The Ascender's Legacy [A CHAOTIC STORM LITRPG]

After gym exercises the next day, Aodhán and his friends made their way to the weapons hall for Awakened Combat. Professor Alaric was already waiting when they arrived, lounging carelessly on a construct of air, a book in hand.

He didn't look up as students trickled in but somehow knew the moment the last person arrived. With a disappointed exhale, he closed the book and looked up. "Welcome, students. Pick a weapon of your choice and make your way to the dueling ring. Nearly all of you have seals now, so I expect a much more aligned approach to combat with that of your affinity."

"During the exams last term, you demonstrated how your affinities would fight if they were humanoid. You'll be doing the same thing today, but, this time, against a counter element. For instance, fire against water, light against shadow, and so on. So, please pick a weapon; we only have two hours before the selection trials begin."

The students picked their weapons, and Aodhán grabbed the heavy hammer he'd used last time. It was much easier to wield now, and after activating runes for a few people, they all gathered around the dueling ring.

For the next two hours, Professor Alaric called on students with seemingly opposite affinities to duel. Yurin against Imani, Daruk against Ursaz Urdania, Dihlon against Azul, Marcellus against Kellan Dravenor, Andrew against Eren, and Aodhán against Aida Simms.

It was a fun class, in all honesty.

Where Yurin attacked directly with enviable speed, Imani lurked in shadows, phasing like a phantom to strike from impossible angles. While Daruk brought a deadly chill to the duel, Ursaz burned like a raging inferno, bringing with him a blistering heat that refused to bow to the cold. Where Azul brought her imagination to bear, forcing her thoughts on reality, Dihlon attacked her with dozens of fist-sized explosions that made it hard for her to even think, much less imagine.

Marcellus against Dravenor? Well, that was a match Aodhán couldn't even make head or tail of. A perception awakened against an Empath. It was a recipe for disaster. Both had attacked at the same time, Marcellus twisting Kellan's perception and completely turning his reality on its head, but then a moment later, he'd promptly surrendered, looking to be on the verge of tears.

It should have ended there, but apparently, Kellan was more vindictive than he had portrayed himself to be, because the next moment, Marcellus glared at Imani and shouted. "Fucking bitch, no one would want you but me."

Gasps echoed through the hall, and Imani froze, her eyes going wide and then narrowing in pure rage. She took a step forward, shadows writhing around her. "How dare you—"

"That's about enough, Kellan." Professor Alaric shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. He glared at all three students and said. "Using your abilities in this manner is unbecoming of students of your stature."

"I didn't force him to say those words." Kellan retorted, wiping blood from his nose. "I simply encouraged him to say the truth about how he felt to Imani."

"What?!" Marcellus shouted, having come back to his senses. "I don't feel that. That is a lie!"

"Take it outside." Professor Alaric snapped, annoyed by the whole thing. He glanced at Kellan. "And you, minus 30 points for using your abilities in an unethical manner. This is not why we train you. This is not why we train any of you, and the next person who pulls such a prank in my class will be suspended indefinitely. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir." The class chorused while Marcellus and Imani hissed at each other in one corner of the room. Aodhán couldn't hear what they were talking about, but from their expressions, he didn't think she would be forgiving him any time soon.

The class continued in a more cautious manner. Andrew and Eren clashed in a storm of wood and metal, Ayisha and Cyrus clashed in a cloud of space and time, and Aodhán sent all the rage of a storm at the immovability and endurance of Earth.

He won, of course. But the exercise wasn't about winning—it was about finding ways to circumvent the strengths that certain affinities posed to his own weaknesses.

The class ended soon after, but before Professor Alaric walked out of the class, Aodhán raised his hands to ask a question everyone else was thinking.

Professor Alaric glared at his raised hands and scowled. "What sin have I committed for you to torture me so?"

Aodhán ignored his snarky response and asked. "I was wondering when we would use the ASR chambers next, sir."

Professor Alaric sighed. "We would have used it today, but we obviously don't have enough time for it, not with the selection trials starting very soon, so maybe next week."

A ripple of excitement spread through the class, and Aodhán turned to grin at his friends. "Time to knock the Black Order into the dust once again. This time, they won't just eat dust; they will drown in it."

Daruk rolled his eyes while Yurin snorted. "That won't happen this time, because we have learned all your tricks. Besides, you're forgetting that three out of four icon bearers are members of the Black Order. We are stronger this time."

Andrew snorted. "When has that ever stopped the Red Order?. You guys have always been stronger. We're just smarter."

"And more coordinated." Aodhán added with a chuckle. "Whatever simulation we face this time, I'm certain we'll waste no time wrecking you guys. Varéc alone could probably do it."

Daruk snorted. "We might not be able to eliminate your damned familiar, but I bet he wouldn't enjoy being buried in a mountain of ice for very long." His eyes narrowed, and he glared at Aodhán's chest. "Cold, deadly ice."

Within his spirit, Varéc shuddered uncomfortably, and Aodhán scowled at Daruk. "You know, it's talk like this that makes it hard for Varéc to like you."

Daruk shrugged. "I don't need his affections. I have Sentinel to take care of me."

Andrew frowned. "Isn't that the name of your ice spider construct?"

"Yes, and he's ice cold. Just the way I like them."

Aodhán shook his head. "That sounds terrible. Perhaps I should warn Gwendolyn."

"Ah ha, very funny."

Their banter continued as they made their way to the arena. They arrived a bit early and managed to find an empty row of seats only a few meters away from the stage. After settling down, they began discussing the forms this trial might take. Puzzles, riddles, quizzes, mazes… the options were endless.

But as fun as it would undoubtedly be, Daruk was taking it very seriously.

After Aodhán returned from Professor Jorendil's office yesterday, the two of them had discussed at length what they could do to circumvent the trial of spirit when it came. But after an hour of brainstorming, they had decided that this trial had to be the end of Daruk's journey through the pillars. He had to win this trial. Not just to secure himself a slot in the tournament, but to protect his identity. There was no other solution.

Minutes passed as more students trickled in, and fifteen minutes later, the arena doors were closed shut. Professor Vastermoff took the stage, his expression a little stiff as he addressed them. "Good afternoon, students. I am Professor Vastermoff, third-year alchemy professor of this prestigious academy, and today, I will be anchoring the trial of intelligence."

"I am disappointed to announce that today's trial will involve no puzzles or riddles or any such activities that actually measure intelligence." He grimaced, puffed his shoulders, and then continued. "Instead, we'll be playing a game—no, trial. Apologies. This trial is designed to test your skills in pattern recognition, and for that, we will be making use of a platform very similar to the flash field."

He paused dramatically, but when nothing happened, he coughed. "Raise the platform, handlers."

Metal creaked, and with a flash of light, the concrete floor was replaced with a very wide, square platform, covered completely in black tiles.

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Nodding to himself, Professor Vastermoff continued. "The rules of this game—no, trial. Apologies, once again. The rules of this trial are simple. For two seconds, the platform will display a complex pattern encompassing a hundred tiles in gold. You are to memorize this pattern and then walk it. Correct tiles will flash gold, while incorrect tiles will flash red. The first person to get the pattern right will be the winner. In the case where no one completes the trial, then the person with the greatest number of golden tiles shall be our winner. Note that the pattern will change for each participant, so there's no need to memorize the pattern of the person before you."

Aodhán frowned, and he glanced at Daruk, who was wearing a similar expression. Exhaling, Aodhán placed a hand on Daruk's shoulder and asked. "How good are you with pattern memorization?"

"Pretty good," Daruk replied, still frowning. "But not quite good enough to memorize a hundred tiles in two seconds. I fear I might have to take drastic measures."

Aodhán's eyes narrowed. "And what will these measures be?"

Daruk shrugged. "I've not decided yet, but I don't have a choice here, Aodhán. I have to win. If I don't, then we're in a shit ton of trouble. The attention you draw alone is enough to last us a lifetime."

Aodhán chuckled. "Fair. I wish you the best, Daruk. I'm rooting for you."

Daruk nodded. "Thank you."

Professor Vastermoff concluded his speech a few minutes later and announced. "First-year students, if you will please form a queue before the stage."

Aodhán rushed out of his seat and ran to the stage, Daruk hot on his heels. Yet, even in their haste, they only managed to secure the 9th and 10th positions. Unlike the other trials, this trial would simply end the moment someone got their own pattern right. They couldn't afford to stay at the back for this. Going first would have been better; that way, if Daruk won, the whole thing could simply be disbanded without fuss.

Moving to stand behind Daruk, Aodhán glanced at the people in front of them and cursed when he saw Azul Fetherson occupying the 6th position. Azul was incredibly smart, and with her affinity for imagination, there was no telling what she could do or imagine.

Daruk, however, seemed unfazed by Azul's presence, although his fist clenched and his neutral mask grew colder.

The trial began without much fanfare. Professor Vastermoff called on the first challenger, and Grendar stepped up, having bullied her way to the front of the queue. She stepped onto the field and glared at the expanse of black tiles for a moment before nodding. "I am ready."

The field flashed an instant later; a jagged path of golden tiles that branched and curved to form a very complex pattern vaguely resembling the letter G. The pattern shone brilliantly, shining with such an intensity that it etched itself into every eye in the arena, leaving a splatter of afterimages that danced like ghosts behind the eyelids.

The pattern disappeared in two seconds, and the dark splotches that followed offered no mercy, swimming around and making it awfully hard to see the field itself. If the intensity of the light was intentional to blind them, then it was working, because it took Aodhán an extra second to see his own fingers.

Blinking past the afterimages, he muttered. "How are we supposed to memorize anything if we can't even see?"

"It's not so blinding to the person on the field." Daruk explained. "They don't want us to recognize any possible patterns from watching other people."

"Still," Aodhán grumbled, blinking as his eyes slowly adjusted, and he was finally able to see Grendar on the stage.

Surprisingly, she looked composed, eyes scanning the field and hands wiggling through the air as she made sure she had gotten the pattern right. A moment later, she exhaled and took her first step, smiling as the tile flashed golden.

With a lot more confidence, she took the next step and then another. Step. Step. Left two. Forward three. Back one. Pivot. Left one. Forward two…

With each tile that flashed golden, Grendar gained more confidence and Aodhán lost more—feeling very evil as he prayed that she missed a step. But Grendar wasn't going to fail so easily. She crossed the first twenty tiles without issue and then the next, bringing her to forty tiles out of a hundred. And yet, she wasn't slowing down.

When the fiftieth tile flashed golden, Aodhán began to grow worried that Grendar had bullied her way to the front of the queue not just to satisfy her ego, but because she was surprisingly good at memorizing patterns. What if she won the trial and Daruk didn't even get the chance to participate? What if—Brrrmm.

An alarm sounded. A tile flashed red. Aodhán grinned.

Grendar had missed a step. She tried to correct it immediately, but her streak was already broken, and with a somber tone, Professor Vastermoff announced her score. "Congratulations, Grendar Bladewynn. You got 57 tiles right."

Grendar scowled as a holographic screen appeared in the sky to display her name and score. She looked back at the field and cursed before stalking away, metal whips shuddering around her as she tried to contain her anger.

Aida Simms went up next, but her seismic sense offered her little help here. She only completed a total of thirty-two tiles before making a mistake. Laughing at herself, she stepped off the platform and whispered something to Indiana as she passed by her.

Whatever she had whispered to Indiana ultimately failed because a few minutes later, Indiana also stepped off the stage, having only gotten 39 tiles right.

One by one, students stepped onto the platform, trying to memorize and repeat the pattern they were given, but no one surpassed Grendar until Azul stepped up, wriggling her fingers nervously.

Despite her nerves, Azul was determined to win. Her ability for imagination hadn't helped her much in the past two trials, but she didn't need her ability here; she needed her mind, which she had trained extensively to imagine and memorize. Her power was tied to her mind after all. The more vivid her imagination was, the less energy and willpower she required to make them a reality. Her mind was trained for this.

Exhaling deeply, Azul glared at the black expanse, counting. When she finished, she nodded. "I'm ready."

The tiles flashed an instant later, revealing a complex formation of curves that vaguely resembled the letter S. Azul scanned the pattern immediately, trying to take note of as many details as she could. Her lips moved as she counted each step, and just as she counted the last step, the pattern vanished, leaving a faint afterimage to dance behind her eyelids.

Breathing deeply, Azul began walking. A step right. Diagonal right. Forward three. Back one. Pivot. Left one. Forward two…

Like a dancer, she moved, tiles lighting up beneath her feet. With each correct tile she marked, her confidence grew, and before long, she was flowing, twisting, and turning in her own little world. Her steps were calculated and direct, but to the audience, it was an ethereal choreography—a variation to music only she could hear.

Her power leaked subtly from her core, and a spotlight from nowhere shone upon her. Her uniform transformed into a stunning ice-blue ball gown, glittering with gems and precious stones. Her hair loosened from its braid, but rather than fall down her shoulders, it flowed, twisting and moving with every motion. Wind blew gently, and from nowhere, a soft, lilting tune echoed out, full of feeling; almost bittersweet. It rose and fell like a quiet breeze, tender and yearning.

The sound spiraled out, touching everyone and sparking emotion within them. Shuddering, Aodhán tried to resist it, but he couldn't, and he exhaled heavily, letting the emotion run its course. Eyes watered, smiles wobbled, and hearts grew heavy. But more importantly, the entire arena fell dead silent as if they'd never seen a girl dance before. What many of them didn't understand was that they were living in a reality Azul was imagining.

Aodhán's breath hitched, his nerves forgotten as Azul gracefully tapped the sixtieth tile; the black square lit up with a golden glow. Time passed, and for the next few seconds, Azul held the entire arena under her spell. What should have been a tense trial turned into a performance so graceful and beautiful that it drove many to tears. Even Daruk relaxed, exhaling deeply as they all watched her hit the 70th tile and then the 80th.

But Azul wasn't fated to win.

The cost of overlaying an imagined reality onto the real world drained her willpower and energy reserves nearly completely. And as she lifted a leg to hit the 90th tile, her feet wobbled and she lost her balance. The overlaid reality shattered. The spotlight disappeared, her uniform returned, and her hair returned to its practical braided knot just as the alarm sounded.

A tile flashed red. She had staggered onto the wrong tile.

For a moment, there was silence, and then a loud cheer, so powerful that the entire arena vibrated. Azul looked up, a sad smile on her face as she wiped away tears. She may not have won, but she had just left a mark on everyone present here. She would not be forgotten any time soon, and maybe, just maybe, one day, she would transform the whole world into the peaceful, fun, and loving world she imagined every night.

She stepped down from the platform, and a few minutes later, it was Daruk's turn. He stepped onto the platform with a confident gait, eyes scanning the tiles even as he moved. Unlike the others, he made no preparation, nor did he count. This wasn't because he couldn't or because he was overconfident, but because he was going to cheat or blind himself or both.

Raising his head to look at Professor Vastermoff, he nodded. "I'm ready."

The field flashed brightly, and a complex pattern appeared. It didn't resemble any letter like many of the others; instead, it was a shapeless blob of golden tiles more resembling an amoeba than anything else. Even standing on the platform, the light was bright—too bright.

Yet, Daruk didn't blink.

Instead, he activated {Cold Vision} and then channeled a dozen strands of energized willpower through his essence threads into his eyes. His vision exploded with a clarity so sharp that the world seemed to fracture into layers—every crack, every uneven seam, every speck of dust around him standing out like strokes on a painted canvas.

Most prominent, though, was the pattern. It shone with a blinding intensity, so much so that it burned itself onto his retina. The flash dimmed a moment later, but the afterimages in Daruk's eyes didn't fade—they sharpened. Like runes branded on his retinas, the pattern burned brilliantly and unmoving. Frozen.

With a sharp exhale of pain as cold stole his sight, Daruk moved. Step. Step. Pivot. Forward two. Left two. Forward three. Back one. Diagonal right…

Without a single pause, his feet tapped the tiles with quiet precision, each one flaring gold in confirmation. Daruk didn't blink. His eyes had turned milky. He was essentially blind, and yet he walked an exact path, never faltering, never second-guessing. He passed the 50th tile without issue, then the 70th, then the 90th.

At that point, Aodhán was already on the edge, whispering and praying to all the Ascendants he knew that Daruk wouldn't miss a step.

Daruk didn't.

With sure steps, he walked the last ten tiles. Forward two. Left two. Forward two. Diagonal three, and… step.

The arena burst into cheers and applause, with Aodhán's voice being the loudest.

"And we have a winner!" Professor Vastermoff announced brightly. "Daruk Brystion, our pillar of intelligence."