CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 712: Tournament [Castle Bonus - ]

Asher’s gaze involuntarily drifted towards Teo Swig, the immense presence emanating from the boy palpable. He had always been curious about the strength possessed by third-year students, and observing Teo Swig provided a clear, undeniable answer.

'He is strong,' Asher mused internally.

It was common knowledge that top-ranked individuals in any given year rarely relinquished their positions. This held true for Asher, who had maintained his rank for ten months, and for Thalric, who had held his for a year. Teo Swig, similarly, had clung to his own rank without faltering, a testament to his talent, consistency, and resilience.

Among the commoners from his home territory of the Viscount, Teo Swig was their pride, a shining example of what could be achieved without noble lineage.

Shaking his head, Asher shifted his focus away from Teo Swig. He closed his eyes, deciding to wait out the remaining thirty minutes since the event’s commencement precisely at ten o'clock. With that, he drifted back to sleep, his body entering a light rest, oblivious to his surroundings.

The instant thirty minutes elapsed, Asher’s eyes snapped open with the system's notification. Coinciding with this, the hall's lights dimmed immediately. The prevailing whispers and murmurs instantly ceased, as every student held their breath, the atmosphere shifting to one of absolute concentration.

A stage stood before them, captivating their attention. In the next moment, the very fabric of reality seemed to warp as space rippled into a swirling portal. From this vortex, Cindralis, the Space Goddess, emerged with serene grace, her beauty as timeless and untouched as ever.

Upon her arrival, she turned to face the assembled students. She was alone – no Vice Principal, no Instructor accompanied her. It was solely her, standing solitary yet effortlessly commanding the complete attention of everyone present.

"I am aware that most of you have been consumed by curiosity for the past seven months. Your parents urged you to train harder, and the Logistics and Missions Operations Hall remained closed. Therefore, I will dispense with pleasantries and proceed directly to the matter at hand," she began, her voice remarkably low yet carrying to every corner of the hall, as if space itself bent to her will to convey her words.

"All of you were born within the Zarethorne Empire, shielded by the protection of Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor. Now, you stand within this Academy, receiving instruction from me, free of charge," she continued with calm resolve. "However, the time has arrived to repay the Star Academy and the Empire," she added, her words resonating with a quiet finality.

Her pronouncement caused a ripple of reactions. Expressions shifted as students pondered the meaning of "repay." Curiosity, confusion, and anticipation flickered across various faces, yet no one spoke. They simply waited, allowing her to continue without interruption.

"The four Empires of Crymora share a pact that is enacted once every twenty years," Cindralis elaborated. "It is an Inter-Empire tournament where every Academy within each Empire is granted the opportunity to showcase their young prodigies. This year marks the twentieth anniversary since the last such tournament," she paused briefly, letting the significance of her statement sink in.

"The victor of this tournament is bestowed with rewards, collectively amassed by the four Empires – a point which requires no further elaboration, naturally," she proceeded. "Now, regarding the specifics: the requirements, rules, types of battles, and the tournament format vary with each iteration. At times, only a single individual may represent the Empire; at other times, a group of two, ten, or even a hundred. It is different every single time. Consequently, neither I nor you are privy to the exact rules of the upcoming tournament," she paused once more, her gaze sweeping across the hall, observing the reactions.

Indeed, everyone was taken aback. None had anticipated this development. Well, perhaps with the exception of Asher, who had considered the possibility but couldn't be certain, as it was merely one guess among many. Even Thalric, whose face typically remained devoid of emotion, displayed a subtle yet discernible trace of shock.

This was to be a confrontation between different Empires. The rewards generated by the four Empires would be astronomical, far exceeding anything most of them had ever imagined. Moreover, the prestige, honor, fame, and wealth associated with winning such a tournament were undeniably alluring. Although the exact nature of the tournament remained unknown, they could all surmise one fundamental outcome: it would inevitably culminate in battle and bloodshed.

Crymora was a realm steeped in blood, death, and betrayal. Surely, this tournament would not involve displays of intellect in trivial contests or the solving of harmless riddles; it would undoubtedly be far more ruthless.

"Each and every one of you present here is considered a candidate. The current rules even allow for the selection not of the strongest, but of the ten weakest students from all the Academies," Cindralis elaborated, her voice unwavering. "Therefore, within the span of one month, everyone seated in this very hall will be dispatched to the Thalvorn Empire to serve as representatives for the Zarethorne Empire," Cindralis declared, her tone devoid of emotion.

Her pronouncement hit everyone like a thunderclap. They had initially anticipated the competition to be held locally, but the revelation that they would be sent to the Thalvorn Empire ignited a spark within them. Excitement and curiosity surged; who wouldn't relish the chance to explore a foreign empire? The prospect of immersing themselves in unfamiliar lands, experiencing diverse cultures, interacting with new people, and witnessing sights beyond their current comprehension was undeniably appealing.

However, their burgeoning excitement abruptly subsided as a single, sobering thought surfaced: the deadline was merely one month away.

A wave of hushed conversations rippled through the hall, growing in volume. Questions arose regarding the late announcement. Had they been informed earlier, they mused, they would have dedicated themselves to more rigorous training, thereby enhancing their prospects of victory. Moreover, a gnawing uncertainty emerged: what if the other three Empires had been preparing for this event for an entire year, while their own preparation time was restricted to a mere month?

Cindralis did not resort to shouting for silence. Instead, she subtly emanated a fraction of her overwhelming existential presence – not even exerting pressure, yet the entire hall instantly perceived its immense weight. All sound ceased, and every gaze snapped towards her. She stood there, unmoving, observing them with an expression that suggested they were being utterly foolish.

"While I comprehend your concerns and acknowledge the logic behind them, I unfortunately do not operate under such pretenses," she resumed speaking. "If you require an event like this tournament to compel you to push your limits daily and achieve progress, then you were never meant to be in my Separate Dimension, nor were you ever intended to participate in this tournament," her words were blunt, delivered with a sharp, unvarnished directness.

This sentiment perfectly encapsulated her nature. When Malrik unleashed a tempest of golden-orange sword strikes upon her Separation Dimension, plunging it into chaos and devastation, she had remained a passive observer. Her rationale was that her subordinates had grown excessively accustomed to peace and required a stark reminder of reality.

If she was capable of watching her own Separate Dimension succumb to flames without intervention, what significance did a mere competition hold? What were an additional twenty years to someone whose rumored lifespan rivaled even that of the legendary Sinvairas?

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