"The lineup for Team One of the Four Stars Academy is as follows: Itekan Líe, Itoyea Pilton, Jokovik Martennel, Bukanami Ao, and Nuelle Ness. You five will enter the Kendei Dungeon from the north. There, you'll rendezvous with the Carcarkak Bloom Knights and the Rangers Academy from Frussia."
Keel Kun's voice cut through the crowded square, calm yet commanding.
The five names called stepped onto the circular platform where an instructor stood ready. Once Keel Kun gave a nod, a brilliant ripple of light swallowed them whole, and the space where they stood was empty.
"Team Two," Keel Kun continued, "Binturu Binturu, Tendo Kech, Tobi Fustavo, Great Man, and Candice Laīde. You'll enter the Kendei Dungeon from the central gate. Your rally teams will be the Rangers Academy from Frussia and the Hero Academy from Marcellonia."
Another group ascended the next teleportation platform, each standing at disciplined attention as the air shimmered around them. In a blink, they too vanished.
"And lastly," Keel Kun said, his tone softening just slightly, "Cheim Nell, Kutote Tuo, Konacho Ojoche, Illiopo Sengares, and Korimer Ransthrol. You will move through the southern entrance of Kendei Dungeon. Your rally will include the Hero Academy from Marcellonia and the Bloom Knights of Carcarkak."
The last team approached without hesitation—largely thanks to Korimer, who could barely contain himself. The gleam in his eyes made it clear: he was hungry to return to the heart of battle.
---
A low tremor rolled through the city as the colossal gates of the coliseum began to part.
One by one, the trainees from all four academies entered the vast marble arena, their academy crests glinting beneath the golden light of the protective barrier above.
From the stands came a rising wave of cheers — sharp, thunderous, and alive with anticipation. Overhead, three massive holographic screens shimmered into being, conjured by Kime's deft control of spatial threads. They flickered, then stabilized, displaying live views of the dungeon gates.
Every eye in the coliseum — trainee, instructor, and citizen alike — turned upward. The roar of the crowd built like a storm.
High above, in the royal box, the Four Thrones had taken their seats.
The Kings of Brandish and Falmouth sat side by side, their crowns gleaming with tempered brilliance, but their guards' uneasy tension betrayed the cold politics beneath their calm.
Beside them lounged the Prime Minister of the Taltaba Federation — a small man with a waxed mustache he believed made him intimidating.
The last throne stood empty… but all three men present already knew whom it awaited.
Just below, in the velvet-lined VIP section, the true powerhouses of the continent gathered.
The High Priest of Light — Namor, the Golden Son — sat like a statue, his very presence commanding awe. Rumor claimed he had once faced the God of Light, Iron, and survived. None dared ask if it were true.
A few seats down, the Minister of Trade, Alan Alskashore, conversed lazily with a merchant from the Frost Mountains about expanding his luxury brand there.
Next to them, Dr. VonShmit, mayor of Rosa Town, reclined with a rare ease; since Carpathia had entrusted Mt. Dekka to him, he'd scarcely seen sunlight.
In the row above, Corinth Ransthrol — unmistakable with his burning red hair — strode in, followed by a hooded figure whose aura bent the air.
"So glad you came, Lord Absolam," Corinth said with a half-smile.
The man lowered his hood. His voice was cold, almost mechanical. "After all I've invested in your little spectacle, it would be rude not to attend the finale."
Corinth chuckled. "Still, I must say, I'm impressed. When you claimed you could produce five hundred complete Zengas in a week, I almost doubted you."
Lord Absolam's eyes hardened. "I never break my word."
Corinth only smiled, hiding the thought that crossed his mind: No I doubt it. If you really did the Archem Knights wouldn't have died the way they had — like dogs.
A few rows below, the Four Instructors' Council gathered — the stoic Master Gendric, the silver-haired Sir Renar, and the armored mountain of a man, Doldan Fyrecrest — quietly discussing sword forms and counterstyles.
Nearby, Instructor Meris Veyna and Sensei Pwain clinked glasses of crimson wine, while St. Bzeekl and his petite aide sat in complete silence, the aide checking her pocket watch with nervous frequency.
Then, Keel Kun stepped forward to the edge of the stage.
He raised a hand.
The coliseum fell utterly silent.
"By order of the Four Academies," he declared, "and under the eyes of the Kings of Brandish and Falmouth and the Prime Minister of the Talbata Federation, I welcome you… to the first-ever Inter-Academy Competition — the Tatum-Deru!"
The arena erupted.
The crowd's roar cracked the air like thunder. Bells tolled from high spires across the city, ringing in the start of a new legend.
---
Far away, in a barren wilderness untouched by time, the skies trembled.
The heavens split open.
A staircase of light descended from the rift — radiant, dreadful, divine. It was one of the few moments in history when heaven itself touched earth.
And through that golden veil, a dark man stepped forth.
He stood six feet tall, his dreadlocks tied neatly into a bun. His eyes burned with devouring intent, and the gold raiment on his body shimmered like molten sunlight.
The moment his foot touched the ground, the earth convulsed. The plains cracked open. The air itself seared and warped beneath the weight of his presence.
This was not a mortal man not anymore. No this was wrath incarnate.
Everything he once was — his name, his rank, his honor — had been stripped away in a single day. His world, his future, destroyed by the hands of another.
Yet it was that same person who had forced his rebirth. Who had driven him to glimpse the truth beyond mortality — to understand why Carpathia had once looked down on him not with hatred, but indifference.
A god does not hate an insect. He simply crushes it.
And so, he'd became one.
A god born not of grace, but vengeance.
His name… was Fadex.
And he would have his revenge.
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