The Legendary Mage (Alavin)

Chapter 2

Suddenly, the crowd gasped as Alavin leaped to his feet. His right fist clenched tightly as he hurled it towards Elder Jaslin. "For the second round! Take this punch!"

To everyone's amazement, the lightning that cloaked his body now converged into his fist, bursting with intense light. It was something impossible for a newly initiated Novice Mage to achieve.

“Humph!” Elder Jaslin suddenly turned around, brushing past Alavin as she slammed her palm into his abdomen. Alavin spat blood and was sent flying backward, crashing down below the raised dais and tumbling over several times before coming to a stop.

"Could it be that he is at Stage II of Novice Mage?" Many onlookers assessed Alavin's strength. To concentrate magic to such an extent was certainly not within the abilities of a Stage I Novice Mage. This lad was indeed a prodigy, having reached this level through his own trials. At that moment, they even pondered, how powerful Alavin might become if he were not the son of a criminal. Could he be seriously trained by Cobalt Strike? Alas, fate had been cruel to him.

Struggling to his feet, Alavin coughed up another mouthful of blood, wobbling unsteadily. His abdomen burned with fiery agony as if a fierce blaze were consuming him from within.

The crowd dispersed around him, and none stepped forward to offer assistance. However, a few impudent youths exaggerated their expressions as they scrutinized Alavin.

"Well, did Master Alavin just give us a demonstration of a dog eating dirt? Come on now. Give a round of applause, please. That performance was spot on."

"Look at you, you are so bold! You actually tried to launch a sneak attack on an Elder."

"Got what you deserved for your arrogance!"

"You were so proud, weren't you? So mighty, weren't you? How come you can hardly stand now? Need me to help you up?"

"You came here to be a hostage, so behave and atone for your parents' sins, and atone for the twenty thousand people of Stormcast." Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

Alavin abruptly raised his head. His eyes reddened, sweeping over the crowd.

The few Protégés shivered internally, immediately shutting their mouths as their gazes drifted away. They had sparred with Alavin often enough, and usually ended up bruised and battered. A fact that cast a shadow of fright over their hearts.

Elder Jaslin descended the testing platform and faced Alavin. Her voice was as cold as her expression. "Crawl back to the storeroom and do your duty as a servant. Cobalt Strike will never train you; you'd best not show your face at any more trials."

After a brief pause, Alavin dusted himself off and managed a bloody, carefree grin. "One day, I'll earn the standing I deserve within Cobalt Strike, and it won't be beneath you. Mark my words."

The woman grasped Alavin's shoulder. "If you were truly wise, you'd accept your reality and dutifully redeem your parents' sins."

Alavin shook off her hand and strode away. His bloodied mouth was a fearsome sight, causing the crowd to part ways for him, and not daring to block his path. But he hadn't gone far when a group of noble-looking young men and women approached.

Leading them was a handsome but haughty young man named Tyral, who held a significant status among the ordinary Protégés and was going to be Elder Jaslin's chosen Elite Protégés. His favor wasn't due to any exceptional talent but because his sister was already the Elder Jaslin's beloved apprentice.

This year's Sanctum of Mystical Scrolls competition happened to be overseen by this same Elder, thus ensuring Tyral's passage and entry into the Sanctum of Mystical Scrolls.

"Isn't this Master Alavin? Here to take the trial?"

Tyral stood before Alavin, feigning concern as he surveyed him, while his eyes held more mockery than anything else. Alavin had bested him many times before, but from this day forth, their fates would finally diverge. Tyral was destined for the Sanctum of Mystical Scrolls, to inherit powerful Combat Magic and become an Elite Protégés, with limitless prospects ahead. And Alavin? He would continue to languish in his storeroom as a servant.

Alavin ignored him and continued forward.

Tyral reached out to stop him. "Master Alavin, in a foul mood, are ya? Do you want to know why I’m feeling so splendid..."

Alavin suddenly turned, raising his fist. His bloodied mien turned fierce.

Tyral's complexion shifted, and he stumbled back in panic in full view of the crowd.

But rather than strike, Alavin wiped the blood from his mouth and scoffed with contempt. "Elite Protégé? Don't wet yourself. Move aside."

Elder Jaslin saw this exchange and frowned slightly, clearly dissatisfied with Tyral's conduct.

Tyral noticed her look, and his face flushed with embarrassment. He was nearly ready to pursue a fight but was quietly held back by his companions. The trial was more important, with hundreds of eyes watching. Alavin would be dealt with later.

Watching Alavin's retreating back, Tyral seethed with resentment. Now was the time he needed to shine, and yet he had been humiliated. "Hmph, Alavin, your reckoning will come."

Alavin left the trial grounds and headed for the Cobalt Strike storeroom. Along the way, people bustled about, the Protégés of Cobalt Strike chatting and laughing. The atmosphere was relaxed and lively. When people saw Alavin's bloodied mouth and unsteady gait, some ignored him, some pitied him, some shook their heads, and others mocked from afar. "Behave as the servant you are; it suits a criminal's offspring. You’re always causing trouble, and it's a wonder you've survived this long."

And as for his name, Alavin? It seemed to echo his destiny.