively equal throughout the years. If a clansman received a high-rank fissure, it would enhance their family’s reputation, drastically altering their status. The Joto family could spread rumors about the Fangs, and no one would dare reject them. Furthermore, those seeking alliances would seize the opportunity, while those holding grievances or seeking benefits would align accordingly.
Public ceremonies also minimized cheating and corruption. The families kept one another in check, and a falsified result could shift the balance of power. Methods existed to artificially strengthen low-rank fissures, but they came with severe consequences, drastically reducing the magician's overall strength. High-rank fissures guaranteed quality magicians, and repeated falsification would only degrade the clan’s output.
Sarina understood such measures. Her life experience was nothing to scoff at. Suppress the weak, embrace the talented. The world was cruel, and humanity's survival in such a perilous environment necessitated such practices. Death was ubiquitous, and casualties were all too common.
“Clans, after all, are organizations run by people. The power structure must be set in stone for the clan to function smoothly. Otherwise, it would collapse. Status and rewards are interconnected. People strive for them by any means, as they guarantee a bright future. Only public displays like this can quell the undercurrents of internal strife.”
“Magic tournaments, competitions, and public displays are just political tools disguised as tradition,” Sarina mused, watching silently. Her thoughts were logical, tinged with detachment.
“Dylan Court.”
When Dylan injected his mana into the orb, three roots appeared for the first time in the ceremony, indicating a gold fissure.
Dylan was visibly pleased with the result. He walked back to his seat with his nose held high, his arrogance unmistakable as he glanced at those who had already formed their fissures.
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Aldering couldn’t help but look at Dylan with jealousy written all over her face. Her mere silver fissure couldn’t compare to his gold one.
Alger’s face had darkened to the extreme. He looked down, avoiding eye contact.
Dylan was extremely satisfied. A gold fissure! It guaranteed breaking through the 2nd circle, while a bronze fissure would forever remain in the 1st circle. A silver fissure had the potential to break through to the 2nd circle, but only if the magician’s mana sea reached a certain threshold, and even then, resources were required for a smooth advancement. A gold fissure, however, ensured a breakthrough to the 2nd circle and the possibility of progressing further.
2nd-circle magicians were the backbone of any clan, their status vastly superior to 1st-circle magicians, who were mainly supported. The strength of a 1st-circle magician was only slightly superior to that of an adult male.
Many more names were called, mostly resulting in mortals and bronze or silver fissures.
Many more names were called, most resulting in mortals, followed by bronze and silver fissures.
“Gent Joto.”
From amongst the young clansmen, a youth slowly got up. His green robes neatly adorned his body, and his long black hair in a ponytail cascaded to the end of his torso. His gaze contained no hint of nervousness or anxiousness. He calmly went towards the elderly man, collected the mana stones, placed the mana stones, and sat cross-legged. The array shone with brilliance in an instant. The mana stones vanished into dust as soon as the array glowed.
The man beside the wooden platform couldn't help but look at Gent with a satisfied expression. He knew this could only mean one thing.
In the main private room compartment located east of the stadium:
“It seems there are fairly good seeds in our clan this year. This junior Gent from the Joto family—it seems his future is going to be bright,” Nero said as he stroked his beard, his gaze containing slight happiness.
“There have been too many mortals in recent ceremonies. This is truly a gift that our clan has received; the rise of the Joto family is now evident if this junior is raised well,” Cielo added.
Rosen looked at Gent, who was in the arena, with slight amusement and added, “I would not want to be in the position of the Fangs at this moment. They must feel dejected by now. It seems that the hotel business will be mainly controlled by the Jotos in the future.”
“It is too early to say that. The young masters of the Fangs haven’t awakened their fissures yet, but there’s likely no hope for them,” Nero said as he continued to stroke his beard.
Gent went to the orb and placed his hand, ready to inject his mana into the orb.
Fang Private Room.
Teren’s face couldn’t help but darken as he looked at the arena, dumbfounded.
Kalser, seeing Teren, tried to console him: “Brother, don't be so assuming. This lad only had a rapid consumption. It is still too early to assume anything.” As he finished, he looked towards Ralliere. Noticing his gaze, he chose to ignore him and continued watching the arena.
“Oh heavens, it seems we’ve encountered misfortune.” Teren ignored Kalser, squinting his eyes towards the arena. He continued: “We can only watch helplessly and hope that the outcome isn’t what we are imagining.”
Kalser could only sigh and continue to stare at the arena attentively.
Gent injected his mana into the orb. The orb glowed with yellow light, masking the arena in a yellow veil. Gent’s body seemed engulfed in this light. From within the light, one root formed, then two roots, three roots, and finally four roots.
After pouring all his mana into the orb, he let his hand go, and the light dimmed, returning the arena to its normal appearance.
“Gent Joto, Diamond Fissure,” Master Kondle said as he wrote it down.
“Heh, who would’ve thought I would acquire this fissure? Haha, it seems I'm blessed,” Gent said as he looked at his hands, admiring his own power.
Teren, Ralliere, and Kalser wanted to vomit blood at this instance. All three of their faces darkened.
The girl who sat in Teren’s lap, sensing the ominous and depressing mood, looked up towards Teren: “Father, why are you so sad?” Her voice was concerned and innocent, sparking a contrast with the mood.
Teren, hearing this, snapped out of his gloom, looked at his daughter, and said, “Do not worry. I just thought about something unimportant.” Teren pinched the little girl's cheeks.
“Anyways, pay attention. It’s almost time for your cousin Melissa to go in,” Teren said, changing the topic.
The little girl could only pout and sigh in her mind. She sensed something was wrong, but her father diverted her. She was young but not clueless.
Gent walked back, his gaze containing an arrogance akin to one standing at the top. He couldn't help but look at the Jinto, Paul, and Melissa trio in disdain.
“This bastard! Look at his smug face—he thinks he's better than us!” Paul couldn't help but frown while clenching his fists. Melissa did not speak, but her face frowned as well.
“Focus,” Jinto said sharply.
Jinto met Gent’s eyes, not backing away.
“Let’s not concern ourselves too much with him. So what if he has a diamond fissure? Who is to say we can’t get one if he can,” Jinto tried to lift the mood. “Knowing his character, he is unlikely to be much of a pillar to the clan.”
“Jinto is right. That bastard is a waste to have such a fissure. Fissures don't fight battles, only people. Let’s see how far he can get,” Paul said, nodding.
Melissa narrowed her eyes and thought, “A diamond fissure… This will certainly cripple our family if we are not careful.” Outwardly, she remained quiet.
Jinto’s mind was racing. All sorts of alerts were on his mind: “A diamond fissure? The 3rd circle is nothing but guaranteed. This is bad. Our Fang family’s future is grim. I can only hope for a miracle. Father must be more stressed out than I am. Now it all depends on us.” Jinto looked at the Melissa-Paul pair before glancing toward the Fang private compartment.
The youths were all surprised and showed admiring looks towards Gent as he got closer to them.
“It seems Brother Gent’s future is unrivaled.”
“How can we compare to Young Hero Gent?” some youths sighed.
Some looked at the Fang trio with a mixture of concern, and even some with schadenfreude.
“Brother Gent’s future is bright. Why don't you come to my family's establishment? We will hold a banquet for this moment of celebration,” one of the youths spoke up, his name Olsen Atmos, the grandson of Elder Cielo.
The audience couldn’t help but look at Olsen as he spoke, then cast jealous glances at Gent. It wasn’t easy to befriend someone of high status! The usually arrogant Olsen actually spoke with courtesy to someone of the same generation?
The Fang trio couldn't help but wear grim expressions. They felt their organs turning in reverse; this was just adding salt to the wound. Their rival, now having the backing of the grandson of one of the top elders, was a reality they dared not imagine.
Gent, hearing Olsen, bowed slightly. “It will be my pleasure to attend your esteemed house, Brother Olsen,” Gent said with a smile.
Master Hector glanced at these two youths with a deep gaze.