The Ascender's Legacy [A CHAOTIC STORM LITRPG]

The selection trials are a tradition held up by every academy in Ragnarok in preparation for the annual Academy tournament. Every year, the trials are modified to select the best students from each academy, and this year is no exception. As decided by the Central Academy Board of Directors (CABD), this year's theme is the pillars of ascendancy.

Professor Jerry Milkton.

CABD president and principal of the 3rd academy,

Sector 3, Ragnarok.

"Good afternoon, students, and welcome to this year's selection trials!" Professor Aleran boomed, his voice echoing across the arena as the final group of students settled into their seats. Smiling down at them from the center stage, which was raised higher than usual, he continued, "As you all know, each year we hold an inter-academy tournament involving all twelve academies across Ragnarok. This year is no exception."

"With only five weeks left before the main event, it is imperative that we choose our candidates and begin their training immediately to ensure they're in peak form when the time comes. These trials will span five days, and—true to academy tradition—we've decided to add a competitive twist to keep things engaging."

"However, the format for this year's trials is a little different. Initially, we had hoped, like last year, to simply select the most talented students from each year and put them forward; however, the Central Academy Board of Directors had other ideas. So instead, we'll be following a new—and I dare say, more exciting—theme."

He raised a hand to the sky, and five holographic screens shimmered into existence above him. Each was blank save for a glowing line of text at the top, which read: Strength, Intelligence, Speed, Spirit, and Random.

"These," Professor Aleran declared, "are the Pillars of Ascendancy." His smile widened. "For the next five days, each of you will be tested through one of these pillars, beginning today with the Pillar of Strength. The top-performing student in each category will represent their year. On the final day, the selection will be left to chance—a random draw."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd of students as Professor Aleran continued speaking, diving deeper into the details of what each pillar entailed. Aodhán listened intently, feeling a mix of excitement and unease.

His chances of being selected as a candidate had either just doubled or plummeted.

With the previous method, he was almost guaranteed the final spot, since the first four had already been claimed by students with Icons. But this new system made things far more uncertain.

He eyed the holographic screens with a narrowed gaze, trying to determine which pillar might give him the best shot.

The first to be ruled out was the Pillar of Intelligence—not because he lacked brains, but because there were simply too many students smarter than him to make the competition worth betting on. From what little Professor Aleran had explained, the pillar involved riddles, puzzles, mind games, and other such things—none of which appealed to him in the slightest.

Next, he dismissed the Pillar of Luck as it wasn't really his strongest suit—or even a suit he owned at all. It wasn't that he was unlucky, exactly—just never lucky when it really mattered. And after being burned one too many times, he had long stopped counting on Lady Luck for anything.

Having ruled those two out, Aodhán turned his focus to the three remaining pillars.

The Pillar of Strength was a possible win, but he wasn't sure he was the most physically gifted student in the first-year bracket. Sure, he was strong—but compared to Earth awakeneds who could draw raw power and endurance from the ground itself, or Enhancement awakeneds like Scarlett, able to enhance themselves beyond what any buffs could do, he wasn't exactly top-tier in that category.

Speed wasn't his strong suit either—not with students like Cyrus, Yurin, Ayisha, and a whole host of air awakeneds in the mix. He could still make a decent showing. With Eye of the Storm, his base speed was nothing to scoff at. But decent wasn't the same as top-tier, and he doubted impressive would be enough to win this time.

That left the final pillar: Spirit.

The Pillar of Spirit measured one's spiritual cultivation—everything from seals, icons, willpower, connection to the origin planes, titles, and a dozen other things that made up a person's spiritual strength.

Here, Aodhán had a fairly high standing. With Varéc and his status as a transmigrant, his spiritual strength was high enough that Aodhán was almost certain no one else in the first bracket could match him. However, he couldn't be sure. Others had him beat in certain areas. Where people like Andrew, Cyrus, Alesh, and Ayisha already had three seals, he had only two. He didn't have an Icon yet. And compared to Daruk, his willpower felt like a lake next to an ocean.

He sighed, his frown deepening.

He'd always known he was more of a balanced fighter. Not like Yurin or Ayisha, whose stats leaned hard in one direction. That balance was usually a strength—it meant he had no real weaknesses. But it also meant he wasn't topping any charts either. Not unless they were measuring raw, destructive magical power. Unfortunately, that wasn't one of the criteria.

Which meant his chances of getting picked were slim—unless Lady Luck decided to smile on him.

And he'd really rather not count on her.

Exhaling deeply, Aodhán shook his head again and turned his gaze to Andrew. "How are you feeling about all this?"

"Not great," Andrew muttered with a frown. "I always thought I'd be picked automatically—being the first student in our year to gain an Icon—but the only pillars that might favor me are Luck and Spirit. And even then, I don't see myself winning either."

Aodhán nodded in understanding, then looked to Daruk, half-expecting a confident answer about dominating the Pillar of Intelligence. Instead, Daruk's face was drawn in an expression of deep concern and tinged with worry.

Frowning, Aodhán leaned past Andrew and tapped Daruk on the shoulder. "Hey. What's going on?"

"I…" Daruk glanced briefly at Andrew, then shook his head. "I'll tell you later."

His eyes drifted back up to the hovering holographic screens, and Aodhán followed his gaze. Daruk was staring at the Pillar of Spirit, and with every second that passed, his worry seemed to deepen further.

Aodhán's brows knit. That particular screen was bothering him, and Aodhán couldn't figure out wh—

Then it clicked.

He shot Daruk a worried look, then nudged Andrew gently. "Switch seats with Daruk, please. I need to speak with him."

To his credit, Andrew didn't ask questions. He simply nodded, eyes flicking to the screens as he stood and moved to start a conversation with Yurin. When Daruk slid into Andrew's seat, Aodhán leaned in and whispered, "You're worried about the strength of spirit, right?"

Daruk gave a curt nod, and Aodhán sighed. "What can we do?"

"I don't know," Daruk whispered back. "It depends on how they evaluate us. If it's anything other than the Spirit Sensing Orb, I might be able to hide the fact that my spiritual cultivation is higher than it should be for someone with no Icon and just two seals. But for a trial like this… I don't see them using anything less thorough."

Aodhán groaned quietly, his mind racing as the weight of it all settled on him.

The spirit trial would be measuring one's spiritual strength, and if Daruk took the trial, the result would almost expose his status to the world. With the paths of two ascendants engraved on his core, a vast reservoir of willpower, and his sharp insight into his affinity, Daruk's spirit couldn't be far behind his own at all. And if that got out, it wouldn't take long before the questions started.

For nearly six months, Daruk had kept his status as an inheritor hidden from the world, and though a few high-ranking members of the academy staff were probably aware, it was still a well-guarded secret. This trial would ruin that for him, especially if the academy used the spirit-sensing orb, which shone a different color to indicate a person's spiritual cultivation, ranging from black ---> grey---> red ---> blue ---> green ---> violet ---> gold. Black for abysmal and gold for perfect.

With only two seals, an opening, and his titles and techniques, Daruk shouldn't have a rating higher than blue, but with his immense willpower reserves, he'd be pressing violet—maybe even brushing gold. That was bound to catch the attention of anyone watching. And from there, it'd only be a matter of time before they realized he had far more willpower than he should at his tier. More than anyone should at the evolved class.

"This is bad," Aodhán muttered, and Daruk nodded.

"I don't know what to do, Aodhán," he said, voice low. "I'm not ready to expose myself yet. It won't just bring attention to me—it'll drag the whole family into it. Two inheritors from one family? That's insane. Add Aldric's new abilities to the mix, and we're basically asking to be swarmed by reporters and agents from the council. This is the worst possible timing."

Aodhán grimaced, thinking. But before he could form a proper plan, Professor Aleran's voice rang out. "Let the trials begin. First-years, please make your way to the stage."

Aodhán stood, pulling Daruk aside. "We'll figure it out later. If you win the Pillar of Intelligence, you won't have to take the spirit trial. That's one way out. If not… we'll figure something else out. For now, just give this trial your best."

Daruk nodded. "Yeah. I can do that."

"Good. Now let's go."

Together, they walked down to the stage, queuing behind Andrew and Yurin, who were still engrossed in their own whispered conversation. They joined the rest of the group, arranging themselves into something that vaguely resembled a line as a third-year student pushed a towering metallic contraption to the center of the stage. It looked like a high striker, gleaming with strength and durability runes. A scoreboard sat at the top, displaying [0/1700] in glowing blue script. At its base rested a massive mallet, heavy and polished.

The moment the contraption settled in place, Professor Aleran spoke again.

"Fifteen years ago, a woman named Uduak Goradon shattered the previous strength cap of 1600 and raised the bar to 1700. No one has broken that record since—not in all of Lutia, though many have tried. The rules of this game are simple. Hit the lever as hard as you can using any buffs except your Icon or seals, as those introduce variables we cannot accurately quantify. The scoreboard will convert your force and momentum into a score that helps us build rankings for the Pillar of Strength…"

He went on, but Aodhán only half-listened. It was a pretty straightforward trial.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Professor Aleran finished his speech a moment later, and four of the holographic screens vanished, leaving only the pillar of strength hovering in the sky above.

Aodhán was still watching it with narrowed eyes when Yurin nudged him. "What's going on with you and Daruk?"

Aodhán gave a faint smile. "Don't worry about it. It's nothing."

"Okay, then focus—because we've started."

True enough, students were beginning to step forward as the upperclassmen cheered and applauded in anticipation. Aodhán pushed his concerns about the spirit trial aside and looked toward the front of the line, where Cyrus and his posse stood with their usual arrogance, both he and Lilith flaunting their Icons like badges of superiority.

Aodhán would have loved to say he was surprised to see them, but he truly wasn't. Ever since those two had earned their Icons, their favorite pastime had become shoving them in his face. They'd practically blinded him with them during gym this morning.

He didn't bother hiding his grimace and shifted his gaze past them to the fuming, no-less-arrogant noble who stood behind them. Grendar looked sullen, her presence having been notably absent from the spotlight lately. Even now, she managed to glare at every single person who so much as looked her way.

Aodhán averted his eyes before she could catch him doing the same. He wasn't in the mood for her particular brand of toxicity.

The trial began without much fanfare. Professor Aleran simply gestured for the first student to approach, and Cyrus stepped up to the high-striker, his expression determined, energy and willpower billowing off him in waves.

He seized the mallet and, with a sudden burst of spatial energy, swung. The mallet blurred—seemingly teleporting—before slamming into the lever with bone-rattling force. The puck rocketed up the track so fast it could've been missed in the blink of an eye. A bright flash lit up the scoreboard, and a second later, his score appeared for all to see.

Cyrus Valerion: [1478/1700]

Cheers erupted from the stands and rippled through the students gathered below, but Aodhán remained unimpressed. Out of 1700, 1478 was... decent. Nothing more. If champion Uduak Goradon had hit the perfect 1700, then so could he—maybe even more. Sure, she'd had Earth affinity on her side—strength, endurance, raw physical might—but if he couldn't hit at least 1600 in this trial, then he had a lot more training to do than he thought.

Cyrus locked eyes with him from the stage, purple irises gleaming with pride—and challenge. Aodhán didn't return the gesture, keeping his expression completely blank, even when Yurin elbowed him lightly and whispered, "Is this beef still ongoing?"

Aodhán shrugged. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

Yurin snorted and shook his head. "You're so weird. One minute you're above it all—because yes, that's what this is now—and the next you're acting like you can't think of anything else."

Aodhán gave a quiet huff and looked away, ashamed to admit that Yurin was right. He knew this rivalry with Cyrus was petty and childish. But dammit, it was also infuriating. No matter how often he tried to let it go, he kept getting dragged back in. Maybe he did have a problem—but he couldn't help himself. He'd be damned if he let that pompous, pink-haired noble beat him at anything.

Lilith went up next, her steps heavy as she coated herself in an armor of blood. She grabbed the mallet with surprising ease, her armor roiling violently as she channeled a vast amount of willpower into the skill. She swung the mallet a moment later, and Aodhán's gaze flashed to the scoreboard, his eyes narrowing in expectation as the screen flickered to life.

Aside from Earth and Enhancement/Reinforcement awakeneds, Blood awakeneds were another set of people with great physical strength—or at least the potential to have it. Aodhán expected a good showing from her, and surprisingly, she didn't disappoint.

Lilith Bloodmoon: [1545/1700]

Despite not being a fan of Lilith herself, Aodhán couldn't help but grin when he saw Cyrus blanch, eyes filled with shock and just enough betrayal to promise some drama. Lilith herself was stunned. She glanced at the scoreboard in surprise, then at Cyrus, who fumed for a moment before stalking off the stage.

Yurin grinned. "Well, this trial just became far more interesting."

"Oh, absolutely." Aodhán's grin widened, his eyes greedily following Cyrus as he walked off the stage to fume by the arena stands.

Yurin watched him for a moment before chuckling. "You have a problem."

Aodhán's expression snapped back to a neutral mask, and he gritted out, "You're the one setting me up."

"Fair." Yurin chuckled. "But that was really enlightening. I really need to stop underestimating Lilith just because she's no longer in the tower's top ten."

"That ranking is no longer accurate." Aodhán snorted. "She and Cyrus haven't challenged the tower since they manifested their icons. I'm sure that when they do, we'll see her climb again."

"And Cyrus might dethrone you," Yurin teased.

Aodhán wanted to say something snarky like, well, he could certainly try, but he couldn't deny that it was a real possibility now. Cyrus was a tier above him and was further enhanced by the power boost icons offered. Still, he couldn't admit that, so he went with the snarky response anyway, causing Yurin to chuckle and shake his head.

Grendar went up next, trudging toward the high striker as if she would rather be anywhere else. She lifted the mallet with a grunt and swung with all her might, but Aodhán could already tell it was going to be a disappointment. The scoreboard flashed, and well—it was just as he'd expected.

Grendar Bladewynn: [1295/1700]

She scowled at the scoreboard and only barely stopped herself from throwing a tantrum right there and then. Instead, she threw the mallet to the ground and ran off the stage. On the scale of tantrums, Aodhán considered that pretty tame, actually.

Andrew, who had been pretty quiet since the trial began, leaned toward them and said firmly, "You know, that score isn't bad. She's just comparing herself to one of the greatest champions of all time. I personally think she did great."

Aodhán sighed, just about to feel bad when a sneaking suspicion crept in, and he narrowed his gaze at Andrew. "Hmm, could this be because you think you're going to get a similar score?"

Andrew blanched. "What... no! I just... You know what, never mind."

Aodhán and Yurin laughed while Andrew scowled at them, muttering to himself about mean friends. He tried to seek an ally in Daruk, but Daruk simply stared at him blankly before returning his attention to the stage.

Daruk's reaction was like a bucket of ice-cold water on their excitement, and Aodhán and Yurin instantly sobered up. Clearing his throat, Aodhán turned his attention back to the screen just as the next person stepped onto the stage.

In this manner, the line moved.

One by one, students took to the stage to test their mettle against the high striker. They used all their strengths and all their buffs, and Aodhán had to say he was impressed by some people.

None of them came close to Cyrus's score, but most of them reached very high into the 1300s, which—like Andrew had said earlier—wasn't really terrible. This particular trial was just skewed to favor a special set of people, leaving air and water awakeneds to struggle in the early and late 1200s.

One particular air awakened, though, and refused to be brought low by the trial. Indiana Remus stepped onto the stage, expression hard as she walked toward the high striker. Aodhán had fought against her before, and so he knew just how... unpredictable she could be. She wasn't overwhelmingly strong, but she had speed and resourcefulness on her side.

With a few streams of wind swirling around her, she picked up the mallet and then ran back to the edge of the stage. Her core flared for a moment—most likely from the activation of a buff skill—and with a growl, she ran forward, wind currents propelling her forward, then leaped into a full-bodied strike.

The mallet slammed into the lever with so much force that the puck was a blur as it raced up the tracks, carried by the wind itself.

Impressed, Aodhán's gaze flashed to the scoreboard, which seemed to have frozen up for a second before flashing with a bright light. It revealed her score a moment later, and Aodhán raised an eyebrow in surprise.

Indiana Remus: [1487/1700]

It wasn't a groundbreaking score, but it was far above what she might have gotten, judging by the other wind awakeneds who had gone before her. More importantly, it put her in second place, pushing Cyrus further down the rankings. For that alone, Aodhán was a fan.

She stepped down from the stage, giggling as the arena cheered for her, and suddenly, every single person who attacked the trial after her decided to run too. Some flopped—their strikes landing wrong on the lever, while others simply had the wrong angle—but those who made it managed to add a hundred or two to what their original scores would have been.

Soon, it was Scarlett's turn to step up. She walked up to the high-striker with a determined expression, arms bunching up as she prepared herself. Veins flared beneath her skin as she reached for the mallet, energy surging through every fiber of her being. Her muscles bulged violently, swelling with raw power—her uniform tearing at the seams as her shoulders widened and her arms thickened like coiled steel cables. Fabric snapped, sleeves shredded, and in that moment, she looked less like a human being and more like a living weapon.

It wasn't a very appealing sight, but Yurin and Andrew seemed to think otherwise.

Scarlett lifted the mallet easily, twiddling it between her fingers as if it were a simple utensil.

"Show off," Aodhán muttered with a smile, but he should have known she wasn't done yet. The mallet was enhanced next—a wave of silver flames engulfing it and pushing its density to the very limit. With a smile, she lifted the mallet and trudged back to the edge of the stage, the concrete floor thundering beneath her steps.

She stopped at the very edge of the stage, raised the mallet high, and then she ran.

Halfway to the high striker, she leapt into the air, muscles bunched and teeth clenched. She slammed down a moment later, and the entire stage reverberated with a thunderous crash. A cloud of dust billowed up, obstructing vision, but it was only a mere hindrance to someone like Aodhán, who had enhanced perception.

With widened eyes, Aodhán tracked the puck as it rocketed up the track, runes flaring wildly as the high-striker struggled to contain and quantify the force Scarlett had unleashed.

It stopped just shy of the top.

Her score appeared a moment later, and Aodhán nearly gave up on the trial then and there.

Scarlett Urdania: [1649/1700]

The arena exploded in a roar of cheers and applause, and Aodhán joined in excitedly as Scarlett's name climbed to the top of the rankings, pushing Lilith's and Cyrus's names further down the list. Aodhán would be lying if he said that didn't bring him immense joy.

Scarlett gave a performer's bow, her smile so wide it looked like her face might split in two from sheer excitement. She raced toward her brothers the moment she stepped off the stage, and Aodhán felt emotion rise within him, flooding his body in a wave of goosebumps.

He was genuinely happy for her. If no one else broke her record, then she would be the winner of this trial.

The line moved on from there, and for the next fifteen minutes, others took their chances at the high striker, swinging the mallet with all their strength. Among them were Lupin, Gwendolyn, Ayisha, Alesh, Marcellus, Aida, Ankaz, and even Ursaz—but none managed to surpass Scarlett's score.

Cyrus's record, however, was easily beaten. With each new student, his ranking was pushed further and further down the list until it eventually dropped out of the top twenty.

Ten minutes later, it was finally Daruk's turn. He climbed onto the stage, his demeanor cold and unapproachable as he strode toward the high striker. With a grunt, he grabbed the mallet, a gauntlet of ice forming around his hand. But the construct wasn't the only buff skill Daruk possessed. He carried a vast amount of willpower—something that gave him an undeniable sense of gravitas and presence. More importantly, he had his energy enhancement technique, which had already advanced far beyond Aodhán's, who was still struggling with the essence threads tangled in his neck.

Lifting the mallet with ease, Daruk took a dozen quiet steps backward, small patches of frost blooming in his wake. He turned back to the high striker, eyes cold and determined as a dozen strands of energized willpower surged into the essence threads running through his arms.

Power flooded his body, and with a swift motion, he ran forward and swung. Ice cracked, the puck shot upward, and the scoreboard flashed with a bright light. It revealed Daruk's score a moment later, and Aodhán grinned.

Daruk Brystion: [1527/1700]

Andrew and Yurin went up next, and although they both gave strong performances, their scores landed in the lower 1400s.

Finally, it was Aodhán's turn.

He stepped onto the stage, eyes fixed on Uduak Goradon's score. That was the record he wanted to beat—not Scarlett's, no matter how impressive hers looked. Life didn't end within the academy. If he was going to compete, he had to set his sights higher than what was merely within reach. And while Scarlett's score was high, it was still attainable. The cap, however—that was the real gold.

Steeling himself, he grabbed the mallet and opened his spirit to the origin plane of storm. Chaotic essence flooded in, filling him with both pain and pleasure—but Aodhán wasn't done yet.

One by one, he activated his buffs, starting with his merge perk. Varéc's power fused with his own, and Aodhán gasped as his body shifted into that of a dragon—wings flaring, scales rippling. He activated his [Berserk] perk next, savoring the extra rush of strength it brought.

With chaos and willpower roiling within him, his body thrummed with power. But it still wasn't enough.

Closing his eyes, Aodhán visualized a cataclysmic storm. The image came easily—too easily—but he wasn't concerned about that. Not now. Instead, he focused on feeling the storm's weight. How it suppressed everything beneath it. How heavy it looked. How supreme.

His aura burst out of him an instant later, carrying the supremacy of the storm, but rather than let it spread and engulf the stage, Aodhán compressed it—concentrating it around the mallet's head. The pressure bloomed, growing so intense the air itself popped.

Exhaling deeply, he walked back to the edge of the stage—eyes sharp and slitted, tail swishing behind him, wings slightly spread, horns gleaming, and scales shimmering. When he reached the edge, he turned back to the high striker and, with a predatory baring of teeth, ran forward and leapt.

His wings arched, offering him more momentum. His aura compressed tighter, gleaming around the mallet's head like a cloud of darkness. Chaos roiled within him, and with lightning-quick reflexes, Aodhán swung the mallet. {Surging Momentum} activated the instant before impact, and a thunderous clap echoed through the entire arena.

The puck rocketed up the track, and the machine vibrated from the force of his swing. Runes flared beneath him. The scoreboard flashed, and Aodhán's eyes widened with hope, certain that he had won. But that hope was dashed an instant later.

Aodhán Ashoka-Brystion: [1640/1700]

He had lost.

The arena erupted in cheers, not for him, but for Scarlett, as Professor Aleran declared her the winner of the first trial in a loud voice.

Swallowing his disappointment, Aodhán dropped the mallet and clapped, smiling at Scarlett as she rejoiced in her victory.

He glanced at the floating screen in the sky and muttered under his breath. "One down. Four more to go."