Earth's Greatest Magus

Chapter 2497 The Scales

Chapter 2497  The Scales

The third round of the competition unfolded in a different location, a grand courtyard at the heart of the Skyroot estate. At its center stood a magnificent bronze monument—a towering obelisk, fifty meters high, etched with intricate glowing runes that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. The structure exuded an ancient, almost sacred aura that commanded both reverence and curiosity.

This imposing artifact was the Heaven and Earth Scales, an invention of the Skyroot founder himself. Its purpose was legendary: to measure the depth of one's soul strength. Among alchemists, the artifact held an almost mythical status. Those who excelled in its challenge often ascended to the ranks of the truly elite.

The examiner, a stern-faced magus draped in ceremonial robes adorned with the Skyroot insignia, addressed the assembled contestants.

"The final round is to assess the extent of your soul's capability," he declared, his voice echoing through the courtyard.

The mechanics of the test were deceptively simple. Each participant was to step forward, place a hand on the obelisk, and channel their soul energy into it. The goal was to illuminate as many of the hundred glowing runes carved into its surface as possible. The higher the number, the greater the participant's marks.

Excitement rippled through the gathered alchemists. This was the ultimate test, the defining moment. Tales of the obelisk's difficulty had circulated for centuries. Very few had ever achieved the extraordinary feat of lighting more than 90 runes, a milestone that cemented one's place in the annals of alchemical history.

However, there was an air of unease as the forty-seven participants waited, their anticipation slowly morphing into confusion. Minutes passed, and yet the test did not begin. Murmurs spread through the crowd.

"What's going on? Why haven't we started yet?" one participant whispered, glancing around nervously.

The answer soon became clear. From the far end of the courtyard, a procession of figures emerged. Their presence commanded immediate attention, and the murmurs turned into a buzz of awe and speculation.

A group of two dozen alchemists entered the scene, each one an esteemed master recognized across realms. Among them were illustrious names like Galeli, the Ember Sage, and Ada Velace, the Rose of Aether—both Grade 8 alchemists of legendary repute. These were not competitors; they were members of the upper echelons of the Tartarus Realm, affiliated with powerful factions. They had received automatic invitations to the Alchemists of Heaven and Earth and were here merely as observers.

But the true star of the procession was the figure at the center: Calidorne, a Grade 9 alchemist and the patriarch of the Skyroot faction himself. Draped in robes that shimmered like liquid gold, he moved with an air of quiet authority. As he took his seat on an elevated platform overlooking the obelisk, the tension among the participants rose exponentially.

Once the dignitaries were settled, the examiner spoke again, his voice cutting through the hum of the crowd.

"The rules have been updated. Only the top five performers from this test will be invited to join the Alchemists of Heaven and Earth."

A wave of disbelief rippled through the participants. Previously, they had assumed that meeting a minimum threshold would suffice. Now, with only five slots available, the stakes were far higher. One alchemist, bold enough to voice his displeasure, stepped forward, but before he could speak, Calidorne's deep, resonant voice silenced him.

"These are the requirements. We cannot accommodate too many alchemists for the event," the patriarch stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

A Grade 7 alchemist from the observing group sneered, his voice dripping with condescension. "Consider yourselves lucky to even be allowed to participate. Most of you are unlicensed, after all."

The remark ignited anger among some participants, but with the Skyroot patriarch present, none dared to challenge it outright.

In contrast, the young woman who had arrived with the fairies, along with a few other confident individuals, showed no visible reaction. They appeared calm, their expressions unbothered by the heightened stakes.

"Alright, I will call your names one by one," the examiner announced, his voice steady and formal.

The first participant, an elderly alchemist from a remote mountain region with a modest reputation, approached the monument. He hesitated for a moment before placing his hand on its cold, polished surface. The obelisk responded immediately, its runes beginning to light up in quick succession.

Half of the monument glowed brightly within seconds, but then the progress slowed dramatically. The old man's face twisted in concentration, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he pushed himself to channel more of his soul energy. A faint hum resonated from the obelisk, signaling the strain of his attempt. After three grueling minutes, he exhaled heavily and withdrew his hand, clearly exhausted.

"Sixty-five runes," the examiner declared without so much as glancing at the man, already preparing to call the next name.

One by one, the participants stepped forward, each attempting to light as many runes as they could. The obelisk became a battleground of soul strength, but most could barely reach the 70-mark. The air grew tense as more names were called, and the results remained unimpressive. Anxiety rippled through the crowd of alchemists, some of whom exchanged nervous glances.

Meanwhile, the elite alchemists seated in the dignitaries' section watched the proceedings with thinly veiled amusement. Their quiet snickers soon grew into open mockery.

"Hah! These outback alchemists think so highly of themselves," one of them sneered, eliciting laughter from his peers.

When a towering figure—a three-meter-tall giant race with striking blue skin—stepped forward, the dignitaries' laughter intensified. "What does a giant know of alchemy?" one of them quipped.

But their ridicule was cut short when the giant placed his hand on the obelisk. The glow surged upward, surpassing the previous attempts with startling speed. Gasps rippled through the crowd as the light blazed past the 80-mark.

"Eighty-two runes," the examiner announced, a hint of surprise creeping into his usually monotone voice. The giant stepped back with a satisfied smile, bowing respectfully to the examiner.

By this point, over forty participants had taken their turns, but only three had managed to breach the 80-mark. The tension in the air was palpable as the next name was called.

Finally, the young woman stepped forward. Her graceful movements and serene composure drew murmurs from the crowd.

"She's a fey, isn't she? Why are they participating this time after so long?" one participant whispered.

The woman ignored the chatter, placing her hand on the monument without hesitation. The response was immediate and dazzling. The runes lit up in a rapid cascade, reaching the 80-mark with effortless ease. The crowd fell silent, watching in awe as the glow continued its upward climb.

It slowed slightly as it approached the 90-mark, but it didn't stop. When the final tally was revealed—90 runes—a stunned hush fell over the courtyard. Even the elite alchemists were taken aback, their smug expressions replaced with grudging respect.

The Skyroot patriarch himself nodded approvingly, his gaze fixed on the fey woman as though recognizing her identity.

Soon, the last participant stepped forward, but their attempt failed to surpass the fey's remarkable feat. "Is that all?"

The examiner glanced at his list, then replied, "No. We are missing one participant."