The Crest of Ruin

After reaching his room Lucien took started traning his mana as he was reaching closer to 2nd circle final stage. He thought that his breathing method is still not too perfect and he will need a breathing method. Well, after he won the selection trials he can ask his father to give him a good breathing script, After that he took a short rest as today are the selection trial (Round 1) and its gonna be a long day though. After some time Lucien stepped out of his chambers, adjusting the dark outer cloak draped over his shoulders. His robes were tailored in the deep shades of obsidian and silver—formal but practical—accented by the crest of House Velentis near the collar. A polished obsidian wand rested at his hip.

Outside the door, Lyra stood waiting with her head slightly bowed, hands neatly clasped in front of her.

"Young Master," she greeted, her voice even. "The final preparations are underway."

Lucien gave her a brief nod. "Status?"

"The arena is being sealed. The vassal families have begun arriving at the southern gates. The Duke instructed that you make your entrance once the assembly formation is complete."

He moved forward down the hall, Lyra following a few steps behind.

"Has my father said anything else?"

"Only that today is yours to handle. He will be observing, not guiding."

Lucien's expression didn't shift, but his pace slowed just slightly as they approached the stairs leading down toward the outer courtyard.

The stone corridor opened into a landing, where a large arch overlooked the gathering grounds. Below, servants scurried between banners, and warding mages were reinforcing the outer rings of the dueling field. Carriages began lining up outside the estate's side entrance—each one bearing a different crest.

Lucien paused, his eyes scanning the scene in silence.

Soon, they'll be walking through those gates—heads high, voices louder than their worth, each hoping their child will outshine the heir just like in previous life how they always wanted to make me look low.

He adjusted his collar calmly.

"They always arrive with pride," he muttered under his breath, "but forget whose reign is here."

Lyra looked up. "Shall I announce your departure?"

Lucien shook his head slightly. "No need. I'll walk in when I'm ready."

He looked down once more, then turned from the ledge.

"Return to your station. I'll go alone from here."

"Yes, Young Master."

She bowed and stepped back.

Lucien descended the steps alone, his cloak trailing behind like a drawn blade—calm, unreadable, and ready.

THE TRIAL BEGINS

The southern courtyard of House Velentis had transformed overnight.

Banners bearing ancient crests hung from every pillar. The dueling platform — a wide circle etched with glowing runes — shimmered faintly as outer barrier wards activated one by one. Elite knights stood at attention near the edge, while mages reinforced the protective dome from above.

One by one, the vassal families arrived.

The Carthenys, draped in icy blue, known for elemental magic. Their heir, Malric, stepped down from his carriage with a smirk, tossing his coat aside as servants scrambled to catch it. Arrogant. Flashy. Always loud in both magic and words.

The Drells followed soon after — adorned in silver and slate. Ceyla Drell, quiet as ever, stood beside her stern mother, Lady Marienne. Ceyla's pale green eyes barely flicked toward the crowd, but they lingered on the far entrance… waiting.

Then came the Thorne family — specialized in spatial and trap magic. Their heir, Eris Thorne, carried himself like a coiled viper. He didn't speak, but his eyes moved with calculation, already measuring who was worth fearing.

Each carriage, each step, added to the pressure.

Whispers followed every arrival.

"Did you hear Lord Velentis's son reached Second Circle already?"

"He's still a child. Maybe just a fluke."

"Then why is Duke Kael personally overseeing the trials?"

The crowd stiffened as the main gates parted.

Lucien Velentis walked through.

No escort. No fanfare.

Just a boy in black and silver robes, eyes like polished amethyst, and the air of someone who didn't need to prove a damn thing.

The murmurs fell quiet.

He walked across the stone tiles like he owned them — because he did.

Near the central podium, Duke Kael Velentis stood tall. The weight of command clung to him as naturally as breath. His long black coat brushed the ground, his violet eyes unreadable as he looked over the assembled heirs and families.

He raised a single hand.

Silence.

"This Selection Trial will determine which five names represent House Velentis at the Imperial Talent Assembly along with my son."

His voice echoed through the warded dome, calm yet sharp.

"Four talented young mages will be chosen from among our loyal vassals. You will not be judged by your name — but by what your magic can prove today."

He glanced briefly toward Lucien.

"No interference will be allowed. The duels are to first submission or unconsciousness. Healers are standing by. If you lose control… consequences will follow."

He let the words settle before stepping back.

"Begin."

The sky above the Velentis dueling ground shimmered with reinforced barrier magic, cast by Duke Kael himself. Rows of vassals and their families lined the elevated viewing stands, eager eyes fixed on the tournament ring below.

Lucien sat in the upper-left balcony, arms crossed, face blank. A thin veil of magic cloaked his presence—not invisibility, just enough to avoid being the center of attention.

The Selection Trial had begun.

Match 1: Veylan Moren vs. Kallis Derroth

Veylan was arrogant. He walked in with his staff swinging like it was a sword.

Kallis didn't wait.

He released a surge of compressed wind blades, thin and sharp. Veylan tried to counter with a wall of flames, but his control wavered.

The wind split through, cutting through Veylan's defense and slamming him into the wall.

Lucien narrowed his eyes.

"First blood. Kallis wins. Aggressive opener, but no follow-through. He's all burst, no planning."

Match 4: Ceyla Drell vs. Asmen Torell

Ceyla walked into the ring without emotion. Her black hair tied neatly, her movements calm—too calm.

Asmen smiled, conjuring twin orbs of lightning.

"Don't hold back, Lady Drell," he teased.

She didn't reply.

In one swift motion, a shimmering dome of barrier expanded outward, absorbing the lightning before reversing its polarity. Asmen's attack snapped back toward him, ten times stronger.

He collapsed, twitching.

Lucien thought as he watched her return to the sidelines. " effective, she got talent and brains to react quickly.

Match 9: Lysandra Merren vs. Hale Stron

Lysandra—or Lysa—stood quietly, hands at her side.

Hale summoned arcane missiles—twelve of them, rotating in patterns.

A decent technique.

Lysa didn't move. Just stared.

And then—the ground exploded beneath Hale's feet.

She had layered delayed earth enchantments beneath him during the referee's introduction.

Hale barely had time to react before being pinned under layers of mana-infused stone.He started bleeding througout, and was sent to healers in order to stop bleeding"

"Sneaky bitch," Lucien muttered under his breath, watching her walk off like nothing happened.

"She's the kind of mage who'll kill you before you ever cast."

Match 14: Talven Rourke vs. Dain Velmor

Talven opened with mirror illusions. Five copies danced around the arena.

Dain used mana field detection—tried to feel which one was real.

It worked… until the illusions rotated mana frequencies.

Dain hesitated.

A lightning bolt slammed into his back.

He fell, groaning.

Talven grinned.

"Clever with deception, but no stamina," Lucien thought, unimpressed. "Tricks don't win wars."

As the dust settled and the matches concluded, the announcer stepped forward.

"The four representatives for House Velentis are—"

Ceyla Drell of House Drell

Lysandra Merren of House Merren

Talven Rourke of House Rourke

Kallis Derroth of House Derroth

Cheers echoed across the grounds.

Lucien remained still, watching each of them walk up to the center. They bowed before the Duke—Kael Velentis nodded faintly, his eyes unreadable.

Lucien's own thoughts churned.

The final four names echoed across the dueling yard.

Ceyla Drell. Lysandra Merren. Talven Rourke. Kallis Derroth.

The crowd broke into hushed murmurs, some clapping, some silent. Pride, envy, and ambition filled the air like static before a storm.

From the upper balcony, Lucien Velentis stood with arms folded, watching quietly.

He didn't smile. Didn't react.

Just observed.

The four stood in the ring below, backs straight, mana still clinging faintly to their forms like mist after battle. Blood stained the edges of their training robes. But none of them faltered.

Good. They're still standing.

But in Lucien's eyes, he wasn't looking at their present.

He was staring into the past.