The Legendary Mage (Alavin)
Chapter 122

Today, the square was bustling with a throng of thousands, as numerous Protégés gathered to bid farewell to their 'heroes.'

At the forefront stood four esteemed Golden Protégés, Goldgrace Roald, Phantom Blaze Felis, Snow Cloak Semar, and Mirafe Abyss Admus.

These were the paragons of the new generation, not just in might but in talent and the aura of the strong, their fame echoed throughout Cobalt Strike for years on end.

Trailing behind them were Cedrick, Mariela, Adirich, Myke, Nikulas, and Gwenda-six of the mightiest newcomers, all Elite Protégés, with formidable comprehensive strengths. They were all ready to represent Cobalt Strike in the grand tournament, The Clash of Eight Orders.

Cedrick and Mariela, their renown and prowess stood on par with the Golden Protégés!

None questioned the composition of this assembly.

Five Elders, accompanied by over thirty middle-aged Protégés, arrived at the arena; they, too, would partake in The Clash of Eight Orders, accompanying the Commander to meet the high echelons of other Organizations.

"Well met, Elders!" Roald and the others nodded their greetings.

"Ye all have a fine spirit about ye," the Elders responded with chuckles, stepping forward to discuss the journey with the middle-aged Protégés.

"Where's the Commander, eh?" Nikulas grumbled. His ugly visage was at odds with the dashing Myke, yet strangely in good rapport.

"Likely tending to Organization matters," Myke replied quietly, standing amidst the ranks. He was ill at ease with the thousands of Protégés watching him.

With a creak of his neck, Nikulas voiced his impatience, "I can hardly wait! The Organization has high hopes for us; let's not be ousted as soon as we step on stage."

"We should hold our own for a few bouts, but I fear some might be dead weight." Myke's words floated lightly, but enough to spread among their squad.

Adirich, basking in the adoration of the Protégés, darkened at these words. "Who are you referring to, Myke?"

"Just a caution to all, no need for anyone to take offense," Myke retorted, ever at odds with Adirich and unimpressed by his strength.

Adirich sneered, "Of all the Elite Protégés, you're the least qualified, yet here you are, boasting."

Gwenda, stepping beside Adirich with a smirk, added, "We're not just here to compete, but to uphold the image of Cobalt Strike. And you, why must you join and let other Organizations scoff at us?" Gwenda, a gifted and powerful granddaughter of an Elder from Cobalt Strike, was close to Adirich.

Nikulas' expression chilled. "Are you quite finished?"

Cedrick, Mariela, and the others remained impassive, as if deaf to the bickering. This team was far from the harmony the Protégés envisioned. An Elder at the front, unable to bear their squabbling, coughed loudly in disapproval.

Gwenda approached, linking arms with Elder Marthew. "Why has the Commander not yet arrived? We've been waiting a long while."

Elder Marthew replied indifferently, "Patience. A distinguished guest has arrived at the Organization, detaining the Commander."

"A guest of such importance?" Gwenda was puzzled, as was Nikulas and the rest.

"It was the head of the Mollen family."

The Mollen family, growing ever more powerful, had spread their commerce across the Northlands and had a growing presence of strong individuals within the Organization. Their ties to Cobalt Strike were increasingly close. But why would their patriarch visit at such a crucial time?

The Elders remained silent, also wondering why the Mollen patriarch would choose this moment to visit and speak privately with the Commander.

"It matters not. We wait, and when it's time, we shall depart," Myke said, deliberately distancing himself from Adirich.

Alavin arrived at the Arena, making his way to the front of the crowd to observe the ten Protégés on the platform. He smiled and approached them, having first bathed and changed into clean attire, before gathering his belongings and joining the congregation.

The surrounding Protégés were bemused. How had this lad emerged from the dungeons? Why was he bound with his pack?

Balder hastened to greet him with a hearty smile. "Alavin, this way, if you please."

Following Balder onto the platform, Alavin made his way directly toward the departing party.

The crowd quieted, perplexed by this turn of events. Roald and the others frowned slightly. What was his purpose here?

With a jovial tug on Alavin's hand, Balder approached the Elders, nodding and grinning. "Apologies for our tardiness."

Elder Marthew raised a hand to halt them, his expression stern. "Who allowed you up here? Cease this disruption!" "Eh? Have you not received the message?"

"What message?"

"A change of participants."

"What change?" The Elders and Protégés alike were baffled.

"Alavin is to join The Clash of Eight Orders."

The five Elders were momentarily taken aback, then simultaneously laughed. "Enough with the jest."