Translator: AnubisTL
Meanwhile, at the teleportation formation plaza of Noren Academy, a massive luminous screen hung in the air, displaying live footage from the Greyrock Realm.
The screen was divided into numerous smaller panels, each broadcasting the actions of the apprentices in real-time.
As if sensing the audience's gaze, the panels receiving the most attention expanded to occupy larger portions of the screen.
Around the plaza, a group of dejected wizard apprentices stood with their heads bowed.
They looked utterly disheveled, many still stained with blood. Some bore the marks of severed necks, missing limbs, or broken legs.
Yet regardless of their battered appearance, their physical bodies were now completely restored.
These were the unfortunate souls who had been ambushed and "killed" by the indigenous forces earlier.
The teleportation ring possessed a hidden power beyond its apparent ability to allow users to escape the plane using mental power. When the wearer was on the verge of death, the ring would forcibly teleport them out of the plane, leaving behind a shattered artificial body as a decoy.
This was the true manifestation of the high-level wizard's power. The actual escape ability was of an extremely high level, far beyond anything that Oswald's crude spatial confinement in the Greyrock Realm could possibly restrain.
The apparent escape ability was merely another test for the wizard apprentices.
If they proactively chose to escape when faced with danger, they could preserve their progress. However, if their arrogance led them into a desperate situation, forcing them to activate the forced escape ability, it meant the wizard apprentice had truly failed.
Wizards did not despise failure. After all, the learning process for every wizard was a continuous cycle of failures.
For wizards, failure was not to be feared. As long as they learned something new from it, it was considered a gain. In fact, those who willingly admitted defeat were, in a sense, considered to have exceptional foresight.
What they truly disdained were those who lacked self-awareness or the ability to clearly assess situations.
The former might experience setbacks, but after learning from their mistakes, they could eventually recover. The latter, however, not only caused significant losses but also risked harming the interests of others.
Every so often, a beam of light would erupt from the center of the plaza, and a new unfortunate soul would materialize there out of thin air.
When they first appeared, they were agitated, even hostile and wary of their surroundings. But as they took in the towering plaza structures, the dejected faces of the other failures, and the luminous screen overhead, the reality quickly dawned on them.
Their faces flushed crimson, these newly arrived "survivors" would then sheepishly join the group of failures nearby.
They knew they had lost their chance at the Trial.
Buzz...
With a tremor in the air, the figure of another unfortunate soul, forcibly ejected, materialized in the plaza.
He quickly grasped the situation, dejectedly shuffling toward the group of failures while panting heavily, his heart still pounding with lingering fear.
After calming himself, he finally looked up at the luminous screen overhead.
To his surprise, the screen was divided into two massive panels.
One panel unmistakably showed the bloody valley where the wizard apprentices and the Indigenous Allied Forces were locked in a brutal "war."
The scene was relentlessly brutal, with spellfire and arrow volleys clashing in a chaotic dance as the wizard apprentices were steadily pushed back.
But the other massive panel displayed a completely different scene.
The screen showed a scorched, desolate land. There was no fierce battle, only a seemingly ordinary lone apprentice strolling leisurely across the ground.
"What's with this guy?" the unlucky apprentice couldn't help but ask a veteran beside him. "Why is his screen so big? Is he the son of some high-ranking wizard, and they set up a special broadcast just for him?"
The veteran's dejected expression shifted into something strange—a mix of defeat and a hint of schadenfreude, as if anticipating the spectacle of a country bumpkin making a fool of himself.
"Just keep watching," the veteran rasped, his voice carrying a cryptic weight.
The veteran's gaze left the unlucky apprentice feeling uneasy, but he turned his attention back to the lone apprentice's screen.
Moments later, on the desolate plain where the apprentice was walking, a swarm of dark figures suddenly emerged.
It was a well-equipped indigenous army of over a hundred soldiers, originally marching toward a mountain valley, likely reinforcements.
The soldiers seemed surprised to spot the lone apprentice, but they quickly surrounded him.
The unlucky apprentice felt a pang of anxiety, his heart racing as he watched the lone apprentice.
Even geniuses like Augusta or Horn would need to exert their full strength to survive an ambush of this scale, wouldn't they?
He had imagined the apprentice fleeing in terror, or perhaps putting up a desperate fight before being forcibly teleported out.
But what unfolded next left him utterly stunned.
On the screen, the seemingly ordinary young apprentice didn't even break his stride.
He simply waved his hand casually, and then... death descended.
A raging inferno instantly engulfed the entire army. There was no clash of blades, no strategic maneuvering, only the pure, overwhelming force of destruction unleashed!
Hundreds of elite indigenous warriors, each wielding extraordinary powers, were reduced to ash in the flames in less than an instant.
The entire landscape was scorched into barren wasteland, the flames surging like divine retribution.
This wasn't a battle; it was... a massacre!
A one-sided, effortless slaughter!
the unlucky apprentice stared at the screen, his mouth slightly agape, but no sound escaped his lips.
He hadn't even seen how the apprentice had done it. It was as if the space around the figure had collapsed, unleashing hellish flames.
Only then did he snap out of his daze and glance at the senior beside him, whose expression was a mixture of amusement and something deeper.
He finally understood why the senior had worn that detached, almost amused expression—the weary resignation of someone who had seen too much, and the quiet joy of finding a kindred spirit.
"The gap between people is truly vast, isn't it?" the senior said, patting his shoulder with a grave tone, his voice filled with a profound, all-seeing calm, like a sun-dried salted fish.
The unlucky fellow wanted to ask so many questions: Who was that apprentice? How could he be so powerful? Why did the indigenous people crumble before him like ants?
But he couldn't find the words. The sheer shock pressed down on his chest, nearly suffocating him.
Just then, a faint glow rippled across the plaza as another battered and bruised unlucky fellow was ejected from the Greyrock Realm.
The newcomer's eyes were dazed, still haunted by the fear and confusion of recent death, mirroring his own earlier state.
Watching the newcomer's identical reaction—the initial shock, the bewildered gaze at the glowing screen—the apprentice smiled faintly. He moved silently to the newcomer's side and, using the same gesture he had just experienced, gently patted the newcomer's shoulder as confusion spread across their face.
"You'll understand if you keep watching," he murmured, feeling the newcomer's wary, questioning gaze.
(End of the Chapter)