As the crowd’s deafening protests echoed through the grand Colosseum, the announcer hesitated, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

‘W-What am I supposed to do when I’m just following orders as well?!’ He roared on the inside, as this was too much for him.

Just like the audience, he had hoped to see the fourth-year students’ matches. He had even placed bets on the students who had made a name for themselves when they were in their third year.

His money was going to all go to the drain now.

What was worse was he didn’t even know what was going on!

It wasn’t unexpected, though. He was a first-year teacher who had just joined recently and had little to no authority and power in the academy.

He stared at the audience, feeling the pressure of many students and teachers pilling over him, but he could only stay quiet, waiting for the orders from the higher authorities.

He had expected the audience’s disappointment, perhaps even some outrage, but this level of unrest was beyond what he had prepared for.

But then, just as the noise reached its peak, a sudden gust of wind swept through the arena. It was as if it was informing everyone of something impending.

A chill ran down the spectators’ spines, the magical energy in the air shifting. The once-bright sun seemed to dim slightly, as if something unnatural loomed over them.

In an instant, the crowd hushed, their anger momentarily forgotten as all eyes turned toward the center of the arena.

Bizzz!

A faint distortion flickered above the combat stage—a shimmer in the air, like a heatwave.

Then, without warning, a crack appeared in space itself. It widened rapidly, forming a dark rift, pulsating with ominous energy.

Everyone tensed, feeling the gaze of something dangerous. It was as if whatever was inside could easily kill them despite the barrier shielding the audience.

“Wait—! Something moved!” Someone suddenly exclaimed, and gasps erupted from the others who noticed it.

Something within the crack moved, and in the next second, a figure slowly emerged from the void.

A man—or a boy, to be exact—clad in deep violet robes stepped forward, his presence commanding yet unsettling.

His silver hair gleamed under the fractured sunlight, and his piercing golden eyes held a predatory glint. Arcane symbols swirled along his sleeves, shifting and glowing as if alive.

The announcer, breaking out of his stunned state, finally moved, only to stumble back, his voice faltering. “W-Who are—?!”

The stranger raised a single hand, and an invisible force clamped around the announcer’s throat, silencing him instantly. The crowd collectively held their breath, the weight of the unknown man’s aura pressing upon them like a vice.

Then, he spoke. His voice was smooth and calm—but carried an undeniable authority that demanded attention.

“I see the academy still keeps secrets from its people.” His golden gaze swept across the Colosseum, the spectators shrinking under its intensity. “You were promised a grand spectacle, were you not? The fourth-year competition, the strongest contenders, the most elite warriors this academy has to offer… And yet, they remain unseen.”

A murmur rippled through the audience, their earlier outrage now tinged with unease.

The man chuckled, a cold, humorless sound. “Shall I reveal to you why?” He snapped his fingers.

From the still-gaping rift behind him, figures began to step forth—battered, bruised, and shackled.

The moment the first figure fully emerged into the light, a collective gasp of horror echoed across the stadium.

It was a fourth-year student.

‘W-Were all of them the fourth-year students?’ Such a thought passed through the head of the audience, which turned out to be true as many recognized the other figures as some of the top fourth-year students.

Some were barely conscious, while others were struggling against their bindings, their faces marred with dirt and dried blood.

Their once-pristine uniforms were tattered, their magical auras flickering weakly. Even the strongest among them, those hailed as prodigies, looked utterly defeated.

“Your champions,” the stranger announced mockingly, gesturing toward the captured students. “Crushed before they could even step into your little tournament.”

The audience was frozen in shock.

How was this possible? The fourth-year students were some of the most powerful individuals in the Academy—who could have subdued them so easily? And why?

A sudden, agonized cry broke through the silence. Among the captives, a familiar face struggled against his restraints.

It was Cracus Varenth, the top-ranked fourth-year combatant. His usually proud, fiery eyes now burned with fury and shame.

“You… coward,” he spat, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “If you think this will break us—”

The silver-haired man flicked his fingers, and Cracus was yanked to his knees by an unseen force, his breath catching in his throat.

“Oh, I don’t need to break you, Redhead,” the stranger mused, stepping closer. “You’ve already been abandoned.”

Cracus’s eyes widened, confusion flickering across his face. “What—”

The man turned back to the audience, his smirk widening. “Where is your headmaster now? Where are your professors, your so-called protectors? The Academy has forsaken its own elite, leaving them to rot in the shadows. And you…” He let his gaze roam over the stunned faces of the spectators. “You were none the wiser.”

Whispers of fear and doubt spread like wildfire through the crowd. Could it be true? Had the academy truly abandoned its strongest students?

The silver-haired man spread his arms as if addressing them all personally. “But do not despair,” he said smoothly. “For I am here to offer you the truth. And soon, you shall witness what happens when those in power turn arrogant, thinking that they are the best.”

Before he could go on though, something happened.

A sudden shift in the atmosphere sent ripples of sheer dread through the Colosseum.

The very air trembled, and a deep, almost suffocating pressure crashed down on everyone present. It was raw, unfiltered power—something far beyond what even the most talented mages in the academy could hope to withstand.

A deafening silence followed as all eyes turned skyward.

Above the Colosseum, a lone figure floated in midair, his mere presence distorting the space around him.

He was a tall man, seemingly in his early thirties, with jet-black hair that barely moved despite the winds roaring around him. His piercing violet eyes radiated an ancient, untamed power, and the deep blue robes he wore, embroidered with golden runes, shimmered with contained magic.

His gaze locked onto the silver-haired boy standing at the center of the arena, and in the next instant—

Thud!

The silver-haired youth dropped to one knee, his face twisting into a grimace. The overwhelming force pressing down on him was unlike anything he had ever encountered.

His limbs felt as if they were being crushed under the weight of a mountain, his magic flickering as if struggling against an undeniable force of nature.

But he was not the only one affected.

The already injured fourth-year students collapsed entirely, sprawling onto the ground, their bodies unable to resist the suffocating pressure.

Despite his pride, Cracus could do nothing as his vision blurred, his body refusing to obey him. Even the spectators in the stands found it hard to breathe, sweat dripping down their foreheads as they felt the aftershocks of the man’s mere presence.

The man in the sky finally spoke, his voice calm yet carrying the weight of absolute authority.

“You talk too much for someone who doesn’t understand the weight of true power.”

His words were neither rushed nor loud, but they were effortlessly carried through the entire Colosseum. The silver-haired youth clenched his fists, his golden eyes flashing with something unreadable.

And then, for the first time since he had arrived, a smirk tugged at his lips.

“Is the older generation of the greatest academy in the world trying to meddle in the affairs of the younger generation?”

The audience just remained silent, feeling unworthy to even voice out a comment.

The man in the air, however, didn’t seem affected by the words of the silver-haired boy. He gazed down at the guy in contempt as he replied. “We are not interfering in a scuffle of the younger generation. I am merely teaching you how to behave, as this is not your backyard for you to act so arrogantly.”

Hearing those words, the silver-haired boy realized his fault. In an attempt to taunt the academy’s students, he had inadvertently spoken a bit too much, but that didn’t mean he would back down now.

“Hah! Excuses,” the guy scoffed, glaring at the man in the air. “You are just trying to remove me from here, as you know that no one among your students can defeat me.”

The man in the air didn’t respond immediately and stared at the silver-haired boy for a while before he spoke. “I will wait until you are defeated then.”

His words caused the grin on the silver-haired boy’s lips to stretch wider, even more so when he felt the pressure pressing down on him disappear, but the man added before he could get happier.

“The moment you get defeated is the moment you die.”

With those words, the man left, leaving the stunned audience, and the silver-haired boy, although disturbed by the fact that he would be fighting with his life on the line, didn’t feel any less confident about his victory.

“Haha.”

It was then that a weak chuckle was heard, causing the silver-haired boy to frown as he turned toward Cracus. He was the one who chuckled.

Carcus, however, didn’t falter under the boy’s gaze, a grin appearing on his lips as he spoke. “You dug your own grave, you bastard.” Sneering, he added, “We are the champions? Bullshit. The real champions never left the academy, and you just challenged them—”

Baam!

Before he could complete his words though, his head smashed on the ground and he fell unconscious.

“So you were just a side character?” The silver-haired boy stared at Carcus with disdain, shaking his head. “No wonder you spoke too much.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep