2025-07-18 19:52:04“Words mean nothing, Ronan. Prove it. Swear—before the Will of Arken—that you’ll end this for good.”
A ripple of shock swept through the plaza.
“She’s demanding an oath?”
“Does she realize what that means for House Sable?”
“If House Crowne cuts them off, they’re finished!”
Some spectators laughed, eager to see how the Sables would survive, or whether Calista would regret this boldness. But the young woman ignored every murmur. Her focus never left Ronan.
“Swear it here, in front of everyone,” she said.
“Break this engagement, strip my family of your shelter, and let me be free. If you do that, I’ll finally believe you.”
Her arrogance stunned the crowd.
“Very well,” he answered calmly.
He lifted his right hand, palm facing the sky. “I, Ronan Crowne, vow before the heavens and the Will of Arken: I will never love Calista Sable, will annul our engagement tomorrow, and will bear no regret.”
“Should I break this oath, let my cultivation collapse and my soul be scattered.”
A hush fell, then a pulse of power erupted around him. Golden light flooded the plaza, billowing from Ronan’s body. Mystical runes coiled through the air as an ancient aura wrapped him in brilliance.
The crowd fell silent, wide‑eyed.
The Will of Arken had witnessed the vow.
At that instant, a gentle warmth pulsed from the family pendant at his neck. The silver relic melted into liquid light, sinking into his chest. When it cooled, a tattoo of the Crowne crest burned above his heart.
A message surged into his mind:
[Every decision that diverges from your former life will earn cosmic reward.]
[Every attempt to rewrite destiny will yield rich returns.]
[Every victory over Lucien Cross’s fated path will grant even greater blessings.]
[You have activated the Golden Finger, bestowed by the Will of the World.]
[From this moment forward, you are marked as a Sovereign Candidate.]
[Your every step now holds the weight to alter fate itself.]
[Welcome, Ronan Crowne… to the road of ascension—the path to become Sovereign of All Realms.]
The pendant pulsed again—this time, with purpose.
A shimmering message etched itself into Ronan’s mind:
[Next target revealed—The Chosen One: Lucien Cross.]
Data unfurled like flowing script before his inner sight.
[Lucien’s Luck Rating: SSS. An impossibly high fate grade. Untouchable. Unkillable.]
Unless…
[When his luck rating dropped below D, a blood-red aura would appear above his head. Only then could he be slain.]
[To bring down the Chosen One, you must sever the roots of his destiny.]
[His divine luck must be shattered.]
[Three paths await you:]
[First—seize the future opportunities that were meant for him.]
[Second—win over the allies and bonds that were destined to stand at his side.]
[Third—crack his spirit through fury, doubt, or despair.]
[Each fracture in his fate will be transferred to you.]
[Fate is a finite flame—and now, it shall burn in your name.]
Ronan understands. So, every decrease in Lucien’s fortune would raise Ronan’s own.
A divine balance. A cosmic scale.
Clarity settled in Ronan’s heart.
This era… I will dismantle House Sable. I will cripple the rise of the so-called Chosen One.
The golden euphoria slowly faded.
“I’ll be waiting at home tomorrow. Break your vow, and you’ll die,” Calista said.
“Actually… I hope you do. Just so I can watch you suffer.”
The crowd recoiled in stunned disbelief.
“She just… cursed him?”
“After everything he gave her—resources, status, a divine weapon—and now she wishes him dead?”
“Disgusting. No shame. No gratitude.”
“She deserves whatever storm’s coming.”
“I’ll be there. Exactly at nine. Or not at all,” Ronan replied.
“Good,” Calista said. She turned to leave.
“Why leave in a hurry? And there’s still one more thing, Calista Sable… Since your house has officially cut ties with mine, I’d like every item I gave you returned. That includes the B-rank Energy Weapon... and the violet-gold bracelet you’re wearing right now. You see, those aren’t yours anymore.”
Calista froze mid-step. The crowd erupted once more.
“What did you just say?” Calista asked in disbelief, her voice rise in rage.
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The Isolated Variable
“We know that we cannot accuse you without evidence. But, there’s something else,” he said.He exhaled and continue, “Ronan Crowne, your contribution in defending the camp is undeniable… but so are the anomalies surrounding your presence.”Ronan met his gaze levelly.“What anomalies?”Another officer tapped the hologram and a spectral energy graph lit up — the same silver-gold wavelength the Ministry had been analyzing.“Wherever strong beasts appear — this energy shows up too,” Harrel said. “It attracts them. Rank 7s, rank 8s… and always in the direction of your aura.”Ronan’s brows tightened, but only barely.“You’re suggesting I’m baiting beasts?”Some of the officers stiffened — because yes, they were.Harrel didn’t deny it.“Whether intentional or accidental, your presence is drawing them. And we can’t risk further casualties.”Ronan’s voice held steady.“I don’t know what these signatures are. I haven’t done anything to lure beasts. I’ve only fought them.”Harrel studied him, me
Forging Signature
The night was deeper now over the Thandor wilderness, and the world outside the shelters had turned deathly still. The earlier attack had drained nerves and rattled spirits, leaving most students huddled in silence. The air smelled faintly of scorched soil and dissipated beast-essence. Even those who had slept—did so with half-open eyes and trembling breath. It would be a long night.But far from the blood-soaked camp, in the Ministry of Education in Thalara city, another kind of battle was underway—a battle of information, evidence, and truth.Minister Dorrian Blackthorne stood inside the Strategic Analysis Room — a chamber filled with floating holo-projections, psionic wave maps, and multi-layered tactical overlays that shifted by command of thought rather than hand. The room hummed with quiet neural resonance — like a temple of minds rather than machines.Around him were high-ranking military analysts, senior educators, and two psionic resonance experts whose faces were drawn with
The Second Threat
The announcement came through the shelter intercom—clear, official, almost unreal.“ATTENTION STUDENTS. THE EXAMINATION IS NOW FORMALLY CONCLUDED.YOU WILL BE EVACUATED FROM THE AREA IN APPROXIMATELY SIX HOURS.REMAIN INSIDE SHELTERS UNTIL TRANSPORT ARRIVES.”For a moment, there was only silence.Then reactions came in waves.Laughter of relief.Sobs breaking free.Some even cheered.A few simply slumped down, staring at the metal floor with glazed disbelief.They were going home.Alive.No more beasts.No more trial.No more death.Just waiting—for rescue.Some students collapsed into seats or curled against walls, exhaustion finally given permission to exist.Others laughed hysterically — laughter not from joy, but from nerves snapping back after too much strain.A boy murmured, voice shaking:“Six hours… that’s all. Just six more…”Another whispered:“I’m gonna sleep for three days straight when I get home…”But soon, the sobering truth returned:Six hours.Six hours still inside
Voices of the Fallen
The Ministry of Education building was never meant to hold a crowd this large—neither physically nor emotionally.Parents, guardians, relatives, even siblings of students spilled across the plaza before the great marble steps. The air was heavy with shouting, pleading, anger, and grief. Holosigns flickered with bold protest scripts:“Bring them back!”“They are children, not soldiers!”“Stop the massacre!”Some held framed photos—smiling student faces now silenced forever. Some cried openly. Others screamed until their voices broke. Many simply stood, trembling, in desperate hope.Inside, Minister of Education Dorrian Blackthorne stood behind reinforced glass, listening to the roar outside. His expression was steady—but there was tension in the way his fingers tapped the desk. His eyes weren’t indifferent; they were pained.Behind him, aides argued in urgent tones.“The pressure is overwhelming— we have to respond—”“If we give in, the credibility of the examination collapses—”“We’ve
I Don’t Need Him Anymore
The shelter was dimly lit by emergency lamps — harsh, pallid, and cold.Inside, tables were crowded with soldiers and officers, their armor still stained with dust and beast blood.A heated discussion was underway.“This is unacceptable,” one lieutenant snapped, slamming his palm on the table. “We can’t keep sending students into death traps. The exam needs to be suspended immediately.”Another officer exhaled, shoulders heavy.“Rank 7 beasts shouldn’t even exist in this region. This entire area was mapped, verified, secured.”“Exactly,” someone muttered. “There hasn’t been Rank 7 or Rank 8 activity in this valley for over a decade. So why now?”One of the strategists spoke softly yet firmly:“Something drove the beasts here… or something summoned them.”A ripple of unease spread through the room.“Then we definitely cannot continue the exam—”“But it’s just one more day!” a younger officer protested. “If we cancel now, the entire evaluation cycle collapses. The students have already
The Ones Who Cannot Run
The second day of the Frontier Examination began under a heavy sky.No one felt the same as the day before.Not after watching students die.Not after seeing Rank 7 beasts rampage through living bodies like wet paper.Not after seeing Ronan and Lucien break through to Rank 8 in front of the world.And not after mourning the fallen.The plaza of the encampment was quieter now. Less chatter. Less arrogance. More steel behind eyes.Everyone respected Ronan Crowne now.Some admired him.Some feared him.Some hated him silently for rising so fast.But no one ignored him.And strangely… Lucien Cross received similar treatment. He too had reached Rank 8, though his aura wavered slightly, like a candle in wind. Still, the title was the title. The achievement was real.They were the two highest-ranking students on the field.Even though the Rank 7 cores had vanished, meaning neither could claim them, Ronan didn’t bother searching for excuses. The beasts died. The cores disappeared. Fine.Let t
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