NOVEL NEXT Life 1: Week 3b
Day 3 – Caelith (+1 Prophecy, Stars, Theory)
Morning: Magical Ballistics – Field Trials (Long-Range Arcane Precision)
The sky over the proving grounds was unnaturally clear, as if some headmaster had personally ordered the clouds to behave. The sun cut low along the horizon, golden light bouncing off steel rifle barrels and floating targeting glyphs. A field of arcane mirrors, spectral distance beacons, and hovering enchanted dummies stretched across the range like a battleground torn from a prophecy.
Joshua stood among his classmates on the obsidian-flecked firing terrace of Starfall Range, where only the top academy's marksmen were typically invited. But today was different — the full class was present, and no one was spared.
Instructor Liora Fenwick, clad in a jacket sewn from ballistic silk and starlight-thread, strode in front of them with a carved crystal cane and a silver monocle that clicked with each blink. "Precision is not about seeing your target," she said, voice like a loaded chamber. "It is about understanding the story the bullet wants to tell — before it is ever fired."
With a wave of her cane, targets began shimmering into view — some close, others barely visible at the edge of the magical fog wall, flickering in and out of phase. "Today," she announced, "you will each fire three shots. One at a fixed target. One at a moving one. And one at a target that is invisible which you must find for yourself."
Murmurs spread through the line. "The third target will be invisible to the eye," Liora confirmed. "But not to your intent. Trust in your mana. Trust in your theory. Trust in the intent that your bullet makes real."
Joshua stepped up to his station. The weapon, a semi-custom arcane rifle pulsed faintly with magic. The first target was easy — a hovering steel disk marked in runes. He braced, aimed, and fired. The shot cracked the air like lightning split sideways. Direct hit.
The second target danced, phasing between illusion and substance. Joshua slowed his breath. Lead the pattern, not the path. The round hit just before it disappeared. Cheers from the watching students. A few scowls from the nobles.
Then the third. No target. Just a rune on the floor that glowed when it was your turn. He stepped on it. The world warped — just a little. He heard whispers, not words, but suggestions. The wind curved unnaturally. The sound of breath echoed from a place he couldn't see.
He closed his eyes. And fired. Silence.
Then a distant flare — a light igniting in mid-air as if something unseen had been pierced. The monocle on Liora's eye sparked once, registering the hit. She said nothing. But Joshua swore he saw a nod.
+1 Skill Progress Arcane Physics(Ballistics) II(1/5): +2 Bonus to launching, flight behavior and impact of projectiles
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Afternoon: First-Year Exhibition: The Foundling's Proving (Public Duel, Arena Showcase)
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/318066792455409049/
The Proving Grounds, the Academy's legendary dueling arena, its no mere arena, but a living relic of divine war, suspended in orbit around the Academy proper, tethered by countless adamant chains of starsteel and fate-silk.
The arena itself rests atop the crystallized heart of a slain astral behemoth and a star-core fragment, its blood fused with arcane circuitry, forming terrain that responds to ambition, desire, and magic alike. Encased in a vast celestial dome, the interior shimmers with constellations that shift depending on the battle below. Each duel adds a flare to the night sky — the more epic the moment, the brighter the star born above.
The grounds responds to the will and power of the duelists, reshaping terrain, gravity, and elemental flow according to their intent. Pillars of ice, fields of flame, platforms of obsidian and light erupt during combat, creating a spectacle of elemental chaos and magical mastery.
The Foundling's Proving is the first official showcase of the Academy's new blood. Every first-year student who wishes to rise must stand in the crucible and let the multiverse see them. It's not just for prestige — it's for survival and honor.
Thousands watch live from the tiered stands: Students from all years — chanting, betting, hoping. Instructors and Assistant Professors. Cloaked Court Representatives from the academy's upper echelons. Even interdimensional guests, veiled in glamours — emissaries from noble families, patrons from ruined realms, alumni cloaked in power and influence.
Those who impress are noticed. And those who are noticed are claimed. It is the main avenue for mentorship recruitment. Faculty from across the academy — from humble assistants to exalted Department Heads — fill the skyboxes, reviewing the duels. They wear warded masks or watch through summoned familiars. Each holds a token — an invitation. A mentor's boon. Some students walk away with nothing. Some are offered scrolls or tips. But a few — the exceptional few — are offered training. Access. Power.
The arena thrummed with expectation. The stands were filled with students, instructors, upperclassmen, and even a few masked observers from the higher Courts. Floating scry-orbs tracked every motion below, projecting the spectacle across the campus. The crowd is a storm of energy. Chants echo from the obsidian seats. Arcane horns blare. Every duel alters the arena. Every victor shifts the wind. Stars ignite in real-time in the dome sky with each spell that sings.
Even the Academy itself seems to watch, its power bleeding through the walls in anticipation. The Foundling's Proving wasn't just a showcase — it was a statement. A declaration of who might rise, and who would be forgotten.
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Alright time to get a Mentor!
Depending on how well you do, you might get a really good and powerful teacher, a mediocre one, or none at all.
Benefits
Personalized Training
Rare Resource & Treasures
Social Capital & Prestige
Powerful Spells, Techniques, Methods
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Foundling's Proving – Tournament Format
Phase 1: The Trials(Qualifiers)
Phase 2: Tactical Gauntlet(Team Death Match)
Phase 3: The Proving(Exhibition Match)
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Phase 1 - The Trials(Qualifiers)
Roll 1d6 for test difficulty.
1- Extreme 2- High 3- Threatening 4- Considerate 5- Moderate 6- Low
Test 1: Roll 1d6
Rolled 1, Extreme Test!
Test 2: Roll 1d6
Rolled 4, Considerate Test!
Test 3: Roll 1d6
Rolled 3, Threatening Test!
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Phase 1 - The Trials(Qualifiers)
Test 1 - The Impossible Shot(Extreme)
Type: Marksmanship
Scenario: Contestants must make The Impossible Shot — a legendary test that no first-year has ever completed. Where a single rune-etched coin — no larger than a thumbnail — is launched from a collapsing sky-spire three kilometers away, fired into a chaotic storm-wake. The contestant has one shot to hit the coin midair, through warping gravity, fluctuating mana fields, and temporal lags that misalign perception.
Round 1
(You)1d4=3+ Reverent Stand Protocol > 99(Impossible Shot)
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Signing up for the Foundling's Proving, Joshua hadn't expected fairness — but this felt like mockery. He would have called foul if it wasn't the Academy itself choosing the sort of test the students were taking even then he was still thinking about complying about the Academy. His first trial wasn't just difficult. It was legendary. The Impossible Shot.
There was a rumor though of one student—ages ago— that had completed it. But the tale didn't end well: the shooter died before the bullet hit, smiling all the way down.
When Joshua arrived at the designated Proving Gate, he understood why. The challenge was etched into the heavens themselves. A single, transparent bridge stretched between two immense gravity wells—unstable, shimmering, and suspended over a yawning, void-lit chasm. The wind howled in reverse. Mana storms split the sky in forked arcs. At the far end, the Target Shrine hovered—an ornate, floating obelisk that cradled a single coin no wider than a fingernail protected by overlapping magical barriers that distort trajectory, light, and air pressure. It wasn't just the distance that made the shot impossible. It was everything else.
Joshua's trained eye quickly tallied the threats: there were Time Distortion Zones, Anti-Aim Wards, Mirror Spirals, Arcane Winds, Gravity Flux, Path Fracture, Judgment Halo, and many more obstacles that truly made the shot impossible.
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/237213105366009015/
Every one of these had ended attempts before him. Some students had quit. Others had fired — and missed. A few had lost control of their own weapons. And now, at the starting mark, stood a lone first-year wearing a Copper badge. No fanfare. No instructor to cheer him on.
Just the hum of a thousand scry-orbs locking in on him from above, beaming the trial across multiversal halls, outposts, satellites, and observatories. In the skyboxes high above, masked faculty, bounty masters, gunlords, and celestial tacticians leaned forward. Not because they expected greatness. But because they wanted to witness the fall.
Then — the voice came. The announcer's voice rang out like thunder, deep and ceremonial: "One bullet. One breath. No second chances."
Around the edges of the dueling dome, the crowd quieted. They filled the stands in silence — millions. Students from across planes, kingdoms, and worlds leaned forward. Instructors cloaked in anonymity watched in stillness. Spectators whose eyes gleamed with centuries of experience took it in from their scrying mirrors. Veterans, hunters, war-mages, armsmasters looked on. Some watched from basins of water. Some projected illusions from distant starships. Some were simply shadows behind glass.
They had come to see this: the first-years' first stand. To measure possibility. To taste promise. And now they waited. A single cartridge was handed to him. A dull bronze casing, carved with old runes and tracking threads. One shot. No guidance spells. No stabilizing fields. Just him, his gun, and the void.
Joshua didn't speak. He didn't posture. He simply breathed. He felt the coils of pressure cinch around him — the gravity traps trying to tilt his balance, the illusion-echoes whispering failure in his ears. His sight distorted; even the target was flickering, false, ever-shifting.
He activated the Reverent Stand Protocol.
It wasn't a summoning. Not in the normal sense. It was a remembrance. A synchronization. A communion with a forgotten gunslinger — a phantom whose fingers once never missed, even when the stars themselves wept.
Ezekiah Vale, he could feel the presence of the man wrap around him. The Sight of the Hollowstar.
Golden traces of old-world technique ran down his forearms. His pulse slowed. His heart beat with ancestral rhythm. He raised his gun. The platform beneath him shimmered, rejecting his presence. A challenge. He planted his feet or was it his shadow that covered him.
His pulse slowed. His mind narrowed. His breath became infinite. He raised the gun. Then — he fired.
The sound vanished into silence. The shot did not arc or spiral. It vanished into the impossibility of the moment, threading through veils that unmade intent and split velocity across dream-routes.
A thousand layers of magical interference clawed at the bullet. Time slowed. Space buckled. Then—impact. The sigil cracked. The sand in the hourglass froze. And every light in the arena turned toward the boy who had made the impossible real.
Test 1 Complete.
A brief silence as the scry-orbs struggle to track the bullet. Then — a sound like a bell ringing across dimensions. The coin shatters midair into a cascade of glowing script. Cheers erupt across the arena. Upper-years stared in wonder. Faculty members mark their ledgers. Professors exchanged quick, silent glances. Scrolls were updated in real-time.
A cloaked figure in a floating box slowly lowers a mentor's token into the selection tray. And in another sky-booth a woman dressed in animal skin tossed a mentor token into the fire besides her. For the first time in Academy history — a first-year has landed The Impossible Shot.
Result: You have drawn the attention of the Hunter's Accord & the Gunslinger Assembly!
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Test 2 - Emberline Trial (Considerate)
Type: Rescue
Scenario: Contestants are placed in a simulated urban warzone of magical ruins slowly being consumed by magical wildfire and meteor showers. They must rescue civilians and escape before the world comes to an end. Also watch out for the invaders of this world which brought this ruin.
Round 1
(You)1d4=2 < 10(Operation)
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Joshua appeared mid-fall, landing hard on cracked marble — the roof of a shattered cathedral within a once-great city now lost to magical wildfire and skyfall. Meteors blazed overhead. Buildings screamed as they collapsed inwards. The simulation was alive — dynamically reacting to every decision and pulse of mana.
Across the simulation zone, embers took shape into monsters. The Invaders of the Outer Flame — beings of flickering bone and molten sinew, born from failed elemental lords and weaponized infernos. They stalked the crumbling cityscape, their forms wreathed in burning halos, dragging powerful victims into the fire core beneath the streets. Once taken, none returned.
He found 4 people in the ruins of the city, a wounded child. Found buried beneath the collapsed corner of a hollowed inn. Afraid, coughing up smoke and with a leg broken.
Then he came across a Battle-Worn War-Vet who was covered in runes and cybernetic etchings. Wields broken prosthetic limbs that still spark with unstable mana. A Blind Old Man sitting in stillness beside a sealed stone box glowing with ruin-light. His relic hums with annihilation potential. And a Panicked Scholar who was trapped beneath a glyph-sealed walkway, clutching a satchel of research notes and dimensional maps.
Hurrying to the escape spot, Joshua could see the creatures hot on their heels. He had no idea if they could make it out with such a horde coming upon them.
Then the war-vet made the call, "Someone's got to hold the line. Go, kid. I've still got one last fight." He stood tall on the broken avenue, powering up his unstable limbs and releasing a berserker war-chant as the Outer Flame Invaders charged him.
The Blind Old Man smiled from where he stood. "This relic must not fall into their hands. Step away. I will not leave this place." His fingers brushed the seal. Joshua felt the pressure drop, as though the simulation itself recoiled.
With no choice he turned and fled with the child in hand and the scholar intow. Behind him, white light consumed the street as the relic unleashed a forbidden cascade of erasure.
The simulation froze mid-collapse, the moment captured in crystal clarity as time stilled. The surviving civilians shimmered into golden light. Then the world returned to normal.A low bell echoed across the arena dome.
Test 2 Complete.
Scribes marked something. An upper-year student nodded faintly at the tough call he made. Besides that, no one else took notice of it since he did mediocre at best. If he knew the Academy best, it would have been expecting him to fight the invaders and beat them back to their homeworld.
Result: You drew the attention of no one.
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Test 3 - Duel of the Unseen (Threatening)
Type: Psychological/Stealth
Scenario: A mist-drenched forest. Only sound, movement, and magical afterimages betray your opponent's position. You are being hunted — but so are they.
Round 1
(You) 1d4=2 > (Enemy) 1d4=2
Round 2
(You) 1d4=3 = (Enemy) 1d4=2+1(Raw Reinforcement)
Round 3
(You) 1d4=3 < (Enemy) 1d10=5
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The Proving Arena dimmed. A fresh layer of projected terrain peeled over the battlefield like a cloak of mist. Forests shimmered into view — tall, pale-barked trees twisting through an endless fog field. Moss choked the roots. No birdsong. No wind. Just breath. And silence. High above, the scrying orbs flickered and dimmed. The crowd murmured — this test wasn't for spectacle. It was built for stillness, for waiting. For the nerves to fray.
The dueling ground felt too quiet, too familiar. Mist curled unnaturally around his boots. Time bent like warped glass. A bell rang — and a voice spoke. "Phase One: The Boy You Were."
From across the glade, he saw himself. Not in uniform. No badge. A worn duster from a frontier world. A wild look in the eyes. His revolver held within his grip. It was him before getting dragged to this academy.
The younger Joshua shouted once he spotted him and fired. As always he was quick to the uptake. Joshua dodged behind cover. He knew this opponent: the untrained version of himself. Looking at his self now and his past self he saw how vast the difference was. He was always good when it came to the pistol, but coming here opened his eye to a whole new world he never knew about.
He must have seen pitiful, and small. A literal frog in a well who didn't know much about the true reality. He didn't kill him. He disarmed him with a slide-twist shot and a single reinforced bullet that knocked the revolver out of the boy's hand.
"You're not weak," he whispered. "You just have much to learn." The younger self vanished in a flicker of dust and smoke.
"Phase Two: The Challenger Within."
The voice called out. A mirror flickered. This time, the opponent was identical. Same clothes. Same badge. Same stance. There was no mercy here — this was a perfect simulation of his current abilities. Every dodge met a counter. Every aim was predicted. They circled one another in silence, neither blinking. Even their breathing matched.
Joshua knew he couldn't win through brute force. So he stopped. "Come now, let's not waste our mana. I'm the better shot. You had to rely on the crutch that is our magic."
The reflection paused then nodded its head in agreement. And dissolved.
Now that is one way to win a match. Who said he wasn't reasonable.
"Phase Three: The Future King."
Silence. The fog became stars. The air grew heavy. A new figure appeared — taller, armored in arcane steel and a regal coat. Radiating authority. With an aura that shimmered like a hunter. Magic coiled around him like serpents. His weapon was not a gun — it was a relic. A throne-forged arcgun branded with numerous sigils of kills, conquest, and triumphs.
This Joshua didn't speak. He didn't need to. His presence was like lightning and authority. And when he moved — it was terrifyingly precise.
The fight was impossible. Joshua was overpowered in every exchange. His bullets ricocheted off fields of unspoken gravity. His spells bent away. Future Joshua knew every move before he made it — as if he had already lived it.
He was crushed at every turn. Being left helpless like a child where even his gun was shot out of his hand leaving him weaponless. The older version of him stood before him and looked on as if he was judging him.
"Hey hotshot, give me a few years and I will have you beat no sweat."
The future version smiled. A true, rare smile. And faded like smoke from a ritual fire.
Test Three — Complete.
Joshua stood alone. Spent. Scarred by magic burns. But unbroken. The arena dissolved, returning to the dome. The crowd was silent. Then: applause. Not thunderous. Not wild. But respected. He made a good showing of himself. And there was even someone who threw in a mentor token for him due to the potential his future self showed.
Result: You drew the attention of the Warlord League due to your future self.
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Phase 2 - Tactical Gauntlet(Team DeathMatch)
Type: Battle Royale
Scenario: The second phase of the Foundling's Proving had no grand title, no poetic framing. It was blood and grit. Strategy and survival. The Gauntlet. A battle royale-style simulation, broadcast live across the multiverse. Dozens of first-years would be dropped into a volatile shifting island, given only their wits, spells, and weapons — and told one simple rule: eliminate or be eliminated. Team versus team. No mercy. No resets.
Roll 1d6 for team mates.
1- Iron 2- Copper 3- Bronze 4- Silver 5- Gold 6- Platinum
Teammate 1: Roll 1d6
Rolled 1, Iron Student
Teammate 2: Roll 1d6
Rolled 4, Silver Student
Teammate 3: Roll 1d6
Rolled 1, Iron Student
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The next part of the proving was of course a good old team death match battle royale where everyone went at it . Fun!
Seeing the teammates he was assigned, Joshua waved them over. It was truly a small word. To his surprise, he recognized both assigned teammates — faces from his own fledgling faction, the Basement Court. A stroke of luck? Or was the Academy testing what bonds truly meant?
First came Mirtha Dews (Iron Badge), face half-shadowed under her wide-brimmed hat, inked glyphs curling down her arms like vines. She came from a world where language was king — where the right word spoken could let you rise or fall. She didn't say much. She rarely needed to. A nod from her carried weight.
Then came Umin Siltstep (Iron Badge) — lean, moss-covered, with amber eyes that never stopped scanning the edges of space. He was a swamp-walker, a bog-witch's apprentice. And while his clothes smelled like peat and secrets, his voice was soft. "Hey, Joshua." He looked away shyly, hands adjusting the wet bundle of charms tied at his waist. "Your showing in the first trial… That was incredible. You'll get a real mentor, no doubt."
Joshua gave a small, appreciative nod. "Thanks." Feeling a bit awkward with the compliments.
Before more could be said, a familiar, slithering voice cut in. "Of course this would happen."
"Hey snakeyboy," Joshua greeted. It was indeed a small word as before them was the silver badged naga who tried to bully them at the school ball.
I have a name, you gutterborn trash," he seethed.
"Never got it," Joshua shrugged his shoulder and that seemed to anger him even more.
"Why you…" he began before a voice called out.
"All teams assemble. You are about to be dropped in on the island."
The world flickered as a portal opened — a shimmering archway of glass and runes, revealing the Arena Island, a broken shard of battlefield floating between time folds.
Crimson clouds spiraled overhead. Forests moved like chess pieces. Ruins sank and rose with the tide of magic. Teams were already appearing on distant cliffs and moving into formation. Some summoned familiars. Others activated arcane HUDs or unslung spellrifles.
Joshua glanced to his team. Umin cracked his neck and murmured a charm under his breath, fog curling around his fingers.
Mirtha simply flexed her fingers. Her voice, when it came, was soft — but razor-edged: "Let's give them a reason to remember why you don't bury the low ranks."
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Joshua loaded a fresh cartridge into his gun. "Let's make a name for ourselves."
The three of them stepped into the portal — and into war.
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Roll for first opponents
1- Iron 2- Copper 3- Bronze 4- Silver 5- Gold 6- Platinum
Foe 1: Roll 1d6
Rolled 5, Gold Student
Foe 2: Roll 1d6
Rolled 2, Copper Student
Foe 3: Roll 1d6
Rolled 4, Silver Student
Foe 4: Roll 1d6
Rolled 2, Copper Student
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Plan: Hide, if spotted Run for your life.
Round 1
(Your Team)1d4+1d4+1d6+1d10=16 [hide] > (Enemy Team) 1d6+1d6+1d10+1d12=13
As the portal shimmered open, Team 33, that was their team name which was made up of him Mirtha, the naga, and Umin — dropped through the threshold like sparks into a powder keg.
The world they entered was not one world at all. It was a patchwork battlefield-island, stitched together from the bones of forgotten arenas, ancient war-memories, and magical ecosystems devoured by time.
They landed on an elevated jungle mesa laced with crumbling ruins — stone ziggurats half-swallowed by ivy, broken arcane statues humming with dormant power, and thick vines draped across sky-bridges that led to floating islands.
Above them, fractured moons rotated like slow gears. To the west: a cratered temple complex, half-melted by fire magic. To the north: a levitating stone garden drifting upward in pieces, scattering with lightning. The ground beneath them glowed faintly — proof the island's leyline core still pulsed. This whole battlefield was alive, and it would shift again soon.
They landed quietly, feet crunching on moss and dust. "Eyes open," Joshua whispered, crouching beside a broken statue shaped like a blindfolded mage. "We're not alone."
Mirtha touched a glyph near her temple. "Sound echoes to the northeast. Footsteps. Four of them," her voice echoed in their mind.
Umin swirled his fingers and breathed deep. "And one of them reeks of sulfur and command magic."
"Hide," Joshua said, which the snakeboy slithered in disgust, but listened to his sound reason. They climbed a broken stair to peek through a crumbled archway. There — across the ruined terrace, less than thirty meters away — a team moved through the jungle path with casual arrogance.
Team 12
At the lead was of course a smug, beautifully armored boy in radiant crimson with a Gold badge. His cloak stitched with gold-thread filigree, boots never touching the dirt. His name shimmered in the air behind him in magical script. Luca Valenforth. He bore the aura of someone born with too many blessings and not enough scars.
Then there was silver badged lean girl with sun-sculpted hair and a fawning smile. She laughed too quickly, too sweetly. Ciarra of House Dalvein, reading his emotions like a song.
The other two were copper like him, one a bruised boy with too many packs. His robes were hand-me-downs from someone cruel. And the other sharp-eyed, quiet girl — trailing just behind. Her badge was battered, but her gaze flicked into the shadows.
For a heartbeat, her eyes met Joshua's. She saw them. She knew. But she said nothing. Not to her team. Not to the silver. She lowered her gaze and adjusted the strap on her pack.
A silent mercy. Joshua tensed. "Four targets. Gold's in charge. Silver's playing advisor. Copper 1 is pack mule. Copper 2… saw us. She's not saying anything."
Mirtha narrowed her eyes. "Interesting. Think she hates them as much as we do?"
Umin came closer beside them. "Could be. Or maybe she's waiting to strike after we do."
"I know her, that silver. Ciarra, what a boot licker, won't be surprised if she tries to warm his bed."
Joshua had no doubt the man would also be cousing up to the gold ranker if he had the chance. Or maybe he won't be. Joshua didn't know him well, nor did he want to learn more about him.
Joshua's fingers hovered over his sidearm. The gold was still in earshot, bragging about some elite spell technique he never earned. But they weren't here to pick random fights — this was survival, not vengeance.
"Not now," he murmured. "Let them pass. Learn their route. We'll map it later."
The enemies moved on — oblivious. Laughing. Confident. The gold flicked a coin into the air. The copper girl didn't look back. When the jungle swallowed their trail, Joshua exhaled.
"Alright," he said, rising. "We move. Let's look for gears and weapons here so we can stand a fighting chance."
Roll for Treasure
1 - Very bad 2- Subpar 3- Okay 4- Good 5- Great 6- Amazing
Rolled 5, Great Item
Greater Lightning Storm: Cause 10 Damage to 10 foes
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After the rival team passed out of sight, Joshua gave a sharp nod. "Fan out. Quick and quiet. We need something—anything—to level the field before the next team sees us first."
Mirtha moved like a phantom through the brush, whispering activation sigils to her senses. Umin slid through an old aqueduct, fingers brushing the stone, sniffing for enchantments in the moss. Joshua headed toward the broken ziggurat — the one veined in red-glass lightning, half-buried in vines. And the snakeboy headed in his own direction.
Beneath the moss, tucked into an alcove warped by old spatial spells, he found it: a scroll.
Joshua ran his fingers along the smooth paper and glanced at what was contained, one he did he gave a low whistle. "This? This could win a fight."
He returned to the others — Umin had found a ritual healing pouch made of swampfang skin, and Mirtha had recovered a ciphered scrollcase of stored wind-blades. The snakeboy did not mention what he found nor did Joshua.
"Alright," Joshua said, eyes sharp. "Looks like we're not empty-handed anymore. Let's survive long enough to make them all tremble before us."
"You are such a melodrama," the naga hissed in annoyance.
And so, Team 13 pushed deeper into the broken island — four teammates now armed with edge, grit… and their treasures moved on.
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Roll for second opponents
1- Iron 2- Copper 3- Bronze 4- Silver 5- Gold 6- Platinum
Foe 1: Roll 1d6
Rolled 1, Iron Student
Foe 2: Roll 1d6
Rolled 2, Copper Student
Foe 3: Roll 1d6
Rolled 1, Iron Student
Foe 4: Roll 1d6
Rolled 1, Iron Student
Plan: Win them over, if not shot them down!
Round 1
(Your Team)1d4+1d4+1d10+1d6+3(title)=8 [persuade] > (Enemy Team) 1d4+1d4+1d4+1d6=7
Traveling slowly and carefully, they came upon a wide ravine split by fractured blackglass canyons and whispering mana winds. Rivers of pale fire trickle along the crevices, casting eerie reflections across the jagged cliffs. Shrines to forgotten saints line the upper ridge, and magical pressure flickers unevenly — perfect for ambushes.
As Team 13 moved along a broken bridge of volcanic stone, Joshua's eyes narrowed. Through the distortion shimmer and sparse cover, he spotted them.
Four figures. Worn robes. Cracked gear. Moving low. No cohesion. Three Iron Badges and a single Copper trailing behind. They looked like a study group that had gotten lost in a war.
Joshua motioned for Mirtha and Umin to duck low which the snakeboy also reluctantly did the same. He scanned them again, squinting through the smoke-veils. And then he saw the last figure — small frame, coat full of secret pockets, pale fingers twitching with invisible thread— "Riven Telmar," Joshua murmured. "From the Court."
Umin blinked. "From our Court?"
Joshua nodded. "One of the earliest. Great party tricks and even better lies."
"Should we ambush?" Mirtha asked, her voice flat.
"No," Joshua said, rising from cover. "I will try to get them on our side. If things don't go well feel free to fire."
"That is stupid," the naga sneered. "Why would they join us."
"You just watch and see," Joshua said, slinking off.
The rival group flinched as he approached alone, hands raised. Weapons twitched. Wards sparked. "Easy," he said. "If I wanted to win with bullets, you'd already be bleeding."
The Iron rank who was at the front, a stocky boy with cracked glasses and a poorly-attuned wand, scowled. "So what do you want?"
Joshua gestured to the ravine. "Look around. This match isn't just about killing. It's about who lasts. Who adapts."
He paused, then looked directly at them. "And who knows when it's smarter to join something instead of being left behind."
Riven grinned when he spotted, stepping forward. "Is that you boss?!"
"You know him," the iron asked.
"Yeah," Riven said, then backing him up he added, "Let's join up with him. We have been scavenging without a map all day and nearly got swallowed by the wildlife here. Forget the other students."
Looking at each other in turn, Joshua saw that they were near the edge so gave them the push they needed. Joshua turned back to the Iron leader. "You can get crushed out here alone — or you can walk with us. You don't owe me anything. But I'm offering you a place."
Silence. The ravine wind howled. Then, grudgingly, the Iron leader gave a nod and the others followed.
Gained 4 Followers!
Riven Telmar (Copper Badge) Former street magician. Specializes in holograms, light refraction, terrain illusions.
Fira Blint (Iron Badge) Quiet girl with rune-branded gloves. Focuses on barrier spells and minor warding.
Oshkan Veel (Iron Badge) Big guy. Carries a great elemental sword but always misses.
Mero Dawnvault (Iron Badge) The reluctant leader. Knows terrain reading and mana pulse detection.
Roll for Treasure
1 - Very bad 2- Subpar 3- Okay 4- Good 5- Great 6- Amazing
Rolled 2, Subpar!
With their numbers doubled and tension slowly easing, the group spread out among the jagged ruins of the Obsidian Gulch. The ground hissed underfoot, veined with dormant magic and old, fractured spells. This wasn't a place of glory. It was a graveyard for forgotten enchantments.
"Stay sharp," Joshua called, leading the charge up a shattered staircase half-swallowed by glassy roots.
Riven flicked his fingers and sent an illusionary scout forward. "If we're lucky," he muttered, "we might find a half-dead ward to kick." They weren't lucky.
2x Rusted Spellflares – Outdated alchemical grenades. Still function, but explode in random colors with a 1-in-3 chance of misfiring.
3x Iron Ration Cubes – Nutritional blocks enchanted with minor mana-recovery. Taste like chalk and vinegar. +1 mana recovery
1x Mana-Stitched bandages – Grants +1 success to overnight recovery rolls. Smells like old goblin socks.
1x Voice-jar – A small glass orb that records 10 seconds of sound and can replay it once. Currently loaded with someone snoring.
As they regrouped under a broken arch, Mirtha examined a ward rune that fizzled at her touch. "This place was picked clean long ago."
"Maybe," Joshua said, turning a bandage over in his hand, "but you don't win just with weapons. You win with what others overlook."
Umin nodded, placing the ration cubes in her mossy pouch. "Even spoiled food can feed someone starving."
Riven gave a smirk. "Still, this place sucks."
-
Roll for third opponents
1- Iron 2- Copper 3- Bronze 4- Silver 5- Gold 6- Platinum
Foe 1: Roll 1d6
Rolled 6, Platinum Student
Foe 2: Roll 1d6
Rolled 4, Silver Student
Foe 3: Roll 1d6
Rolled 3, Bronze Student
Foe 4: Roll 1d6
Rolled 5, Gold Student
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Plan: Run, Hide, and try to bait them
Round 1: Bait
(Your Team)1d4+1d4+1d10+1d6 + 1d4+1d4+1d4+1d6[Bait] = 23 < (Enemy Team) 1d20+1d10+1d8+1d12= 31
Round 2: Fight
(Your Team)1d4+1d4+1d10+1d6 + 1d4+1d4+1d4+1d6 = 12 < (Enemy Team) 1d20+1d10+1d8+1d12 [Fight] = 27
Round 3: Flee
(Your Team)1d4+1d4+1d10+1d6 + 1d4+1d4+1d4+1d6[Flee] = 28 < (Enemy Team) 1d20+1d10+1d8+1d12= 41
The team crept through a jagged gulley of fractured memory-stone, the old enchantments long since shattered by test combatants past. They were in decent spirits, boosted by their growing numbers — eight strong now, including Joshua, Umin, Mirtha, and the streetwise Riven Telmar. That confidence died in the next breath.
Descending from a floating obsidian monolith came a new squad. Four in total. With some very high ranked students. One clad in a burning mantle of platinum aura, untouched by the dust. Platinum Badge — a prodigy. A walking legend. Another was a Gold, eyes half-lidded and lazy, floating above the ground on a disc of lightning. One Silver, dual-wielding swords curved with teeth. One Bronze, wearing scaled armor and carrying a sigil-heavy shotgun.
The difference in pressure was immediate. Not magical, but existential. Weight. These were the kind of students you didn't just fight — you survived around them. Joshua grabbed Umin's sleeve and gestured to the ridge overlooking the first team they'd spotted hours ago — the one led by a cocky Gold. "We'll bait them," he whispered. "Let them slam into each other."
"Good idea," the swampy boy nodded his head, but before they could even enact their plan.
"No need to play hide and seek," he drawled. "We saw you watching."
Joshua cursed. "Scatter!" They didn't get far.
What followed was slaughter — elegant, effortless, and cruel. The Platinum didn't even lift a hand as he let the others do the work. The Gold gestured, and myriad colored lightning erupted in geometric patterns, collapsing Riven's illusions and sending half the group screaming for cover. The Silver blinked between shadows, downing two of their allies right off the bat with razorwind shots. The Bronze stood back and used blastfields to herd them like cattle.
They tried to fight back, the snakeboy let looses a string of poison balls which stopped the silver from jumping around and cutting down more people. He took pot shots at the bronze who was forced to engage against him. The others worked together to tie down the gold, but their efforts where easily batted away.
"Enough," the platinum rank uttered as if it was the command of god all their strings seemed to be cut off as they collapsed on the ground. Just one command and they were defeated, they stood no chance to begin with at all even with the numbers on their side.
This was the tyranny of talent and greater magic. It was a gulf that couldn't be crossed no matter what.
However, Joshua just couldn't stand it. Not only had his dreams been crushed of overruning this place with a great horde of low rank students also this just felt humiliating and degrading. Against all odds, he resisted the command and took aim at the platinum rank.
He felt it. That breaking point. That razor-thin edge between endurance and oblivion. His coat flared, glowing crimson. The Last Shot Contingency Core activated. Time froze. Wind paused in mid-howl. Mana surged in still coils. His gun gleamed like it had been touched by divinity. He aimed directly at the Platinum student, heart steady, eyes hard.
"This is for all of us," he whispered. He pulled the trigger.
The Gold, the lazy one — moved. Faster than lightning. He stepped between the shot and his captain. The bullet hit him full-on, disintegrating half his body in a burst of magical script and backlash. He crumpled, vanishing in a white flash as the Arena teleported him out.
Joshua stared. So did the Platinum. Then the platinum-badged student raised one hand — not in fury, but something else. Respect? "Good shot," he said as it was night out for them.
End of Phase 2!
Result: You drew the attention of the Survivalist Lodge due to your good showing.
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Phase 3: The Proving(Exhibition Match)
Roll for First match
1- Iron 2- Copper 3- Bronze 4- Silver 5- Gold 6- Platinum
Foe 1: Roll 1d6
Rolled, 3. Bronze
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Fight 1
Round 1
(You Attack) 1d6+1[raw reinforcement]+3(armor)=8 > (Enemy Attack) 1d8+2[rumble]=7
-1 Damage to foe, -1 mana each
Round 2
(You Attack) 1d6+1[raw reinforcement]+3(armor)=9 > (Enemy Defend) 1d8+2[earthen barrier]=5
-4 Damage to foe, -1 mana each
Endurance Check. Hit ⅔ HP. 1d8=3≤7 Body. Fail!
Forfeit!
Won
Coming back to reality, Joshua had to say he was disappointed in his showing. He had grand ambitions, but they all came crashing down. Swallowing his anger and disappointment he picked himself up and prepared for the next phase of the proving, one-on-one duels.
It wasn't long before his first match came up. Saying his goodbyes to the others and wishing them luck on their match, he came to the arena where he was fitting.
The arena was shaped into a crumbling canyon temple — jagged cliffs, pillars of sacred stone, and suspended battle-bridges that cracked with each impact. Runes hummed across the ground, channeling ambient magic into unpredictable bursts of earth and gravity.
Asterion stood at the far end of the stone bridge, hooves sparking against the warded floor. Towering, snorting, gleaming under his bronzed armor. His horns now engraved with earthen glyphs.
Joshua stepped forward — copper badge still dull, but his stance solid. The Revenant Framecoat shimmered slightly around his arms and shoulders, catching the arcane wind. And beneath, he felt the subtle thrum of the Throne-Ward Fiberframe which he had activated, empowering his spells with regal intensity.
"Its a surprise to see you," he called out.
"I could say the same," the Minotaur said. "Though I won't deny I have been looking forward to a rematch."
"That's something I wasn't," he muttered. He knew he couldn't beat the minotaur again with the same tricks, last time he had his blessing from the train on his side which helped him. This time he didn't, which was why he quickly activated his armor's ability to boost his magic.
He knew he had to go all in. No dodging, no holding back. Use every bit of mana and spells he had.
A voice thundered from above. "Begin."
Joshua opened with a sweep-step and fired a reinforced arcshot into Asterion's lower stance — striking just as the Minotaur was making his own attack. The Minotaur bellowed and stomped — triggering a Shock Pulse — a raw tremor that shook the bridge apart beneath Joshua's boots. However his bullet's kinetic burst cracked his shoulderplate and forced him off-rhythm.
Joshua's second shot was faster. Cleaner. A spin-cocked round embedded with his Throne glyph — it shattered through Asterion's hasty sprung earthy shield, blasting dust and molten rock into the air.
Not letting up, he fired more shots powered by his magic breaking through the barrier, each one causing the shield to crumble and stuck at the Minotaur.
At some point he seemed to have won as the judge called; Victory.
He'd won. Barely. Just barely. Asterion was down — exhausted, dazed — but still breathing. And Joshua? He stood by sheer grit, one boot pressed to broken stone, gun still warm in his hand, mana depleted.
As the arena reshaped, Joshua didn't smile. The cheers blurred around him. He had imagined more. Glory. Precision. An echo of the impossible shot.
But real fights weren't clean. Real victories came bloodied. He holstered his weapon. Looked up at the still-glowing sky above. One down. The real proving was just beginning.
-
Roll for Second match
1- Iron 2- Copper 3- Bronze 4- Silver 5- Gold 6- Platinum
Foe 1: Roll 1d6
Rolled, 6. Platinum
-
Fight 2
Round 1
(You Attack) 1d6+1[raw reinforcement]+3(armor)=6 < (Enemy Dodge) 1d14 =10
-1 Mana
Round 2
(You Dodge) 1d6+1[raw reinforcement]+3(armor)=7 < (Enemy Attack) 1d14+5(???)=14
-7 Damage. Endurance Check. Hit ⅔ HP. 1d8=3≤7 Body. Fail!
Forfeit!
Lost
Joshua walked alone into the arena. The platform reformed beneath his boots — translucent, humming with pulse-light. Across the crystalline gap, a figure hovered — weightless, composed, platinum-clad.
No name was given. No introduction offered. Just a glint of divine-class credentials etched into their badge — Platinum, the domain of heirs to realms, champions of forgotten wars, natural-born transcenders.
However Joshua knew instinctively who it was even though he was obscured by a hood, it was the same platinum rank that they ran into the battle royale who crushed them like bugs.
Their fingers never even touched their weapon. Joshua narrowed his stance. He activated his Revenant Framecoat, felt the pulse of Throne-Ward Fiberframe coil around his spine. But the truth settled in his chest like stone: He had no advantage here. No clever armor burst. No ace protocol waiting to trigger. This wasn't a fight he knew he could win, it would have been better if he forfeited off the bat.
Still he stood his ground. When the judge gave the go signal, he fired. His shot was good — fast, reinforced, well-placed. But it never landed. The Platinum vanished between the pull of two mirrored time-states, reappearing midair with an untraceable flicker. His bullet hit nothing. His breath caught.
Then he saw that his opponent conjure a spell he had no idea what it was, but he knew if it hit then it would be game over for him. Doing his best to dodge even with his magic pushing his body, it was inescapable.
The spell didn't come as a beam or blast. It came as presence — a pull through time, a hand on the crown of his spine. His limbs slowed. His breath fractured. The Platinum raised one finger. Joshua slammed into a mirrored wall and bounced. Cracked ribs. Bleeding ear. Systems flashing red.
He didn't even stand. All he heard was, "Match over!" as the healers came rushing in. Then it was light out.
Result: You drew the attention of the Duelist Gallery due to defeating someone above.
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End of Tournament!
Results:
Gunslinger Assembly - Fraternity of Arcane Firearms Masters. Due to overcoming a challenge no one has ever overcome you have drawn the attention of a Professor
Hunter's Accord - Guild of Predators. Due to overcoming a challenge no one has ever overcome you have drawn the attention of a Professor.
Warlord League - War Ascension Order. Due to such great potential your future self has shown you have drawn the attention of a Visiting Scholar.
Survivalist Lodge - Doomsday Preppers. Due to fighting against impossible odds you have drawn the attention of an Lecturer.
Duelist Gallery - Cult of Beautiful Combat. Due to defeating someone a rank above you, you have drawn the attention of an Instructor.
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Here is a breakdown of the Magic Academy Faculty Hierarchy
1. Teaching Aides/Arcane Assistants
Level:
Acolyte (Realm 1)
Titles:
Spell Intern, Assistant Mage, Lecture Aide
Duties:
Support lectures, manage scroll archives, aid ritual maintenance
Traits:
Typically student-workers or graduate trainees
Adjunct Lecturers/Spelllecturers
Level:
Journeyman(Realm 2)
Titles:
Theorist, Spellcraft, Ritualist
Duties:
Part-time or contracted teachers of minor courses or arts
Access:
Private dueling ring, artifact commissions, magic lab, library wing key
Full Instructors
Level:
Adept(Realm 2)
Titles:
Preceptor, Cultivation Scholar, Spellmaster
Focus:
Formal curriculum for students. Research.
Access:
Assistants, duel courts, training simulacra, Private labs & workshop
4. Visiting Scholars
Level:
Expert(Realm 2)
Titles:
Interplanar Fellow, Nomadic Researcher, Fieldmaster
Duties:
Temporary faculty from other schools, factions, or orders
Traits:
Bring exotic techniques, foreign magical traditions, or legendary artifacts
Access:
Vault access, Cultivation sanctums
5. Professors
Level:
Master(Realm 3)
Titles:
Masters of Arcane, Arcane Overseer, Spell Doctrine
Duties:
Shape curriculum, recommend students to outside Orders
Boons:
Magic Tower, influence
Department Heads
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You have been fully healed. Recovered all HP, SP, MP!
Waking up, Joshua was glad to see he was fully recovered. The healers here did really wonderful work, all his wounds and aches were gone and even his mana was topped off.
The infirmary dome above him shimmered with healing runes and faint geometric light. Beyond the softly pulsing curtains, nurses moved like ghosts and spell-constructs hummed with muted sympathy.
He sat up, blinking. A glyph in the air above his bed flared open — an Academy Mandala, golden and sealed. It spun three times, then split into five radiant spheres.
"Student Joshua M. Kane," a formal voice echoed through the soft light, "you have drawn notice."
The Mentorship Council had opened a pathway. And they were waiting.
His first audience shimmered into place with the dreamscape. Runes spiraled in the chamber as Joshua stepped through a portal of mirrored flame. The room beyond was not a room at all — it was a ballroom, frozen in time. A battlefield with chandeliers. Velvet walls, torn by spell duels. Stained glass cracked by precision strikes.
And at its center, reclining on a throne of broken violins, sat Instructor Vey'khal of the Beautiful End. A fiend cloaked in a silver thread suit and laughter that sounded like breaking glass. "Joshua," he purred, voice like old perfume. "You move like a blade that hasn't yet realized it can cut. Come with me — and I'll show you how to make every duel an aria."
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/99431104329107808/
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The next space was cold. Not just temperature — but philosophy. Frost climbed the edges of the chamber's breath. Icicles shaped like runes hung from the ceiling. Across from him stood a figure half-shadow, half-blizzard — Instructor Eld Lorn of the Cold Flame. A wendigo with antlers scraped the frost-hung rafters, and a dark pair of wings on his back. His eyes were empty save for memory.
"You were supposed to die," the Windigo said, frost blooming from his words. "But you refused. Come. Learn how to survive the death of stars. Learn to become winter." Joshua shivered. Survival was a magic of its own.
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/366128644728023906/
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Fire. Bronze. Blood. That was the feeling in the next chamber — a vast war-assembly hall, where every pillar was carved with battles, and the banners smelled of old victories.
At the far end stood a lion-man sheathed in myth and steel. General Rauth-Askar, a visiting scholar to the school, his mane braided with campaign medals. "You carry a broken crown in your chest, boy. I would have you learn how to wear it into war."
He pointed one clawed finger. "Stand beneath my banner — and I'll forge you into someone worth following." Joshua nodded once. This wasn't mentorship. This was a command to a soldier from his general.
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/11047961581692673/
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The forest grove that unfurled was not natural — it was celestial. Trees bowed to the stars above. Owlcalls rang like war drums.
Perched in a tree of white stone, wings half-wrapped around her, was Professor Arkae Zevrielle, a demigoddess harpy matriarch of the Silver Flight. "You have much potential, your owned fear and didn't flinch when you took your shot," she said. "That is the beginning of the true hunt. Come — and I'll show you how to follow the scent of gods and monsters."
Joshua looked up at her, and the air smelled of wild sage and falling stars. The hunt was holy, in her eyes.
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/34973334601010120/
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The final chamber wasn't a chamber at all. It was a high plain made of stardust and brass. Shot casings littered the ground like petals. The horizon bent at the edges, where time and velocity intersected. Lightning cracked in slow motion, spiraling like scrolls written in thunder. Clouds loomed like spent cannonsmoke, curling around the hanging cross — a cruciform altar of steel and flame suspended in defiance of gravity, law, or mercy.
And there, seated beneath a floating cross of metal and flame, was a figure wrapped in a tattered duster, cloak flaring like a thunderhead, with six guns orbiting behind his back like moons. GunSage Felgrim Saruman, the Elemental Lord of the Final Shot, watched Joshua with eyes made of glassed obsidian. His voice was a storm caught in a revolver chamber.
"You pulled off something no one's done in centuries," he said, voice like a storm caught in a revolver chamber, pressure rising with every syllable. "But more than that... I saw the way you aimed.
A flicker crossed his face — reverence, maybe. Memory. "I believe that was young Ezekiah Vale I felt behind your shot. The Hollowstar. It takes more than talent to align your spirit with his. It takes defiance. And sacrifice."
A pause. Then, "I can teach you the language of fire and powder. The gospel of velocity and recoil. But only if you're willing to carve a legend from the gun."
The world around them cracked with distant thunder. This was not training. This was a calling.
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/3799980930233574/
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Choose your Mentor! 1 Action a Week!
Selected GunSage Felgrim Saruman, the Elemental Lord of the Final Shot!
Right off the bat, Joshua knew this was it. The world stilled as he was about to make his decision. Joshua stood beneath the cruciform altar, its steel limbs glowing faintly with runes older than time. The winds of this place were not winds — they were echoes of every bullet ever fired, every duel ever fought. His boots sank into a field of casings, each one cold with legacy.
Across from him, GunSage Felgrim Saruman waited — not with urgency, but with inevitability. The revolvers orbiting his back rotated slower now, as if watching. Joshua's fingers hovered near his belt, where his own sidearm rested.
He thought of the trials. The Impossible Shot he made. The ruins he traveled. His future self, staring at him through mist and gunmetal. He thought of Seraphyne. Of his dorm, the Basement Court. Of the badge on his chest — dull, copper, heavy with meaning.
"I'll say it once," Joshua said quietly, his voice lost to the wind — but heard nonetheless. "I don't want to be remembered because I was not gifted. Or weak. Or broken."
He drew his gun slowly. The chamber clicked open. "I want to be remembered because I aimed true." He loaded a single round — not enchanted, not reinforced — just his, a bullet from his homeworld.
With steady breath, he turned to the altar of brass and stardust — and fired. The bullet sang through the air. It struck the floating cross dead center — not shattering it, but ringing it like a bell.
Saruman did not smile. But he nodded — once. The six guns behind him spun to new orbits. The ground beneath Joshua shimmered as a sigil unfolded, drawing him forward. "Then rise, Initiate of the Last Horizon," Saruman said. "We have much that awaits us!"
And just like that, the sky cracked open with lightning — and Joshua Kane walked forward into new part of his life.
-
Menor: Felgrim Saruman
Title: The GunSage of the Last Horizon
Affiliation: Gunslinger Assembly
Rank: Emeritus Professor | Elemental Lord of the Final Shot
Alias: He Who Ends Worlds with One Round
Benefits
The Twelve Laws of the Final Shot - Sacred gunslinger commandments passed down only to chosen heirs.
Elemental Gunmancy - Master the art of weaving and shooting every element with your gun.
Path of the Heartshot - Learn to craft bullets from emotions
Gun-Chronicles Slate - Access to the history of all legendary gunslingers and some of their secrets.
Tower of the Last Horizon - Train within Felgrim Saruman Magic Tower.
Sovereign Caliber Cultivation Method(Rare)
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Drawbacks
Code of the Draw - Every bullet fired must be with conviction
Pilgrimages of Powder - Earn your bullets from a long brutal journey. Though crafting your own might alleviate some of his displeasure.
Rejection of Modernity - Hates all magitech weapons, would be disappointed to see you carrying it around.