The Legendary Mage novel Chapter 292

"Agreed."

"Deal," Eyla decided for Alavin, giving him a nudge with her shoulder. "Crush him! Show no mercy!"

The onlookers’ faces were souring, and a cold glint flashed in their gaze.

“Nothing but trouble,” Alavin thought helplessly.

"Lead the way!" The trio of white-haired elders had no interest in entering the Lord’s Keep. Their main purpose here was to see just how strong the Top 5 Protégés from The Clash of Eight Orders really were.

In days of yore, the pit was the most bustling spot in Stormcast, able to host thousands of spectators for combat. The grounds were vast, fashioned like a wild forest, providing a more authentic and thrilling stage for Magi-Monster duels. Though now in ruins, with many sections collapsed into rubble, the inner field remained mostly intact, overrun with weeds and trees. The ground was littered with stones, resembling a stretch of wilderness.

The Blessed Citadel party surveyed the area, and despite its dilapidation, found it possessed a raw, primal style well-suited for a display of martial prowess.

"What's the plan of attack?" Eyla was excited, glancing at Alavin and then at the Citadel Protégés, eager for the match to begin. The prospect was thrilling. The new generation of Northlanders were pitted against the elite of the Blessed Citadel. It was a shame everything was so rushed. They should have organized a grander venue with more factions as spectators.

The Citadel Protégés shared strange looks. “What's got this woman so worked up?”

Marak sneered. Eyla and Alavin were all so naive. The Inner Protégés of the Blessed Citadel were absolute elites, and those present were the cream of the inner circle.

"Who's first?" Alavin limbered up, ready to test his recent progress against the Citadel Protégés.

A handsome youth was about to speak when Alavin suddenly suggested, "How about I warm up with a friend of Lord Viperbane first?"

Marak's smile was cold. “Do you really want to take me on?”

"Fine! I agree. A little appetizer before the main course," Eyla taunted Marak.

“Appetizer? Don't underestimate us.” Marak snorted. The two guards by his side were not ordinary. They were warriors not afraid of death, handpicked by his father. Having grown up with him, they showed strong talents and battle-hardened loyalty. Now in their twenties, they were already Advanced Mages, one at Stage I and the other at Stage III, no less formidable than the elite Protégés trained by the Eight Orders.

"My lord, I shall go," said Romarn. The Stage I mage clenched his fists, and his cold glare were fixed on Alavin. “An appetizer? You insult me!”