The Legendary Mage (Alavin)

Chapter 40

Celesse couldn't understand. What kind of wrong could make them torment Alavin for eight years? Why did they enslave Stomcast for eight years?

She had thought that advancing to Advanced Mage would help Alavin improve his situation, but now it seemed not as simple as she had imagined.

...

The next morning, Alavin carried on as usual, delivering goods with a stone urn. The 10th Arena was the most urgent, requiring sturdy iron chains.

In the realm of Cobalt Strike, atop fifteen mighty peaks, there lay the Arenas, grand battlegrounds hewn from the hardest bedrock, each spanning over three hundred meters across, and adorned with an array of training apparatuses. These sacred grounds were reserved for the seasoned warriors and those directly apprenticed to Senior and Elite Protégés. Intermediate Protégés could only gaze upon these sites with yearning, while the freshman were not permitted to tread near.

The strict hierarchy of Cobalt Strike was evident in every facet, seemingly harsh but designed to spur its Protégés to greater heights. If one desired access to superior resources and accommodations, they had to be earned through strength and valor.

Although Alavin was but a freshmsn, his role as a servant granted him the rare opportunity to traverse the Arenas under the guise of making deliveries.

The spacious Arena was alive with the practice of hundreds of Protégés. Explosions of fireballs, surging waves of earth, a dance of sharp ice spears, and the clashing of swords against wild great axes filled the air. A myriad of Combat Magic roared in battle while hundreds of onlookers cheered from the sidelines.

"Make haste, you sluggard!" Alavin had barely reached the summit when an angry shout met him.

"If you're in such a rush, fetch it yourself. I deliver in the order listed!" Alavin replied indifferently, dropping the stone urn with a thunderous crash, drawing the gaze of many.

"How dare you backtalk?" A burly youth marched over, pointing at Alavin's nose with fury. "Know your place, you're a servant, tasked with deliveries, not training. If I see you loitering with that urn again, I'll shatter it—and you along with it!"

"Mind your own business. You’re out of line," Alavin retorted, hauling out a thick chain from the urn and dragging it toward an Arena.

"I'm in no mood for insolence today. Best not provoke me," the youth growled, planting his foot upon the chain. His name was Gudmund, a recognized senior Protégé within Cobalt Strike. Having just suffered a humiliating defeat in the Arena, he was looking to vent his frustration on Alavin.

"Remove your foot," Alavin said coldly, facing down the provocation he'd known all too well.

"You think you can defy a senior Protégé because you're a Stage III Novice Mage? Impudent boy, you're begging for a beating!" Gudmund sneered, drawing his blade and striking with a swift, gusty force.

"I'm just a Freshman yet I'm already at Stage III, while you, a Senior barely at Stage V - isn't it embarrassing?" Alavin ridiculed mercilessly. Briskly, he wrapped the chains around his arm, pulling forcefully and managed to yank the long chain from underneath Gudmund's feet.

"Haha! You were arrogant before, and you're even more so now. What does it matter if you're at Stage III? Without Combat Magic, you're still a nothing." Gudmund unsheathed his sword with a clang, slashing towards Alavin, his sword style was fierce and fast, creating gusts of wind as it moves.

"Gudmund, this is too much!" A young maiden's voice rang out from afar, disapproving of his conduct.

"Gudmund, how dare you bully a mere servant, have you no shame?" Others murmured their discontent, though none stepped forward to intervene.

Alavin's expression darkened as he deftly sidestepped the steel blade, delivering a swift slap across Gudmund's face. His palm struck with the force of a hammer, sending Gudmund staggering backward, blood and teeth scattering as his head snapped back. This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

Gudmund reeled back ten paces, and his right cheek was swelling visibly.

The surrounding Protégés inhaled sharply, impressed by Alavin's fierce retribution.

"You bastard, I'll tear you apart!" Gudmund, face and eyes flushed with anger, shook his head violently and lunged at Alavin with his blade raised.

Alavin gripped the hefty chain, spinning it through the air with a thunderous crash. The chain, weighing over three hundred pounds and stretching over ten meters, was wielded with ease, drawing gasps of amazement from the crowd.

Crackling with arcs of electricity, Alavin channeled his burgeoning power through his arm into the chain.

"Damn you, I'll—" Gudmund's threat was cut short as the chain, now a whistling lash, struck his back with a resounding snap. The blow tore open flesh, spraying blood. Stunned spectators watched as the robust chain sent Gudmund tumbling down the mountainside, rolling along the rocky path below.