Thirteenth Prince's Odyssey

The first rays of dawn broke over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and crimson. King Elijah stood at the center of the sand-covered arena, his silhouette imposing against the growing light. The cool morning air carried the faint scent of dew mixed with earth, a fleeting calm before the spectacle ahead.

The colosseum around him was no ordinary structure—it was The Crucible of Ascendants, an architectural marvel with a legacy as grand as the kingdom itself. Built from gleaming travertine limestone and volcanic tuff, its stones bore the weight of centuries of history. Rising like the ribs of a giant beast, its towering walls enclosed an oval arena capable of holding tens of thousands, from commoners to nobility. Above, grand banners bearing the sigil of Ironhelm fluttered in the gentle breeze.

The Crucible had humble beginnings. Its foundation was laid by the First King, Jacob the Brave, in the twilight years of his reign. Originally, it was a simple stadium where warriors clashed for honor and sport, and the people gathered to celebrate their unity through shared spectacle. In those days, the arena was little more than a circle of stone and sand, its purpose rooted in the raw and unpolished tradition of combat.

Generations of rulers shaped and expanded upon the First King's vision. Monarchs added towering tiers of seats, reinforced the walls to withstand greater crowds, and introduced mechanisms to elevate the excitement of the games. The colosseum, now capable of seating over 120,000 spectators, became an architectural marvel of the age. Its tiered seating was a testament to Ironhelm's craftsmanship, with lower levels carved directly into the limestone foundation for stability, while higher tiers soared skyward, supported by intricate arches and vaulted tunnels. Special luxury boxes for nobility, adorned with polished brass and gold trim, offered an unmatched view of the arena floor.

The most profound transformation, however, came under the reign of Sixth King, Arthur the Wise, a monarch renowned for his relentless pursuit of knowledge. In his lifetime, he mastered rune inscription and the arcane sciences. Known as the Runesmith King, he revolutionized The Crucible by laying the foundation for its mana-powered mechanisms. King Arthur saw potential beyond mere physical contests and envisioned an arena that could bring to life the myths and legends of the realm.

Together with scholars and runesmiths, King Arthur carved intricate mana runes into the colosseum's foundation, blending the ancient magic of Ironhelm with the cutting-edge mechanisms of his time. These runes formed the heart of the colosseum's transformative capabilities, enabling it to simulate entire environments. From summoning mist and fog to crafting rolling waves or shifting dunes, the mana engines King Arthur designed laid the groundwork for the immersive theater of war and wonder that the colosseum had become.

Over the years, advancements brought additional wonders to The Crucible. Theatrical sound mechanisms were installed, using a combination of hollow channels in the walls and mana-powered amplifiers to carry the roars of battle, the clash of steel, and the cries of victory to every corner of the colosseum, ensuring even spectators seated at the highest tiers felt fully immersed in the action. Firework arrays marked moments of triumph or the commencement of grand events. Powered by both pyrotechnics and Arcanite, they lit up the sky in brilliant patterns, their thunderous echoes reverberating through the arena.

Massive enchanted lanterns, hung from concealed brackets, glowed with steady brilliance to illuminate night events. For especially dramatic spectacles, mages worked alongside runesmiths to coordinate luminance with key moments, heightening tension and drama. Adaptive acoustics, introduced by later kings, could mimic the soundscapes of the environments being simulated—whether the howling winds of a tundra, the distant crash of ocean waves, or the eerie silence of a dense forest. Combined with its visual transformations, The Crucible truly transported its audience into another world.

Yet, even with these advancements, the colosseum was far from automated. Each transformation required collaboration between human hands and magical precision. Skilled laborers transported trees, hauled water, and assembled props, their efforts amplified by the arcane energy coursing through the colosseum's walls. Generations of kings and craftsmen added layers to King Arthur's work, refining and expanding its systems until The Crucible of Realms became the legendary arena it was today.

This morning, the vast stands of The Crucible of Ascendants stood eerily empty. It was staged as the scorched desert of Zaar, a brutal and unrelenting expanse in Nvaars known for its blistering heat and ever-shifting dunes. Golden sands stretched across the arena floor, shimmering with illusionary heat waves conjured by mana devices. The air itself felt dry and heavy, the effect so convincing that even seasoned warriors could mistake the simulation for reality.

At the center of the simulated desert stood King Elijah.

Elijah's breathing was steady but distinct; every inhale and exhale drew mana so strongly that it shaped the air around him. His golden aura seemed alive, like a natural extension. Unlike the flickering flames of lesser ranks, his mana had transcended into a constant, visible aura, a halo that shimmered and shifted with golden intensity. A testament to his Champion realm.

The past two days had been devoted to training the lower regiments, their sessions intense yet relatively straightforward. Today it was the elite regiment's turn.

The Ironhelm Elite Guards stood in a meticulously arranged formation, each unit strategically positioned to achieve maximum efficiency. At the forefront were the frontline guards, a formidable wall of heavily armored soldiers, each holding either a spear or a short sword. A solitary commander led them. Behind, stood the bowmen, their quivers full and bows drawn, ready to rain strikes.

To the sides, the spearmen formed flanking units, their long weapons angled outward to repel any attempts at a breach, while behind the entire formation were the axe-wielders, a reserve force of powerful close-combat specialists, ready to charge forward and exploit any opening created by the vanguard.

Flanking the entire line were the lightning-fast skirmishers, lightly armored and armed with throwing knives and short swords, darting in and out of the formation to harass and distract the enemy.

Further back stood the battle mages, their hands raised in focus, prepared to channel destructive elemental magic or shields to support their comrades in battle. They stood ready to enhance the formation's resilience or create devastating attacks when the moment arrived.

Finally, the clerics remained in the core of formation behind the mages.

Each one of them knew this was no ordinary exercise. Elijah's Champion realm power was legendary—a force even ascendants didn't dare challenge, yet today, they were tasked to do just that.

Elijah's voice broke the tense silence, carrying weight of command. "Discipline is the backbone of power," he began, his golden aura shimmering faintly as he spoke. "Strength alone will not win battles. You must move as one—breathe as one. Hesitation is defeat. A scattered formation is a broken one. Show me that you understand."

The guards shifted slightly, their stances firming, their grips tightening on their equipments. Elijah's eyes swept over them, one last time. "Remember, your strength lies in your unity. Do not seek individual glory—it is the downfall of many warriors greater than you. Now, come at me with everything you have. Show me— Ironhelm's finest."

A moment of silence passed, the only sound the faint whistle of the simulated wind through the dunes.

With a sudden burst of speed, Elijah closed the distance to the front line, his mana surging with such intensity that the sands beneath him warped like waves in a storm. His movements were precise, each strike calculated not to injure but to disrupt.

The frontline commander yelled with resolve. "Hold the line!" he shouted, raising his shield just as the golden wave of mana crashed against their defensive formation. The Vanguard Shell was enacted with practiced precision, the seventy soldiers at the frontline bracing against the impact with unwavering discipline. Their shields absorbed the brunt of the force, but the sheer power pushed them back. Falling in unison, they retreated closer to the line of bowmen stationed behind them, their movements reduced the strain of the attack.

Elijah was already in next motion. His shadow blurred as he carried the momentum of his movement forward, his speed unmatched. He leapt over the Vanguard Shell, his sword gleaming with golden mana, and aimed to strike directly at the bowmen.

A shadow of King Elijah loomed in the dust storm, his form indistinct but unmistakably powerful. The frontline commander bellowed with a roar, "ARROWS!" His voice thundered across the battlefield, signaling the bowmen to release their mana-infused projectiles high into the air.

A fraction of a second later, the sky darkened as hundreds of glowing arrows arced overhead. The sandstorm stirred by Elijah's previous strike obscured the scene, but the sound of whistling projectiles filled the air. The elite guards watched with tense anticipation as the volley hurtled toward its target.

As the arrows rained down, Elijah spun his sword in a vertical plane, the blade slicing through the air with precision. A fierce gust of wind erupted from the swing, scattering the arrows into the sand and leaving no trace of their intended trajectory.

The sound of Elijah landing on the sandstorm's edge echoed through the arena, a sharp, resounding thud that reverberated across the field.

Elijah's voice rang out, with an impressed tone, "You've improved Commander Matthew." "Your timing is sharper."

The dust storm quickly cleared, and the commander's face twisted with horror as the full extent of his king's speed and precision became clear. Elijah had landed directly in front of the healers, who were positioned behind the mages. The healers were caught off guard by his sudden appearance, and now they struggled in vain to free themselves from his powerful Bind—a magical force that held them suspended in mid-air, the sand swirling around them as they fought to break free.

Elijah had not landed with his sword in hand. Instead, in the moments prior, during the vertical slash, he threw his sword, using the release of it to alter his trajectory midflight. This move allowed him to gain more speed and change his course, landing swiftly in front of the healers, disrupting the formation entirely.

His voice rang out, calm but edged with disapproval. "But the mages should've also anticipated that."

His words hung in the air as the situation became painfully clear. The battlefield had shifted dramatically. With the healers immobilized the formation's balance was thrown into chaos. 

The axe wielders braced themselves, their hands tightening around their weapons as they prepared to face the full force of King Elijah's might. They exchanged wary glances, silently acknowledging the overwhelming challenge before them. Despite their resolve, the weight of the situation bore down on them like a heavy stone. 

Elijah didn't give them time to process his first strike. Instead of engaging the axe wielders directly, he employed a second trick—a maneuver so swift and precise that the guards barely registered it before it was too late.

The sword he had thrown earlier, the one now buried in the sand infront of the frontline shields, , began to stir. It moved as though guided by a force, tethered to Elijah's will. The blade shot through the air, its trajectory unwavering as it flew back toward him.

In the blink of an eye, the sword crashed through the ranks of the frontline who faced their backs to it, disordered by the clerics' loss.

The soldiers closest to the impact staggered, their shields splintering under the weight of the magical blade. The mages, who had begun to regroup after the earlier assault, found themselves in the trajectory of the sword, pierced by the sword's arc, their attempts at defense too slow to matter. The few remaining axe wielders who had hoped to hold their ground were swept aside, their forms tossed like ragdolls by the force of the attack.

Elijah knew exactly what he had done. He had tied the sword down with Invisible Strand, ensuring it would return with lethal precision to strike where the enemy was most vulnerable. 

His cold gaze lingered on the remnants of the elite force, now scattered and broken, as the echoes of his movement faded into the desert winds.

The aftermath was immediate and devastating. The once-proud formation of the elite regiment of guards lay in disarray, their lines shattered, their unity broken. The front was a tangle of bodies, weapons, and shattered shields. The healers, suspended in the air by Elijah's Bind, remained trapped, their desperate struggles doing little to loosen the magical force that held them in place. The mages, once positioned strategically behind the front lines, were nowhere to be seen—lost in the chaos of Elijah's devastating strike. Their ability to support was nullified, and their absence left a gaping hole in the formation.

The skirmishers and spearmen, though spared from direct attack, stood frozen in place. Their eyes were wide with disbelief, watching as the destruction unfolded in front of them. Though they had not faced a direct blow, the sheer ferocity and speed of King Elijah's assault had already broken their spirits. The sight of their comrades, some lying motionless and others struggling to rise, drained the last ounce of resolve from them. They no longer had the will to fight, their morale shattered beyond repair. 

With just two Master Spells and a movement skill within the very limits of speed, of the formation, Elijah decimated the backbone of the elite guards.