The Grand Plaza. Three days later. The Grand Plaza of the Academy was a sea of students. Thousands of mages, warriors, and espers gathered beneath floating holographic screens that spanned the sky. [THE ANNUAL ASCENSION TOURNAMENT] [Prove Your Worth. Rise in Rank.] The Dean, a woman floating on a disc of pure light, addressed the crowd. Her voice was amplified by wind magic. "Students! The time has come to re-evaluate the hierarchy. In the Tournament, only strength matters. The winners will receive Merit Points, access to the Inner Library, and the right to challenge the Elite Ten!" Cheers erupted. Fireballs were thrown in the air in celebration. "However," the Dean continued, looking down at her notes. "Due to safety regulations, Class F is excluded from participation. The mortality rate for F-Ranks is... statistically unacceptable." A groan went through the small group of Class F students huddled in the back. "I knew it," Gareth kicked the ground. "We're stuck in the basem

The Ascension Arena. Zone 2: The Archipelago. The holographic display flickered, changing the map. The lush jungle dissolved, replaced by a vast, churning body of water dotted with small, slippery rock pillars. [Matchup: TEAM LANDLORDS (Class F) vs. TEAM TSUNAMI (Class C)] The crowd roared. This was a slaughter setup. Class F had no flight magic, no water-walking spells, and one member made of heavy rock. Team Tsunami hovered elegantly above the waves on discs of hydro-magic. Their leader, a girl with blue hair named Marina, smirked down at the Landlords, who were huddled on a single small rock island. "Look at the rats," Marina laughed, raising her staff. "Trapped on a sinking ship." "Surrender," she called out. "Or we wash the trash down the drain." Gareth looked at the deep water nervously. "Boss, I sink. Like... really fast. Rock doesn't float." "I hate water," Elara hugged herself, steam already ris

The Ascension Arena. The Semifinals. The crowd was no longer booing. They were whispering. Class F—the "Trash Class"—had crushed the Beast Tamers, boiled the Elementalists, and subjugated the Necromancers. They were no longer a joke. They were a threat. [Matchup: TEAM LANDLORDS (Class F) vs. TEAM HOLY ORDER (Class A)] The arena floor transformed into a Cathedral of Light. White marble pillars rose from the ground, stained glass windows materialized in the air, casting multicolored beams of light. Opposite Lin Jin stood five students in gleaming white and gold armor. They didn't just reflect light; they generated it. Their leader, Saint Helios, floated two feet off the ground. He had golden hair, blue eyes, and a halo of pure mana rotating behind his head. "Foul creatures," Helios spoke, his voice echoing like a choir. "You have defiled this sacred tournament with your necromancy and dirty tricks." He pointed a golden sword at Lin Jin. "But darkness cannot exist in the presenc

The Headmaster’s Office. (Pocket Dimension). The chaos of the tournament was gone. Here, in the private sanctum of the Headmaster, there was only the smell of old parchment and expensive tea. Lin Jin sat on a floating velvet chair, sipping a cup of Nebula Tea. It tasted like blueberries and starlight. Zero sat on the floor, feeding expensive mana-cookies to Bumble. Opposite them, the Headmaster—Archmage Orion—sat nervously. He kept wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief embroidered with runes. "The tea is excellent," Lin Jin broke the silence. "Better than the muddy water they served in the lower realms." "It... it is harvested from the Garden of Echoes," Orion stammered. "I am honored it pleases the Sovereign." The Reunion. "Relax, Orion," Lin Jin placed the cup down. "I'm not here to burn your school. Unless the rent is late." "I saw you," Orion whispered, his eyes distant. "Three hundred years ago. I was just a nascent soul cultivator then. I watched from afar

The Valley of Ribs. The war was over before it began. Fifty thousand skeletons stood perfectly still, forming a corridor of white bone that stretched for miles. At the center of this silent formation sat Lin Jin, lounging on a throne hastily constructed from the skulls of defeated lieutenants. Lord Rictus (the Red) and Lord Chill (the Blue) knelt before him, their heads lowered so far their foreheads touched the dust. They were shaking. Not from cold, but from Soul Resonance. "So," Lin Jin tapped his finger on the armrest. "Let me get this straight. You two have been fighting for three hundred years over a pile of femurs?" "It was a very strategic pile, my King," Lord Rictus rasped, terrified. "High calcium density." "Pathetic," Lin Jin sighed. "The System Administrator doesn't even bother watching this sector because you're all so boring." He leaned forward. "Who runs this dump? Who is the big boss?" Lord Chill raised a trembling bony finger, pointing toward the northern hori