Chapter 60: 60. World academy trials – 6

A huge B-ranked minotaur collapsed against the jagged rock face with a thunderous impact that shook the ground beneath it.

Dust and fractured stone burst outward in a wide ring as the colossal body slammed down, its massive weight pressing cracks into the terrain.

The monster’s jaw had been completely dismantled, not torn apart by claws or sliced by a blade, but crushed inward by a single, overwhelming ramming force that had struck it directly in the face.

The Minotaur’s eyes were still open, frozen in disbelief.

Moments earlier, it had charged forward with absolute confidence, believing that its size, strength, and rank placed it far above anything it could encounter in this forest.

It had roared in challenge, lowered its horns, and committed fully to the attack.

That confidence had cost it its life.

Smoke slowly rose from the broad, clenched fist of Prince Gaelion as he stood over the corpse, his arm still extended from the punch he had delivered.

The skin of his knuckles glowed faintly, residual energy rolling off them in slow waves. He did not breathe heavily.

He did not show excitement. His expression was calm, almost indifferent, as though crushing a monster of that level was nothing more than routine.

Gaelion straightened his posture and rolled his shoulder once, the sound of bone shifting like stone grinding against stone. He glanced down at the Minotaur again, then away, already losing interest.

Gaelion was the prince of the Titans and the sole heir of the Skybreak Empire.

Among his people, strength was not something that needed to be announced.

It was proven through action. From the moment he had entered the trial, his objective had been singular and unchanging.

Domination.

He was not here to be in the top 5; he was here to be the absolute top ranker, #1.

***

Far to his south, the forest told a very different yet similar story.

The air there was silent, unnaturally so, as if even the insects had chosen to flee.

The ground was soaked in blood to such an extent that the fallen leaves had already changed color, their original greens and browns replaced by deep, rusted crimson.

Broken branches littered the area, snapped by violent impacts. Scattered corpses lay strewn across the forest floor; their wounds were deep and fatal.

At the center of this grim scene sat Katherine Nightreign.

The princess of the Blood Veil Empire rested upon a throne constructed entirely of bones, arranged carefully into a structure that resembled a royal seat.

The bones were clean, stripped of flesh, and polished by magic and blood control ability until they gleamed faintly in the dim forest light.

Her posture was relaxed, one leg crossed over the other; her presence radiated a cold, elegant authority that made the surrounding space feel oppressive.

Several vampire individuals knelt before her, their heads bowed low, their bodies trembling despite their inherent pride and strength. None of them dared to meet her gaze.

“We could not find any blue-haired human, Your Highness,” one of them finally spoke, his voice shaking despite his efforts to remain composed.

The words hung heavily in the air.

They had failed.

They all understood what that meant.

They remained kneeling, their breathing shallow, hearts pounding as they waited for judgment. They did not plead. They did not offer excuses. They knew better.

The only thing they could do now was hope that their lives would be spared after this trial ended.

Katherine did not react immediately.

Her crimson eyes remained fixed ahead, unfocused, as though she were looking at something far beyond the forest.

One slender finger glided slowly along the sharpened edge of the dagger resting in her hand. The motion was deliberate, almost absentminded, as if she were tracing the edge of smooth butter rather than a blade capable of slicing steel.

The dagger itself was pristine, its surface etched with ancient vampiric engravings that pulsed faintly with dormant runes.

After a few moments, she exhaled softly.

Without turning her head, she lifted her other hand and made a small dismissive gesture.

The kneeling vampires vanished instantly, dissolving into shadows as though they had never existed in the first place.

No footsteps sounded, and no sound was made.

Silence returned.

***

Deep beneath the surface of the Aris Continent, far removed from sunlight and civilization, a dark underground labyrinth stretched endlessly through ancient stone.

Within one of its vast chambers, a massive, organized formation of hooded individuals stood in perfect order.

The group was enormous, consisting of almost every race imaginable. Humans, beasts, elves, dragons, titans, and hybrids stood shoulder to shoulder.

Their auras varied wildly, ranging from A-rank to terrifying SSS-rank presences. The pressure they emitted warped the air, making it difficult to breathe for anyone unprepared.

At the center of the formation stood their leader.

He was a tall dragonoid, his body covered in dark, hardened scales that reflected faint torchlight.

Several parts of his face were pierced with black metal rings, each one etched with demonic symbols.

His eyes were calm, disturbingly so, as if everything was under his control.

His voice echoed through the chamber.

“With the blessing of Demon Lord Amon,” he intoned, his tone steady and loud, “we, the Cult of Amon, swear under the name of the Abyss that we will fulfill the purpose of our lord.”

The entire formation repeated the decree in unison, their voices merging into a single, reverberating chant that shook the chamber walls.

Beside the leader, a shadow hovered.

It wore a dark robe that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, its form indistinct and constantly shifting.

“The right moment is about to begin,” the shadow said quietly. “The space will be sealed. Any interference from outside will be stopped by us.”

The dragonoid nodded slowly.

“We must crush this golden generation before it matures,” the shadow continued. “If it is allowed to grow, it will become a headache even for us. May Amon watch over you.”

***

Meanwhile, Ethan was still fighting.

Sweat clung to his skin as he swung his sword again and again; his breathing was growing heavier with each exchange.

He had been dodging the wolves’ attacks for what felt like an eternity. The pack moved with frightening coordination, their bodies blurred as they shifted positions.

And moreover, they dodged his strikes as if they could see the future.

Ethan gritted his teeth.

“This is getting tiring,” he muttered.

He jumped back two full steps, creating some distance between himself and the pack.

His grip tightened around the sword as mana surged through his body. His stance lowered, muscles coiled like a drawn bowstring.

“Tempest Sword Art: Second Form,”

“Thunderclap Sever.”

The moment the words left his lips, a thunderous, light-infused shockwave erupted outward with Ethan at its center.

The ground beneath his feet cracked violently as compressed air and mana detonated in all directions.

The wolves froze mid-movement.

Their bodies convulsed violently as the shockwave tore through them, shattering internal organs and rupturing mana pathways.

Several were flung backward, crashing into trees with bone-breaking force. Others collapsed instantly, twitching on the ground as blood spilled from their mouths.

The radius of the attack engulfed nearly the entire pack.

Outside the domain, the audience erupted.

Gasps and shouts rippled through both the common and elite lobbies. Many spectators had been convinced Ethan would be disqualified moments earlier.

Now, the shock of his counterattack spread like wildfire.

In the elite lobby, Emperor Aurelius shouted in excitement audibly and turned sharply toward Sword Saint Klaus.

Klaus merely smiled, his expression smug and unbothered.

Nearby, Cardinal Nicholas swallowed hard, a single bead of sweat rolling down his temple as the implications of what he had just witnessed settled into his mind.

That attack alone revealed more than enough.

Many of the powerful figures present understood immediately who stood behind Ethan.

And it wasn’t just him.

This generation was overflowing with prodigies. Heirs of ancient masters. Successors of major empires. Bearers of terrifying talents that appeared once in a millennium.

All of them gathered at the same time.

Some called it the Golden Generation.

Others called it the Great Shift.

But one person knew its true name….

**

“The Age of Gods,” Will murmured quietly as he looked up at the sky.

Dark clouds rolled in overhead, thunder rumbling ominously. The air grew heavy, charged with impending danger.

Suddenly, the clouds parted.

A massive presence descended from above.

A huge SS-ranked Thunder Roc dove toward him at terrifying speed, lightning crackling across its wings.

Its shrill cry tore through the air, making it clear that its intent was not friendly.

Will tightened his grip on his sword.

And smiled

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