The Genius Mage Was Reincarnated Into A Swordsman Family

The metallic groan of the ancient gate reverberated through the coliseum, growing louder with each passing second. The air, thick with anticipation, crackled with invisible tension as the gate creaked upward. Shadows danced along the stone floor, twisting into grotesque shapes cast by the flickering torchlight lining the arena's walls.

The trainees stood frozen in place, eyes fixed on the gate. Even those who gripped their weapons with confidence couldn't ignore the sensation of dread slithering through the air like an unseen predator.

The gate continued its slow ascent. The sound was sharp and grating, like the creak of iron joints long untouched by human hands. Bits of dust and debris rained down from the stone arch above, signaling the unveiling of something locked away for decades—possibly centuries.

Melo stood motionless atop the central platform, his silver mask gleaming beneath the torches. The golden eyes behind the mask scanned the group without expression. The man said nothing, his silence somehow louder than any battle cry. Discover more stories at My Virtual Library Empire

Finally, with a jarring metallic snap, the gate locked into place.

The maw of the coliseum's basement yawned open before them.

Nothing happened.

The tension deepened.

The shadows within the passage writhed unnaturally, but no creature emerged. The torchlight failed to penetrate the abyss, as though the darkness itself resisted intrusion.

The quiet stretched.

Then—

A single growl broke the silence.

It was deep, guttural, and distinctly predatory.

From the gate, a figure emerged.

It stepped forward slowly, its padded feet making no sound on the stone floor. The creature's lean frame cut a sleek silhouette against the flickering light. When it fully stepped into view, the trainees finally saw it.

A wolf.

But not an ordinary one.

Its fur was charcoal gray with streaks of black running along its spine. The texture of the fur seemed wrong—almost metallic, with strands shimmering like fine, dark wire. Its eyes glowed an eerie green, devoid of warmth or intelligence. The creature's chest rose and fell with slow precision, and its long, muscular legs suggested it was built for bursts of speed rather than endurance.

Its maw parted slightly, revealing rows of jagged teeth stained a sickly yellow. Saliva dripped from its fangs, sizzling faintly when it touched the ground.

The wolf surveyed the group.

Its eyes settled on the trainees near the back.

Klaus's gaze sharpened. It's targeting the weakest links.

He recognized the beast immediately: Grade 1, Class 1 Shadow Wolf.

A low-tier creature commonly used for combat training, but its predatory instincts were very real.

"This is supposed to be scary?" a boy muttered, the tension in his voice betraying his bravado.

Another trainee forced a laugh. "It looks half-starved."

The murmurs spread. Relief replaced fear.

The creature was smaller than expected. Its presence, while unsettling, lacked the overwhelming dread many had anticipated.

And then someone stepped forward.

A boy with a stocky build and shaggy brown hair. His expression was tense but determined. In his right hand, he gripped a standard-issue training sword, its dull steel surface catching the firelight. The blade was well-maintained but unremarkable—a tool, not a weapon of mastery.

The name stitched into his uniform read: Gareth Arwin.

"Stay back," someone warned.

"I've got this," Gareth said through clenched teeth. His knuckles whitened around the sword's hilt. "It's just one wolf."

The Shadow Wolf snarled, lowering itself into a crouch. Its muscles coiled.

The air seemed to hum with invisible tension.

Klaus instinctively shifted his weight forward, ready to intervene if necessary.

The wolf moved first.

Its hind legs uncoiled with explosive speed, propelling it toward Gareth in a blur of gray and black. The wolf's jaws snapped open midair, aiming for his throat.

Gareth didn't hesitate.

He raised his sword and lunged forward with an awkward, clumsy thrust. His footwork was uneven, his grip shaky—but the wolf had committed to its attack.

The blade pierced the creature's chest just below its neck.

The wolf let out a strangled yelp, its green eyes flickering with momentary confusion. Its body convulsed once.

Then, with a sound like crumpling parchment, the wolf dissolved into dark smoke.

The smoke curled upward before dispersing into the air.

Where the beast had fallen, a small, glowing red crystal lay on the ground. The gem pulsed faintly, as though it retained a fragment of the creature's lifeforce.

Gareth blinked at the crystal. His breathing was erratic, his chest heaving. Then, his lips stretched into a grin.

"See?" he shouted, raising his sword overhead. "Nothing to it!"

The other trainees erupted into cheers.

The oppressive tension dissipated, replaced by confidence and excitement. If Gareth—a boy known for his mediocre swordsmanship—could dispatch a beast so easily, then perhaps the trial wasn't as dangerous as they had feared.

"This'll be easy!" someone called.

"Yeah! Just wolves!"

The false confidence spread like wildfire.

Klaus didn't move.

Nicholas frowned. "They're getting careless."

"They won't stay careless for long," Klaus murmured. His eyes were locked on the gate. The shadows hadn't stopped moving. The runes etched into the stone glowed brighter with each passing second.

The ground vibrated beneath his feet.

The gate trembled.

And then it began.

A deep, resonant growl echoed from the depths of the gate.

The green eyes returned.

First one pair.

Then three.

Then five.

Ten.

Twenty.

They emerged as a pack—more than thirty wolves slinking into the arena. Their eyes glowed like lanterns in the dark, and their low, synchronized growls merged into a predatory hum that set every nerve on edge.

The laughter died in an instant.

The wolves moved with terrifying coordination. They fanned out across the arena, forming a wide, uneven circle that gradually tightened around the trainees.

"Th-There's so many," a girl whispered, voice trembling.

"They're just like the first one," another trainee said with forced confidence. "We can handle this."

But Klaus noticed something.

They're not coming for us.

The wolves weren't focused on the frontlines where the strongest fighters—himself, Nicholas, Alex, and Sarah Margot—stood.

Their gazes locked onto the weaker trainees clustered toward the back.

They're pack hunters.

"Formation!" Klaus barked. "Protect the rear!"

But it was too late.

The wolves charged.

Their movements were precise—far more organized than wild beasts. They sprinted toward the weakest targets, targeting those whose grips trembled on their swords or whose knees knocked together.

A wolf lunged at Lydia Corven, a girl barely old enough to participate in the trial.

She screamed, raising her sword haphazardly.

A blur of movement.

Sarah Margot's sword pierced the wolf mid-lunge. The creature vanished in a plume of smoke, leaving behind another red crystal.

"Hold your ground!" Sarah shouted.

Klaus intercepted another wolf. His sword arced through the air with practiced precision. The blade severed the creature's head cleanly. The beast dissipated instantly, leaving behind its crimson crystal.

A sharp chime echoed in his ears.

Ding!

[First Kill Detected.]

[A portion of the target's stats has been absorbed.]

[Agility stat increased by 0.3.]

Klaus froze.

His eyes widened slightly. His senses sharpened. His body suddenly felt… lighter.

Across the battlefield, Alex decapitated a wolf with a two-handed swing. His expression twisted as if struck by something invisible.

His eyes went wide.

Then came the sound:

Ding!

[First Kill Detected.]

[A portion of the target's stats has been absorbed.]

[Strength stat increased by 0.4.]

Alex's gaze snapped toward Klaus.

"What the hell is this?" he mouthed.

Klaus didn't answer.

His rune-marked palm throbbed.

The wolves charged again.