After they arrived at the royal residence, Milo and Pavlor were separated from their group and ushered into a smaller dining room. There wasn't anything particularly fancy laid out on the table aside from some bread and water. The only thing that caught Milo's attention was the bizarre mana fluctuations emanating from beneath his feet.
Luckily for them, they were the first children to arrive so they had some time to explore the small room. Each candle gave off the scent of a rich vanilla, and the stage with 3 thrones perched atop it loomed over the long table. But it remained an ordinary room.
'Strange …'.
Milo looked around, carefully placing his foot each time he shuffled forwards. The ground was solid, yet felt so eerily soft it was almost nausea inducing. It felt like he was walking on pure, undiluted mana that was unaffected even by the oxygen in the air.
The door swung open and another group of children entered. Each one dressed in a similar outfit to them, but different colours. They too looked around, before childishly rushing forward and grabbing whatever bread they could from the table.
Seeing this, Pavlor bolted forward and grabbed a piece.
Milo's eyes flickered between the kids, scanning each one and gauging their core level. None of them were in the Ascent stage, therefore none would even be able to scratch him if they tried.
Pavlor was perhaps the only one present who could threaten Milo, but he too was only on the cusp of breaking into the Ascent realm.
Throughout their long and vigorous training together, it quickly became apparent that not only was Pavlor's body suited to quick movements, his core itself came on leaps and bounds but for some reason failed to pump the required amount of mana.
It was as if he had the container but could only fill it halfway. Whether that was a result of Pavlor's naturally weak physique Milo wasn't sure, but seeing him next to kids his own age, it became clear that despite this slight handicap Pavlor would still be able to crush them without much problem.
The door flew open again, and the same man who led Milo and Pavlor in led in another group of around 15 children, who again, all sported the same ridiculous clothing as Milo.
"There really isnt many is there?", Pavlor mumbled through the bread he was eating, taking a seat on a window ledge next to Milo.
"Not really, I had expected for such an event the number to far exceed 200. Considering every noble family around would wish to participate", Milo said, starting to chew anxiously at his thumb.
"Wait … something isnt right".
As he said those words, above the thrones a screen flickered to life displaying the image of a man with golden hair and a golden beard, deep blue eyes accompanied by a crown lined with countless jewels nestled on his head.
He cleared his throat, "Good afternoon children of nobility. For those of you that are unaware of who I am, Baron or Duke, I am the leader of this proud nation, King Edmund".
Milo's eyes narrowed watching the screen, but for some reason the kids around him began to clap.
"Now …", King Edmund raised his hand as if he knew the applause would follow, "As to why you children have been taken to such a room, round 1 of the royal selection will now take place".
He clapped his hands and the floor beneath Milo felt like it collapsed, then reconstructed itself within the matter of moments. Milo's breath got caught in his throat as he looked up, no longer seeing the pale white ceiling of the room, but the clear sky.
'Spatial movement!? And on such a large scale!?'.
Milo's eyes darted around him, taking in the dusty terrain he and the other kids found themselves surrounded by. Nothing was here, as far as the eye could see all that surrounded them was barren earth and dust.
The screen reappeared above them, and the King continued to talk, "Where you currently find yourselves is an area of the continent used solely for training the most gifted of warriors. Forgotten Earth".
"It is a landscape completely devoid of life, that is …", a smirk crept onto his face as a blood curdling roar echoed over Milo and the kids. "Aside from the basilisk and her children", the king finished.
All around Milo, the kids panic levels started to rise. Milo followed the trend, quickly becoming anxious of what was going to happen next. He wasn't afraid like the others; his concern was about the formatting of the tournament. He knew that 30 children weren't enough, so there had to be a catch somewhere.
Sure enough, he was proven right.
The King raised a small chart in the air displaying 16 empty slots, "There are currently 8 groups of 30 noble children in different areas of the continent undergoing different challenges. Only 2 from each group shall be allowed to proceed to the next stage".
"As for what your challenge is … survive. The harshness of the terrain, the stifling hot air and the terrifying basilisk that even seasoned warriors have never taken down. If you survive these conditions, you will be rewarded with a place in the next round".
The King dropped the chart and raised a similar outfit to the one Milo was wearing, "Inside these outfits are specially fitted devices which allow me to detect your vital signs. If you drop below 25% meaning your life is in danger, you will be transported back to the royal castle".
Milo clicked his tongue, "Thanks a lot Renny, could have given us a heads up".
Without another warning, the screen flickered and Milo was left pondering over what to do next.
'That was it? Seriously? No information on water or our food, how to avoid the basilisk or how the scoring system works?'.
He wasn't so stupid as to believe the word, survive, meant that the only way to complete this challenge was to stay alive. If that was the case and a third of the kids survived, how would they decide who made it into the next round.
Pavlor tugged at the back of Milo's shirt, "He put extra emphasis on the children of the basilisk".
Milo stared at Pavlor slack jawed.
'I can't tell if this kids a moron or a genius'.
While the other kids scampered off into other directions, Milo slumped to the ground and fell into thought again.
'Assuming we kill one of the basilisks spawn, that would provide food and likely some form of scoring in the process. But we would almost certainly incur the wrath of the basilisk in the process'.
From what Milo had gathered from the short explanation regarding the basilisk, was that he stood no chance of taking it down. If seasoned warriors stood no chance against it, how could he. That didn't even take into account the fact that he was at a bottleneck currently and struggled to maintain his mana for prolonged periods of time.
Milo looked down at his side and winced.
'The injuries from that bloody bear are still recovering, thankfully Marcos did enough for now'.
Milo pushed himself to his feet and pointed, "We go north for now".
He looked down at his clothing and ripped part of the trousers off, exposing his leg up to his knee. He tied the two pieces of cloth together and wrapped it over his nose and mouth.
"You do the same", he said, his voice muffled, "We need to block the dust and prevent our mouths from drying out".
Pavlor gave a nod and did the same.
They trudged through the sandy terrain for hours, seeing no signs of life besides a few bloodied skeletons of smaller animals, what they could only assume were killed by the basilisk.
By this point, both Milo and Pavlor were down to the barebones of their outfits after each taking off their shirts. Although, they didn't think it through and were quickly reminded as to why wearing nothing was a double-edged sword in the desert. Their bodies may have been slightly cooler, but their skin was beginning to turn a bright shade of red and stinging more with each passing hour.
Milo licked his lips beneath the mask, attempting to create any saliva he could, "Anything your side, Pavlor?".
"Nothing", Pavlor responded with a tired grunt, keeping his eyes firmly locked onto the right side of the desert.
"Uhhh", Pavlor shuffled closer to Milo, pointing out into the distance, "What the hell is that thing!?".
Milo pushed him away, peering out to where Pavlor pointed.
'Wait … what?'.
A dust cloud was picking up pace and heading towards them at a terrifying speed. All around them the ground began to tremble and their bodies felt a gust of hot wind wash over them. Milo's eyes widened and before he could say anything, he took off into a full sprint in the opposite direction.
"RUN PAVLOR! IT'S A DUST STORM!", he screeched, coating his feet in mana and leaping forward.
Milo gritted his teeth as he watched Pavlor pick up pace behind him and the dust cloud creep closer.
'Shit! Can we even outrun something like that!?'.
He looked down at his outfit and came to a sudden stop, "Oh fucking hell", he turned slowly and looked at Pavlor with disbelief on his face, "What was I thinking".
He lifted a piece of his clothing, "This was our only lifeline out here … and we've ripped them to shreds".
Pavlor fell to his knees, the look of disbelief on his features was replaced by tears streaming down his cheeks, "No way …".
"Stop crying, you'll dehydrate yourself", Milo barked, dragging Pavlor back to his feet and coating his fist in mana.
He struck at the sand beneath them, creating two small divots.
He pushed Pavlor into one and hunched over in the other, "Bury your face and hope for the best. There is absolutely no way we manage to outrun that natural disaster".
After 20 minutes of turbulent wind, Milo lifted his head and let out a cough mixed with sand, "Fuck …", his eyes narrowed and he winced at the orange sky blanketing the land.
He clawed at his eyes, "FUCK!", he dug his nails deep into his eye sockets, attempting to gouge out the stray grains of sand.
Pavlor lifted his head panting and looked towards Milo, "Has it finally passed?".
"Yeah …".
*Thud*
"What the fucking hell?", Milo grunted, annoyed by the grains of sand worming around his clothing.
*Thud*
Milo looked towards the sound and chuckled nervously, "Oh … I seriously think we might die this time …".
Peering down at them, two fierce red eyes that were slit like a snakes stared back through the thick dust.
Milo could only see the outline but he estimated the size of the creatures body to be at least 20 meters long. A gust of wind swept the desert, fully revealing the creature that threatened their very lives. It's two wings spread the width of the entire Van Belched residence.
It's thick white scales mixed with light blue reflected the sun, nearly blinding both Pavlor and Milo. It's long neck lifted, revealing a maw filled with jagged teeth and a slithering tongue. As the beast stood, it's two front limbs dangled shorter by its side, whereas the two back limbs propped it up with an absurd amount of strength.
Milo chuckled nervously again, stumbling back onto his hands, "So, this must be that basilisk they warned us about".
Pavlor remained silent, beads of sweat trickling down his face … or were they tears, either way Milo didn't have time to think about that right now.
'It looks like a lesser dragon'.
If it was even remotely similar to a lesser dragon, Milo deemed escape to be impossible.
The basilisk flared it's nostrils, leaning in towards Milo.
'Did it just smell me?'.
The basilisk physically recoiled away.
'I know it's been a few days but I don't smell that bad!'.
Milo stood upright and shook out his clothes … at least, what was left of his clothes. To his surprise, the basilisk remained eerily still and watched him with a curious gaze.
Milo turned to Pavlor, "Maybe it …".
*Thud*
Milo was sent hurtling off into the distance as the basilisk swung it's tail with all it's force, connecting with Milo's injured right side.
Pavlor watched on, his jaw working away as he struggled to muster any words seeing his cousin lay lifeless, face down in the sand. He built up all the courage he could muster, his breath seething through his gritted teeth, "You!".
He charged forward, condensing all of his mana into the shape of a dagger in his palm, "YOU BASTARD!".
*Thud*
Pavlor was sent hurtling in the opposite direction with another swing of the basilisks tail.
Milo slowly and painfully raised his head, he could feel his neck resisting, wanting nothing more than to stay lay face down. His side was searing with pain, his previous injuries now worse than when he first sustained them.
He coughed out a breath filled with sand, "P-Pavlor …".
He gripped the sand, sagging back to his feet.
'I can't let him die here … I need him … he needs to be the one to do it … not me … for Renny's sake too'.
Milo let out another breath of air, he narrowed his lips as if he was about to whistle and inhaled a fresh, crisp breath.
He rubbed his forearms, then his shoulders and spread his legs the width of his torso, "I didn't want to have to do this so soon". His brows raised and he clenched his toes, digging them into the sand beneath his feet, "But it's my only choice if we want even a slither of chance of getting out of this".
Pavlor raised his head watching Milo take up the stance. He had seen him practicing it previously but had never seen him attempt to use it in an actual fight before.
Milo let a nervous, wavering smile onto his lips, his features hardened and he met the eye of the basilisk who was slowly plodding towards him, "WATCH CAREFULLY PAVLOR! THIS IS THE LEVEL YOU NEED TO REACH!".
All of the mana in the air began to swirl creating a violent vortex with Milo at its centre. The basilisk leapt back, the wind almost sweeping it off it's feet. Then, as fast as the wind had kicked up, it burst like a bubble revealing Milo's figure drenched in the familiar black aura.
The mana flared and Pavlor felt chills run across his body.
Milo let out a guttural roar, the mana continuing to increase to level far exceeding that of Ascent 1, "CRITICAL OVERLOAD!".