Jerome carefully wielded his staff, cautiously controlling the power of his spell to melt large rocks into molten lava. Alongside him were two other first-level wizards from different factions, engaged in the same task.
One wizard mixed some special metal particles into Jerome's molten lava, while the other cooled and solidified the "prepared" lava into large cubic blocks.
These standardized concrete blocks were then transported to another location, where specialized wizards inscribed simple runes onto them. Another group of wizards would then assemble these "refined" concrete blocks into the framework of the competition arena, followed by final "reinforcement" and decoration.
Each step was orderly and methodical.
The wizards responsible for each task had no communication with one another, speaking only when their mental energy was exhausted and they needed to "switch shifts." They would then retreat to a secluded corner to meditate alone.
This was partly because these wizards, from different factions, were not familiar with each other. Moreover, wizards involved in the construction of the arena held a "special status" at this location.
They were not the elite geniuses invited to the event; rather, their status in their respective factions was quite ordinary.
They were present because they had accepted the corresponding "task."
This was a gathering place for the gifted; any passing wizard could potentially be a genius from a faction, possessing strength dozens of times greater than theirs.
They were at the "bottom tier" here, performing tasks typically assigned to lower-tier wizards. While they didn't exactly stand out, they were indeed an easily overlooked "background element."
Another massive concrete block was successfully formed under the spell. Jerome exhaled gently, realizing his mental energy was nearly depleted. He considered finding someone to "switch shifts" after completing the next block.
As he quietly chanted the incantation, preparing for the next concrete block, someone approached and interrupted his spellcasting.
The newcomer was a second-level wizard from the Palace of Thorns, responsible for overseeing and directing work in this section.
Although from a different faction, Jerome maintained sufficient respect for the newcomer. He paused his work, intending to hear any instructions, but the newcomer only gave him a look and glanced in a certain direction.
Following the gaze, Jerome saw a tall figure in a black-gray robe with elegant silver trim, standing with his back to him, obscuring his features.
Jerome slowly approached the figure, gradually sensing the mental energy emanating from him.
It was the pressure of a second-level wizard, and likely mid-second-level or above. Jerome felt a growing sense of confusion and tension, wondering if he had inadvertently offended a prominent figure from another faction passing by.
As Jerome drew closer, the figure turned around.
The tall, upright silhouette revealed a remarkably young and handsome face.
At the sight of the face, Jerome was momentarily dazed, a mix of familiarity and unfamiliarity washing over him. He felt as though he had seen this face somewhere before, until...
The elegant, handsome young man calmly greeted him, "Long time no see... Lord Jerome."
Memories, not too distant yet deeply ingrained, surged forth, and Jerome's pupils constricted as he involuntarily uttered the name.
"Ronan... Are you Ronan Damien?!"
More and more wizards arrived by airship, powerful figures from various factions entering the scene as massive competition platforms rose one after another beneath the six suspended "dawn suns."
The Goblin Plains grew livelier as the sun set, with people bustling about.
Yet amidst this fervor and noise, Ronan and Jerome stood quietly facing each other, a stark contrast to the surroundings.
Ronan could discern the turbulent emotions beneath Jerome's seemingly calm exterior. He had anticipated this outcome; the atmosphere between them was subtly awkward.
Jerome eventually broke the silence, "I didn't expect to see you here... Damien."
Ronan softly replied, "I didn't expect it either."
He truly hadn't anticipated encountering Jerome at this competition. Back at Hoddam Academy, Jerome had "mentored" him a few times as a first-level wizard, even gifting him a map of the area surrounding Hoddam.
It was the map that guided Ronan to the Silver Ring. Without Jerome, Ronan might not be standing here today.
However, Ronan wasn't surprised to see Jerome as a wizard of Molten Lake.
He recalled that Jerome had been studying the Lava Ring spells at Hoddam Academy, so joining Molten Lake seemed a natural progression.
"You've exceeded my expectations."
Jerome looked at Ronan, his lips moving slightly, "Are you here as a member of the Silver Ring to observe the competition?"
Ronan hesitated, then nodded, "You could say that."
Jerome's expression grew more complex, uncertain of what to say.
He had witnessed Ronan, as a novice first-level wizard, defeat Laura, whose power had surged to late first-level. He had predicted that Ronan might one day reach the heights of the Hoddam Academy headmaster.
But he hadn't expected it to happen so quickly. It hadn't been long since that battle, yet Ronan had already advanced to second-level.
And not just any second-level wizard; those invited to observe this competition were notable figures, the best of their kind, from various factions.
"Let's talk about something else."
Ronan changed the subject, asking, "How's the academy now?"
"It's long gone."
Jerome shook his head, "But the wizard lands still exist. Goya and a few other official-level wizards returned to Hoddam after things settled, rebuilding a small faction on the ruins, managing the wizard lands' order as before."
"Goya..."
Ronan murmured the name, recalling that she was the blue-robed witch who had fled with Jerome during the Crimson Tower invasion.
"In fact, the headmaster's plan was for us to bring Laura to the Palace of Thorns. The headmaster had separated from the Palace of Thorns. During her battle with the Crimson Tower's third-level wizards, she sacrificed everything, leaving it all to the resurrected Laura."
Jerome continued, "Laura, inheriting the Unscathed Wood, was highly valued by the Palace of Thorns, marked as a genius for focused cultivation. Goya and I considered switching to plant spells."
"But later, Laura's secret assassination of Crimson Tower members was exposed. The Palace of Thorns paid a significant price to protect her."
"Laura was punished and imprisoned. At some point, we heard she had murdered and fled."
"...After that incident, we couldn't stay in the Palace of Thorns and left."
"Goya returned to Hoddam, while I joined Molten Lake, leveraging my previous connections with the Lava Ring."
Throughout the recounting, Jerome appeared calm, as if narrating an unrelated story.
Ronan listened to the aftermath, unsure how to respond.
The "mad dog" Laura's actions were as unpredictable as ever, yet they made sense, given her obsessive, fanatic, and cold demeanor.
Such a person deserved no sympathy; her presence only brought trouble and disaster to those around her. Letting her fend for herself was perhaps the best approach.
Ronan remained silent for a while, then handed Jerome a storage pouch.
"I still owe you for the map, Lord Jerome."
Jerome met Ronan's gaze, sensing the calm yet resolute intent behind it.
He nodded, silently accepting the storage pouch.
Ronan said no more, offering a simple farewell before turning to leave.
Jerome stood for a long time, gazing at Ronan's receding figure, his mind swirling with complicated thoughts.
Until a stern, deep voice interrupted his reverie, "Come with me."
Jerome turned to see a majestic robe adorned with orange-gold patterns, emanating a vast, fiery mental energy akin to a lake of molten lava.
His heart skipped a beat, quickly responding and respectfully following the figure.
As they walked, Jerome couldn't contain his anxiety and asked, "Sir, may I ask what this is about?"
The Molten Lake second-level wizard halted, turning slowly to face him with a cold expression.
"What is it about?"
"Ronan Damien, the most promising genius of the Silver Ring's new generation, and our opponent in this competition. You secretly met with him before the competition began, and you still ask why?"
Hearing this, Jerome was stunned, his mind buzzing.
He thought he had already imagined Ronan's potential, but he hadn't expected...
Just how high had Ronan risen now?
Ronan saw Jerome being led away by the Molten Lake wizard, his eyes flickering but paying little heed.
It was likely just a routine inquiry. The storage pouch he gave Jerome contained resources valuable to a first-level wizard but useless to him, unlikely to cause trouble for Jerome.
Retrieving his gaze, Ronan headed towards the Silver Ring's "camp."
By now, representatives from all factions had arrived, occupying six distinct areas.
In the Silver Ring's area, Ronan noticed Caroni, who had led the second battlefield team, the Third Ring Master. Beside him sat another individual likely of the Ring Master level, a powerful third-level wizard.
Kirstie hadn't come.
Caroni noticed Ronan and waved from afar.
Ronan approached, observing the "radiant" Orion.
Known as the "Four-Colored Metal," Orion was the strongest genius of the Silver Ring's younger generation, as confident and proud as Ronan remembered.
His golden hair shone like sunlight under the night sky, and he sat quietly in the central position beneath two Ring Masters, his gaze fixed in one direction.
Ronan glanced that way—unsurprisingly, it was his biggest rival, the "King of Flashiness," Jupiter.
Sensing Ronan's gaze, Orion turned his head.
Ronan paused, locking eyes with Orion.
Unexpectedly, Orion nodded slightly at him before returning his gaze.
Ronan was almost "flattered," silently marveling at the renowned top geniuses—though their true strength was yet to be seen, their demeanor and presence were unmatched.
As Ronan approached, Silver Ring members stepped aside, clearing a path for him.
He reached Caroni and the other man. Caroni introduced him, "This is the Fourth Ring Master, Archido."
Ronan turned to the man beside Caroni—a fair-skinned, handsome man with long hair like Ronan's, his features bordering on delicate, possessing a beauty surpassing many women.
The man eyed Ronan with an inscrutable gaze.
Ronan remained calm, greeting Caroni and the man in turn.
"Don't feel pressured; just do your best. This competition is merely a trial for you. What's important is the experience, not the ranking."
Caroni advised him, echoing Kirstie's sentiments, then allowed him to find a seat as the competition was about to start.
After Ronan turned away, the long-haired man beside Caroni subtly emitted mental energy, creating a temporary isolation field around them.
"Ah."
The man let out an astonished sigh, "I understand why you all had that misconception. At first glance, I almost thought Damien was one of my lost children... His appearance and demeanor are almost identical to mine in my youth."
"Just a resemblance; after all, you both specialize in ice spells..."
Caroni shook his head. "But Damien is far more resilient and fierce than you. You haven't seen him when his bloodline activates... even the Sakiels family's Ancient Inferno Blood has to bow and submit."
"Has anyone researched his bloodline?"
The man inquired.
"Several were interested, but Kirstie refused them all."
"A powerful, mysterious bloodline, specializing in ice magic yet choosing the Seventh Ring, with Kirstie's unusual protection..."
The man stroked his smooth chin, suddenly considering a possibility, "Could Damien be that person's offspring?"
"You sense it too?"
Caroni gazed at the stars, speaking softly, "I also see echoes of Shelby in him."
"Only Kirstie likely knows the truth."
As night fell, the Goblin Plains' sky filled with stars, the "spiritual light" from the six Dawn Wizards illuminating half the plains.
Four massive competition arenas were erected, and ten participants emerged from each of the six factions.