Chapter 125: Registration - Vaeloria Originat

Stepping through the teleportation array, light flared and twisted before setting the group down in the center of the Galactic Myriad Sect’s registration pavilion—a vast hall of translucent jade that spanned for kilometers, its towering pillars etched with runes from countless races, the open ceiling revealing swirling streams of mana drifting above like living auroras.

Disciples of countless species bustled around massive crystal counters, auras ranging from First to Fifth Calamity filling the vast registration hall with a constant, low hum of power.

The air was thick with mingled scents—starlight herbs blooming in floating planters, distant thunder from lightning-affinity cultivators testing nearby, the faint metallic tang of blood from beastkin warriors. Voices echoed in hundreds of languages, laughter mixing with sharp challenges, the floor of polished jade vibrating faintly under thousands of footsteps.

Thalia motioned toward a quieter pavilion along the hall’s edge, where fewer people milled about and tall barriers of privacy runes shimmered like heat haze.

"You eight should head to the private registration station," she said, her voice calm yet authoritative.

"It’s set aside for high-potential arrivals. The elders there will be looking for personal disciples."

Keysa rested gentle hands on Fay and Sia’s shoulders. "Stay with us a moment," she murmured, emerald hair swaying as vines curled protectively around her.

"We have much to discuss."

Fay and Sia shared a glance—relief, curiosity, and a hint of nerves—before nodding and stepping aside with their masters.

The eight Primavus made their way toward the pavilion, the crowd parting in quiet deference, auras brushing against them like testing winds as whispers trailed in their wake.

"First Calamity... but that pressure..."

"Wings like those... what race?"

"Their bloodline feels... strange?"

Nia grinned, her blood-red flame eyes sweeping the hall.

"Hehe, We’re already famous. I’m loving it."

Vaeloria’s blood-moon gaze stayed calm.

"Focus. We’re here to grow, not to pose."

Seris smirked. "We can do both."

Yonna laughed. "Definitely both."

Sonna’s wings fluttered nervously, but her smile held steady.

"It’s a bit overwhelming... but exciting."

Thalion adjusted his glasses, taking in every detail.

"The diversity here... is beyond my expectations."

Caelan elbowed Kael.

"Bet I get more offers than you."

Kael snorted.

"Dream on."

They reached the pavilion—a smaller hall of translucent crystal walls that muted external noise, queues short and orderly, elders in gray robes watching with sharp eyes from elevated platforms.

They joined the shortest line, behind a pair of scaled dragonkin arguing quietly about trial placements.

Minutes passed—tense, anticipatory.

Finally, an elder beckoned them forward—a stern woman with silver-streaked hair and eyes like polished obsidian.

"Step into the array, one at a time," she said, voice clipped but professional. "It evaluates existence—name, age, rank, bloodline."

The array was a circle of glowing runes on the jade floor, humming softly.

Vaeloria stepped in first.

Light washed over her.

Results projected in golden script above.

[Name: Vaeloria Originat

Age: 230,012

Rank: First Calamity

Bloodline: Divine]

The elder’s brow rose faintly.

One by one, they followed—same bloodline rank for all, ages drawing varied reactions.

The group was a bit confused as to why their bloodline rank didn’t show as Paragon in the scan—only Divine. Thalion’s sharp mind raced through possibilities: if the true Primavus nature was revealed, it would draw Eternal Clans like blood in water, wars over recruitment or suppression.

Better this way—hidden strength, underestimated.

They exchanged subtle nods, the secret safe.

An elder at the registration station cleared his throat.

"Next up are the placement trials: one-on-one duels against opponents of similar rank. Keep going until you’re defeated—each win means facing a tougher challenger. How well you do will decide your resources, housing, and whether a master takes interest."

The group made their way to the sect’s central arena district—massive rings suspended on mana platforms, encircled by spectator galleries that stretched for kilometers. Billions observed from afar, their auras buzzing with anticipation.

As they walked the jade avenues, hidden masters conversed in shadowed balconies above.

One Ninth Calamity elder, an ancient elf with leaf-like ears, murmured to another.

"Those younger ones—the girl with flame eyes, the twins, and the other three women... dense auras for their age. Also, having a Divine bloodline? Rare potential."

A human elder nodded.

"The 28-year-old and the twins especially. Under 30 with that pressure? They’ll draw Primary Disciple offers quickly."

A beastkin master grunted.

"The older ones are solid, but that woman... 230,000 years for First Calamity? Slow talent, perhaps."

Unaware, the group discussed in the waiting pavilion overlooking the rings.

Nia cracked her knuckles.

"So... who’s first? I’m ready to burn through a few."

Caelan grinned.

"Me or Kael could—"

Kael cut in.

"I’ll go if no one else wants the spotlight."

Seris smirked.

"Always the show-offs."

Yonna laughed.

"Let one of the ’old’ ones handle it first."

Sonna smiled softly.

"I’m fine waiting..."

Thalion adjusted glasses. "Well.... it’s more logical to test the waters with our strongest impression."

Vaeloria stepped forward silently, blood-moon eyes cold as winter night.

"I’ll go."

The group turned.

Nia raised a brow.

"You sure? They’ve been side-eyeing your age like you’re past prime."

Vaeloria’s lips curved faintly—stone-cold killer’s smile, the Last Sovereign awakening.

"Good. Let them underestimate."

Vaeloria walked to the ring with measured steps, her black wings rustling softly like whispers in the wind, aura flaring subtly—a dark chill that made the surrounding air thicken and the jade platform beneath her feet hum faintly.

The massive arena ring stretched fifty kilometers across, its boundaries marked by shimmering mana barriers that pulsed with the sect’s neutral power, spectator galleries filled with billions of eyes from every race, their murmurs a distant roar like ocean waves crashing on unseen shores.

Her first opponent waited at the center—a human male in simple gray robes, sword already drawn, a First Calamity aura radiating steady confidence. His blade gleamed with basic intent, eyes narrowing as he sized her up, lips curling into a smirk.

"So, what are you supposed to be?" the swordsman called, voice echoing across the ring. "Some kind of bat-winged freak? Come on, tell me your powers—make this interesting before I cut you down."

From the waiting pavilion, Nia shook her head slowly, blood-red flame eyes glinting with knowing pity. "Speaking to her in a fight is the first wrong step," she muttered, crossing her arms.

"Vaeloria doesn’t chat. She ends."

The others nodded—Seris smirking, the twins exchanging grins, Thalion adjusting his glasses with a faint smile.

Vaeloria’s blood-moon eyes remained cold, unblinking.

She drew her Divine-ranked weapon—a sleek lunar sovereign sword, blade forged from moon-forged silver that absorbed light, hilt wrapped in shadow-silk.

It hummed faintly in her grip, eager... and immediately she activated a talent.

Nosferatu Moon Harvest activated.

Moonlight—born of her Celestial Fox blood—flowed into the blade unseen, quiet and voracious, drawing in the ambient essence hidden in the realm’s lunar whispers.

With the Law of Darkness fully unleashed, the ring sank into shadow, light collapsing in on itself in hushed waves. The human’s sword intent faltered as the world went pitch black, and in a rush of fear, he swung blindly.

"What—?"

Vaeloria moved—her sword flashing once, twice, thrice in perfect silence.

SHK! SHK! SHK!

The first strike cut his sword arm clean at the elbow, moonlight leeching his blood-essence mid-swing. The second drove through his shoulder, darkness spilling like ink through his veins. The third carved across his chest, the Law of Blood holding the wound wide and frozen.

He dropped, gasping, defeated in seconds—body convulsing as the harvest pulled his life force away.

The barriers lifted.

Vaeloria sheathed her sword, as her expression remained unchanged.... start to finish.