The opening ceremonies of the Grand Aetheria Continental Summit were viewed by the rest of the continent as a majestic celebration of youthful chivalry, martial excellence, magical innovation, and national pride. To the ordinary folk and lesser houses, it was a grand tapestry of shining silver armor, fluttering flags, and the romantic promise of a new era.
But to Cassian Valemont...
It was a headache.
A monumental headache.
A continent-sized headache.
As much as he appreciated working alongside competent academy professors and the capable, fiercely driven administrative staff he had recently acquired from his father, the fact remained that the entire burden of organizing the summit had somehow landed on his shoulders thanks to a certain irresponsible headmaster.
The old man had essentially walked into Cassian's private office, offered a cheerful, senile smile, dumped several mountains of iron-stamped paperwork onto Cassian's obsidian desk, and promptly vanished into thin air.
Naturally.
The result was the largest academic gathering in continental history.
Their world, the Aetheria Continent, was vast enough that most people would never see even half of it during their lifetimes. Five great powers ruled its lands.
The first was the mighty Holy Empire of Edrath, the dominant human empire with the largest military force on the continent. And also Cassian's homeland. The birthplace of heroes, saints, emperors, and conquerors.
Then to the north stood the Northern Frost Dominion, a frozen land where endless snowstorms swallowed entire armies overwhelmingly. It was the homeland of Lucien Arden's military border Citadel, the one Cassian had infiltrated not so long ago. A place infested with Shadow Beasts and ancient monsters emerging from cursed tundras. There, rune warriors forged themselves through brutal combat and survived against horrors that would terrify ordinary nations.
Then to the west lay the ancient Verdant Elven Alliance. A realm of endless forests, hidden cities, sacred groves, and forgotten gods. Its borders touched the western reaches of Duke Lucien Arden's territories, and the nation was ruled by the infamous Queen Cecelia. A monarch renowned for her beauty, wisdom...—And her hatred for humanity.
The conflict between Edrath and the elves stretched back thousands of years, when the elves viewed themselves as the highest form of nobility.... Matter of fact they still do regard themselves as the first children of the gods. And to them, humans were merely crude creatures that had stolen blessings they never deserved.
Many elves believed Edrath's ancestors had somehow appropriated sacred fertility blessings and divine authority that originally belonged to the ancient elven bloodlines. But whether that fact was true or not no longer mattered, because the resentment had become tradition.
The humans viewed the elves as arrogant isolationists, The elves viewed humans as thieves. Both sides had spent centuries proving each other correct.
Then traveling down to the Eastern hemisphere of the continent is where the wealthy Crimson Desert Sultanates resided. A realm of endless dunes, ancient ruins, merchant kingdoms, and buried civilizations. Countless treasures slept beneath their sands, and many of the continent's richest families originated there.
The lands bordered the mighty Reinhardt Duchy.
And finally—....The mysterious Southern Abyssal Coast.
The land of mages.
The land of dungeons.
The land where reality itself occasionally seemed uncertain. Ancient magical catastrophes had permanently scarred the region. Even dungeon gates emerged with alarming frequency at the Southern Abyssal Coast. There forbidden knowledge circulated openly, even veteran adventurers hesitated before entering its territories. Yet beyond those nations existed countless mysteries. Which were the floating islands drifting through the skies, god-forged towers piercing the heavens, underground kingdoms forgotten by history, forbidden labyrinths, dragon graveyards, ancient ruins older than recorded civilization and caves where forgotten deities still whispered.
And now the entire continent of such immense power had gathered beneath one banner.
And it was *Competition.*
The grand ceremony officially began.
One by one, the academies entered the massive stone arena. The crowd of thousands erupted into deafening cheers.
The Northern Dominion War Colleges marched out first. Their heavy, iron-shod leather boots struck the stone floor in perfect, terrifying synchronization. Their thick, rune-engraved plate armor gleamed brightly beneath the autumn sun, radiating a chilling, front-line military pressure.
Then came the Desert Sultanate Institutes. Their flowing silk robes shimmered with real gold thread, embroidered with thousands of enchanted gemstones that flickered with defensive fire-element barriers.
The Southern Mage Towers followed closely behind. Instead of walking, their elite students casually floated through the air using intricate, glowing spell circles, accompanied by rare, high-tier magical familiars that hissed at the crowd.
The Holy Orders entered beneath massive, sacred white banners. High-ranking paladins, pristine priests, master healers, and veiled saint candidates marched together, their holy mana casting a soothing, radiant warmth over the lower stands.
Then the elite Knight Academies arrived. Their polished steel uniforms and flawlessly disciplined, rigid formations drew loud applause from the military commanders in the high boxes.
Finally—the representatives of the Verdant Elven Academies stepped onto the sand.
The entire arena instantly fell into a dead, heavy silence. The elven youths walked with the effortless, flowing confidence of beings who truly believed themselves genetically superior to every other creature in attendance. Their elegant uniforms of woven moon-silver and emerald silk fluttered behind them like liquid water. Their insignias displayed ancient, pure bloodlines that predated the empire. Many human noble spectators visibly straightened in their seats, their expressions tightening. The elves certainly knew how to make an entrance that insulted everyone else by default.
And then finally–...
Came the host institution—the academy responsible for organizing the entire continental summit, the institution standing at the exact center of the continent's power, and the one many considered the undisputed strongest Academy amongst all.
The Edrath Imperial Academy.
Thunderous, deafening applause erupted from the human quadrants of the arena.
But briefly then amidst the cheers murmurs overlapped with gasps. The massive audience noticed something strange.
A specific group marching among the Edrath ranks wore uniforms that were entirely different from the standard golden-white attire.
Black. Crimson. Military-grade. Practical. And dangerous. No national colours like the rest of the Academies, no family crests. But just plain and intimidating.
It was the infamous Crimson Vanguard under the command of Crown Prince Cassian Valemont.
Murmurs and confused whispers immediately spread throughout the colossal arena like a localized wildfire.
"They're first-years," a northern count whispered, leaning over the stone railing. "Why are first-years participating in a continental summit?"
"This has to be a joke," a southern merchant scoffed.
"The Crown Prince actually entered them into the high-tier bracket?"
"He must be completely insane. He's going to ruin the empire's prestige!"
One foreign professor from a northern academy frowned deeply, his eyes narrowing. "Competing against continental elites using raw first-years? That is an outright insult to our training. What are our geniuses supposed to learn from first years?"
Another foreign master laughed softly, shaking his head. "Perhaps Edrath has simply become desperate after their internal political shifts."
Several high-ranking nobles glanced toward the royal box, trying to read the imperial family's reactions. Some looked thoroughly amused by the scandal; others looked deeply skeptical. A few openly mocked the decision with low jeers.
Yet, the students of the Crimson Vanguard remained utterly calm. Not a single first-year student reacted to the insults. Not one.
They stood in perfect, rigid discipline, their eyes fixed straight ahead. Waiting. Watching. Ready.
Because before they had marched out of the tunnels, their commander had given them one simple, unyielding instruction: Win. At all costs and without mercy.
Just then the massive imperial choir began to sing, their voices resonating with magical amplification. Golden mana flakes, cast by upper-circle light mages, drifted through the autumn skies like glowing snow. Thousands of spectators stood to their feet.
Then, Headmaster Allister finally made his grand appearance.
Naturally, the old man chose the most ridiculously dramatic method possible.
A massive, high-tier teleportation circle erupted violently above the center of the arena. Blinding white lightning flashed across the sky; intricate illusion arrays exploded into a hundred colors; and giant golden phoenixes made of pure fire-mana manifested, roaring into the heavens. A blinding beam of solid light descended from the clouds.
And from that light, Headmaster Allister emerged, his arms spread wide, his white beard flowing majestically as he soaked in the adoration.
The crowd roared in absolute approval.
Up in the royal box, Cassian immediately closed his eyes, regretting every single choice that had led him to this day.
"Attention-seeking old fool,"
Cassian drawled, his frustrated voice cutting through the noise.
Sora giggled softly beside him, her shoulder pressing against his gray cloak. "He practiced that exact teleportation entrance all day yesterday in his private courtyard, Cassian."
"I know. And I had to shoulder everything else to make this opening ceremony a success while he was practicing party tricks.
Cassian stared straight forward in disapproval, his crimson eyes cold.
The grand ceremony proceeded smoothly despite the headmaster's theatrics. Allister offered formal, grand greetings to the King, the Imperial family, the high dukes, the foreign rulers, the military commanders, the wealthy guild leaders, the reclusive tower masters, the high priests, and the veiled saintesses.
Notably absent from the royal box was Queen Cecelia herself. The Elven Queen had not bothered to travel across the sea for a human-organized event; only her high-ranking educational representatives had been sent. It was a glaring diplomatic insult that many human nobles did not miss, their expressions darkening.
Allister's jovial expression gradually became serious, his voice carrying a sudden, heavy gravity that silenced the stadium.
"The world is changing," the old man spoke, his words echoing clearly through every stone corridor. The massive arena quickly quieted down.
"Ancient dungeons, once believed to be sealed forever by the first heroes, have begun reopening across all five territories."
Anxious murmurs spread through the stands.
"Forgotten runes are awakening on ancient structures. Legendary monsters, unseen for generations, are appearing within our borders once more. Ancient ruins are reacting to unknown mana frequencies. And perhaps most troubling of all..." Allister's voice lowered into a grave whisper. "...—the forgotten gods of the old world have begun whispering again in the dark."
Absolute, heavy silence dropped over the thousands of spectators.
"The next generation must prepare," Allister announced, his eyes sweeping across the young geniuses on the field. "The Grand Aetheria Continental Summit exists so that our future heroes may grow stronger. So that they may challenge one another. So that they may learn. So that they may survive what is coming."
Thunderous, roaring applause followed his speech. He formally thanked the academy professors, the student organizers, and the workers. Then, a wide, mischievous smile broke across his wrinkled face as he glanced sideways to a certain imperial box.
"And finally..."
Cassian immediately felt a sharp spike of danger.
"...I would like to offer our deepest thanks to our beloved Crown Prince," Allister beamed, pointing directly toward the royal box.
The entire crowd of thousands instantly turned their heads to stare. Cassian slowly closed his eyes, his deadpan expression tightening. Of course.
"And we thank the Crimson Vanguard for their extraordinary, sleepless efforts in assisting the academy's logistics," Allister concluded.
More thunderous applause shook the walls. More intense staring. More judgment from the foreign factions. More quiet whispers filled with doubt. Some admired the prince's rapid rise to power; some doubted his tactical capabilities; others openly mocked his reliance on first-years.
Cassian ignored every single one of them. He had long ago learned a fundamental rule of business throughout his lifetimes: 'Competence eventually silences all criticism.'
High above the stadium, thousands of high-tier rune fireworks exploded in a beautiful display of colored light. The Grand Aetheria Continental Tournament had officially begun.
Down on the sands, the foreign students immediately began evaluating one another, casting sharp, testing glares toward their potential rivals—particularly toward the black-and-crimson uniforms of the Crimson Vanguard. Yet, the first-year students remained completely unmoved. Absolute. Unshaken. Flawlessly patient. They were simply waiting for their prince's command.
*****
Meanwhile, seated comfortably upon the elevated, plush velvet benches of the royal box, Cassian observed the opening demonstrations with an analytical gaze. Far below on the blood-sanded arena floor, young warriors shattered iron shields, brilliant battle mages launched high-tier elemental spells, and intricate rune arrays ignited the air. The heavy combat demonstrations shook the very foundations of the arena.
Cassian slowly flipped through his leather-bound tactical notebook, his white-gloved hand marking the pages with a charcoal quill.
"The tactical distribution of the Western Academy's vanguard is fundamentally flawed," Cassian stated, his voice a flat, the usual freezing baritone that carried no warmth. "They are over-allocating forty percent of their mana reserves to their frontline knights, leaving their auxiliary casters entirely exposed to a flanking maneuver."
Silas immediately stepped forward from the shadows of the box, his stoic face expressionless. Cassian didn't even look up from his data sheets.
"Deploy Crimson Vanguard Third Formation," Cassian commanded flatly. "Target their auxiliary support line. Collapse their defensive matrix within three minutes."
Silas bowed deeply from the waist, his fist pressed against his chest armor. "By your supreme command, Crown Prince."
With a swift, silent movement, the earth-mage disappeared down the private stairs to deliver the directive.
Sora sat directly beside Cassian on the velvet bench. She was sitting far too close, entirely ignoring the rigid imperial protocol that demanded a commoner remain three paces behind the royal bloodline. As usual, she didn't care about the court. She was currently peeling sweet northern grapes one by one with her delicate fingers, her expression completely soft.
She attempted to feed one directly into Cassian's mouth. "Cassian."
"No," Cassian drawled, keeping his eyes firmly on his ledger.
"Cassian, look at me."
"No."
"Just one grape, my prince."
"No."
"Open your mouth."
"No."
Sora sighed disappointed, her raven eyes narrowing in small frustration. Then, utilizing her high-tier elven agility, she executed a rapid sneak-attack. Her slender fingers blurred, and the peeled grape was successfully and forcefully popped directly into Cassian's mouth before he could calculate the trajectory.
Cassian let out a long, silent sigh, slowly chewing the fruit.
Across the arena, several high-ranking noble daughters who were watching through spyglasses nearly fainted from pure, unadulterated jealousy.
Every princess attempting to approach the royal box quickly discovered an unexpected obstacle.
Sora.
A foreign princess took three steps forward.
Sora looked at her. The princess immediately froze.
A duchess's daughter attempted to greet Cassian.
Sora looked at her. The girl suddenly remembered urgent business elsewhere.
A saint candidate approached.
Sora looked at her. The saint candidate retreated. The territorial hostility behind those beautiful eyes was terrifying.
Then Cassian's attention shifted when the central pedestal opened.
The Grand Prize for the first trial was unveiled. It was the legendary Scepter of the Sun King.
The crowd erupted.
Cassian didn't, his crimson eyes only narrowed. Something inside him recoiled. Deep within the relic...a familiar frequency pulsed. It was ancient, foreign, impossible to exist in Edrath, in fact in Aetheria as a whole..
Earth.
Cassian's grip tightened and the quill on his hand creaked. His pupils contracted fixated on the artifact across him.
'It's here.'
A dark thrill surged through him.
'The second artifact.'
'The object capable of bypassing the world's constraints.'
His heartbeat accelerated. For the first time all day—
Cassian felt genuinely interested.
'I don't care who owns that scepter.' His gaze remained fixed.
'By the end of this tournament...' A slow smile appeared.
'It will belong to me.'
Then, an unwelcome voice interrupted his calculations.
"Your Highness."
Cassian's small smile instantly vanished, replaced by his usual freezing deadpan mask.
Julian Ashcroft stood just outside the entrance of the royal box. He was looking significantly healthier than he had during his public humiliation at the training plaza, his posture rigid. He offered a stiff, formal bow.
"I request a formal position in the tournament's active combat lineup," Julian stated clearly.
Cassian slowly blinked, turning a page in his notebook. "Weren't you bedridden and weeping in the infirmary under a nurse's care?"
Julian stiffened.
"My recovery is complete your highness." Cassian simply leaned his chin on his fist unbothered.
"You are still weak."The words landed like a hammer. And Julian's eye twitched.
"Your Highness." He forced a smile.
"Personal grievances aside, I am still Julian Ashcroft. The strongest battle mage among the Elite seniors, a Second Circle mage, veteran of real combat."
Cassian glanced at him, then returned to his notebook. "Still weak."
Julian nearly choked. Sora covered her mouth to hide a laugh.
"—while you were being pampered by nurses," Cassian continued, "—the others trained, they improved. They adapted and they surpassed you."
Julian's face paled.
"What?"
"The Elite Vanguard no longer exists."
Silence hovered and just then Cassian finally looked up.
"The seniors joined me and my Crimson Vanguard....Willingly."
"W-What?"
"They went to where growth existed and it was only natural."
Julian clenched his fists.
"But–.."
"They're stronger now than when you last saw them."The words cut deeply as Cassian drawled with his eyes rolling back to the notebook on his lap. "And if I permitted you to participate in the active brackets now... you would simply ruin our flawless winning streak."
Cassian once again lazily rested his chin on on his hand. Julian still stared and Cassian shrugged.
"I intended for the Crimson Vanguard to annihilate every trial in tournament."
Sora leaned closer. Her lips brushed Cassian's ear.
"A wonderful plan, my lord."
Cassian nodded.
"Thank you."
Julian's fists trembled and inside his mind, rage exploded.
'This prince....who does he think he is?, I've fought battles. I've bled on battlefields while he spent years drowning himself in wine and women. One victory against me at the training plaza, one victory and now he acts superior.'
'I'll show him and I'll show everyone.'
Flames flickered unconsciously around his fingertips. Cassian noticed and smirked.
"But–..."
Julian froze where as Cassian's smile widened.
"A perfect victory would be boring."
The Crown Prince closed his notebook looking up at Julian who hovered above him like a boulder.
"So we'll use you." Julian blinked. "Use me?"
"Yes, to lose once."
The entire royal box fell silent, even Sora looked impressed. Cassian pointed toward the arena.
"You may go now and repare yourself because tomorrow's first trial begins."
Julian's eye twitched. And a dangerous grin appeared on Cassian's face.
"And congratulations, you've officially been promoted." Julian felt a dread.
"...Promoted?"
Cassian's smile only became positively villainous.
"To being our meat shield of course."
Sora immediately burst into laughter. Julian stood frozen, humiliated, furious and more determined than ever to prove the Crown Prince wrong.
Exactly as Cassian intended.
*****