“Mmh.”Venak then turned fully toward the child.His posture softened—not the stance of a cultivator or a commander, but that of an elder brother humoring curiosity.“Little brother,” Venak said gently, a faint smile at the corner of his lips, “what’s your name?”Even before Delvan could answer, the old man’s mind began to race."Who are these young ones?" he thought, his eyes flicking carefully between Venak and Daku.Their robes were plain—too plain.No clan insignias. No extravagant embroidery. No visible artifacts screaming wealth or status.Yet…"They’re too clean," he realized. "Too well maintained. Either freshly issued or carefully preserved."At first glance, one would assume they were no different from the rest of the general stands—minor disciples, wandering cultivators, nobodies.But decades of experience whispered otherwise."No… my instincts are screaming," the old man thought grimly. "These are young masters."He had escorted nobles.He had guarded caravans carrying sec

Then the cyan flames intensified even further—far more violently than before.They leaked through the runes being formed, not as gentle wisps but as pressurized torrents of cyan fire,slipping between symbols as though the magic itself could no longer be contained.One magic circle manifested… then another… and another—each forming with a thunderous resonance that rippled through the air.Under the blazing sun above, the entire Grand Sanctuary was bathed in cyan light within mere seconds.The stone floors in general stands, the towering stands, the layered barriers—everything reflected that unearthly glow, as if the world itself had been painted in cyan fire.Then four magic circles finally formed.Then—The four magic circles enlarged massively, growing far larger than Oasis’ own body, rotating in perfect synchronization.Their rotation produced a low, grinding sound—deep, heavy, and oppressive—a sound audible to every ear present, vibrating through bones and hearts alike.Even those

The words were so piercing that they cut through even those who were not directly involved.Within the vast sea of spectators, most were citizens of the Kingdom of Aurelion—people who had grown up hearing tales of Luke Maser’s greatness.The Living Ocean.A pillar of the kingdom.A man who had stood at the front lines against invading threats, whose name had been etched into war records, academies, and lullabies alike.To them, his mastery of water magic was not merely skill—it was law, a truth as unquestionable as gravity itself.And now—A child.A boy standing in the Grand Sanctuary.Had just implied that Luke Maser might not truly understand how to wield water magic.It was the same as declaring that the way birds had flown since the dawn of time was wrong.For a moment, some in the crowd felt genuine fear—for Oasis.Yet buried beneath that fear was another realization, one that caused their spines to stiffen and their thoughts to hesitate.The one speaking…Was Marcellia Valmorra

Upper Gallery“I have to say it,” Devi Pogoda spoke slowly, his sharp eyes fixed on the battlefield far below, “your nephew is ruthless for his age.What kind of upbringing did he have to say and do whatever he feels like doing without restraint?”His gaze did not soften as he continued.“This is not how the perception of a child regarding the world should be,” Devi added, his tone edged with criticism.“Words have weight. Power has consequence.Just because you can see flaws in someone’s perfection does not mean you must voice them.What if they are content with their own system?What if that system is what defines them?”He turned slightly toward Marcellia, his eyes narrowing.“And sometimes,” Devi continued, “one must know who they are speaking to—and what consequences might befall them after saying certain words.Or is he like this because that is how you taught him?Or how those wherever he grew up taught him?”Devi exhaled, then pressed further, his voice low but sharp.“Speakin

“So, kid? Blow up my mind. Prove me wrong. Prove that my research is wrong."Theodore Kaizen’s thoughts echoed sharply as his gaze remained fixed on the battlefield below.Oasis stood there calmly, unhurried, as though the arena were no more dangerous than a quiet courtyard.Before him, Lukan Maser was bent forward, one knee barely keeping him upright, blood dripping steadily from the corner of his mouth.Each cough wracked his body, crimson splattering onto the fractured stone beneath his feet.The battlefield itself bore the scars of their clash—craters still steaming faintly from fire,water-soaked trenches which were evaporating from oasis's aura cut clean through scorched ground,the air thick with lingering mana turbulence.Lukan’s mystic beast, Ursa,was barely there, its once-majestic form dimmed to nothing, its presence weakened as though its very bond with Lukan was strained.Oasis, by contrast, showed not a single sign of exhaustion.His robes were rags, his breathing steady