The shock rippled through the stands like a deep, muffled wave. Everyone knew the reputation of the Zetas, that legendary family whose members were regarded as forces of nature. Yet few had witnessed their true power. Seeing the "young dragon" display a mastery far beyond what was expected of a child his age left the spectators bewildered.
— So, is the rumor true? The one that says, "Being a Zeta is being a weapon?" asked a disbelieving observer.
— What kind of training has he undergone?
— I don't know, his companion replied, unable to form a judgment after what they had just seen.
In the seats reserved for the leaders, a murmur rose. Zoey, seated among the great families, let out an amused laugh. Below, the other most influential bloodlines exchanged perplexed glances. A question kept recurring in their minds: Why isn't he using his weapon?
— It seems I underestimated your lineage, indeed, declared the Empress with an amused tone.
— It would certainly be a shame if they were eliminated in the first round, said Leonord Lumen with satisfaction.
— Your lineage lives up to its reputation, it seems, replied Krys Dantes, arms crossed, his expression calculated.
But Azhel Zeta, head of the powerful family, remained impassive, his voice cold and measured as he responded:
— Your children are not far behind, Krys. Elyone, isn't it? He acts with impeccable logic. I am convinced he will finish this trial at the top. And you, Lunar's choices are bold and decisive. You have a talented son, Leonord. As for your daughter, Empress Yelena... Ayla, is that her name? If she weren't yours, I would have made her mine, he added calmly.
The leaders' attention, which had been fixed on Zikron until then, briefly turned to their own descendants. They realized, with a mix of pride and dread, that this generation might be more formidable than they had anticipated.
Elyone, son of Krys Dantes, moved forward with confidence. He had listened to the instructions carefully, then chosen his weapon: a katana. To his left, he noticed Jack, a boy who had introduced himself before the trial began.
— Jack? What a pleasure to see a familiar face, said Elyone with a smile, breaking the tension with a simple gesture.
— Young master? replied Jack, surprised. He hadn't thought Elyone would remember his name.
— Call me Elyone, he said cheerfully. Don't worry about formalities; here, we are all equals.
But this last sentence, spoken lightly, rang like cruel irony in the ears of the spectators and the children.
Jack looked surprised, furrowing his brow at Elyone but saying nothing.
In the arenas of power, where every word and every move were calculated, no one was truly the equal of a Zeta, a Dantes, a Lumen, or a Sky.
Elyone smiled at Jack a childlike smile but behind that innocence hid a mind far sharper than that of an eight-year-old. He took a step forward and offered, in a relaxed, almost joyful voice:
Voici la traduction en anglais de votre texte, adaptée pour conserver la fluidité, le ton et l'intensité du récit original :
"You want to be among the last ten? Let's team up. I'll watch your back, you watch mine. It's a battle royale ten survivors at the end. We won't even have to fight each other. What do you say?"
Jack blinked, the weight of the situation pressing down on his small shoulders.
But he wasn't stupid. At eight years old, he already knew when a gamble was too risky to attempt alone. He nodded quickly, almost relieved.
— "Of course, I accept."
Elyone winked at him, as if they were about to play a game, not fight against a horde of other children as desperate as they were.
— "Alright, let's handle this trial," Elyone said, his excitement barely contained. "I need to finish before the other four."
— "You mean Lady Crimson and the young masters of the Zeta, Sky, and Lumen houses?" Jack asked, suddenly more tense at the thought of such opponents.
Elyone nodded, the smile still plastered across his boyish face, raising both thumbs in the air with carefree confidence—an attitude almost comical in such a tense context. Jack wondered for a brief moment if he had made the right choice in partnering with him, but he didn't have any other option.
It was a dance, but a deadly dance.
Elyone, at barely eight years old, moved like a child who had been taught to kill before he could walk. His katana whistled through the air with an unsettling grace. The other children weren't ready. They might have seen street fights, they might have received training, but nothing they knew could have prepared them for this.
Elyone struck not to kill, but to humiliate. He used the back of his katana, hitting heads, arms, and legs.
Each strike was calculated to disarm, to dominate, to instill fear.
Domination.
His opponents children, like him were still trying to understand how he could move with such fluidity. He dodged a clumsy strike toward his shoulder and, with an almost lazy motion, struck the child in the face.
The boy staggered before collapsing, unable to comprehend what had just happened, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Elyone advanced relentlessly, his opponents falling one after another.
He didn't crush them like Zikron. No. He broke them from within, making them believe they had a chance before submitting them completely. They felt fear true fear the kind of fear that comes from knowing they could never measure up to him. The fear of a hopeless fight. And that fear left them desperate.
Two boys decided to play the card of cunning.
While Elyone was dealing with another opponent, they tried to attack him simultaneously.
Their plan? Corner him, trap him like animals hunting down their prey. But they hadn't counted on Jack.
Seeing the trap unfold, he reacted. Fast as lightning, he dove in, his small daggers sinking into the left leg of one of the boys. The other didn't even have time to react before Jack struck him with a spinning kick, knocking him out cleanly.
Two more children, out of the game.
Elyone turned his head toward him, letting out a slight hiss, almost as if to acknowledge Jack's skill.
— "I must say, you're pretty good at this," he said, his tone almost amused.
Jack gave a timid smile, surprised that he had earned a compliment from someone like Elyone. But before he could respond, his eyes widened in terror. Elyone's katana was streaking toward him, fast as a serpent.
Betrayal.
The word exploded in Jack's mind, and his heart clenched with fear and confusion.
Elyone had tricked him. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the blade's impact, for the pain that would follow. But nothing came.
Cautiously, he opened his eyes and saw the body of another child at his feet, unconscious.
It had been too fast. He hadn't seen anything. The katana had never been meant for him. He felt foolish, small, in the face of Elyone's immense talent.
— "Why are you surprised? Didn't I tell you I'd watch your back?" Elyone was still smiling, his face relaxed, as if all of this were just child's play. Which, for him, it was. He sheathed his katana in one smooth motion.
— "We're still kids, Jack. Why would I lie to you? Lies always come back to bite you in the end."
As if trying to recall something, he scratched the back of his head and looked at Jack with a shy smile—a stark contrast to what he had shown mere seconds earlier.
— "That's something my mother taught me," he added with a sheepish expression.
He turned his attention back to the other participants, while Jack stood motionless, his heart pounding in his chest. Children. He was eight years old, but standing next to Elyone, he felt even younger, even weaker. Elyone wasn't just a prodigious child—he was a strategist.
He thought long-term, calculating every move, every decision. Even in a simple trial, he left nothing to chance. Jack realized then that Elyone wasn't just enjoying the fight. No, he was already building his future, one step at a time.
Elyone watched the end of the fight with unnerving serenity, his eyes analyzing every movement of the remaining participants. Finally, he turned toward Jack, who was still tense, and placed a light hand on his shoulder.
— "Jack, I think the next trial might involve teams. We're almost among the last ten, and if I'm right, we may need to form an alliance... or not."
Jack furrowed his brows, trying to understand. He wasn't as comfortable as Elyone in this situation, his fearful mind struggling to keep up.
— "But... isn't this supposed to be a theoretical trial? I don't see why we'd need teams," he asked uncertainly.
Elyone shook his head slightly, his expression both patient and mischievous.
— "True, but do you know what the final trial is about?" he replied, his tone slightly more serious.
Jack hesitated. The truth was, he had never bothered to learn about the trials. He trained, yes, but most of the time, he simply followed the rules without really asking questions. His carefree attitude suddenly felt like a weakness.
— "No..." he admitted softly.
Elyone sat on the ground, the gesture deliberately relaxed. He motioned for Jack to do the same, his face softening.
— "The final trial is called the 'King's Test.' If my predictions are correct, we'll have to fight for a crown, either as a team or individually. It's an ancient tradition. They probably want to see who can lead, who can rise above the others."
He paused, staring at the horizon for a moment before continuing in a lighter tone:
— "Maybe I'm overthinking it. These are just my father's ideas haunting me sometimes."
Jack, on the other hand, felt overwhelmed. It all seemed far too theoretical, too abstract. Why a test to determine a "king" when emperors already existed? It was a question he didn't even dare voice. Elyone seemed to possess such certainty, such a grand vision that Jack couldn't quite grasp.
— "You know, all this stuff is complicated, but I think it'll be over soon. Look at them—they're too absorbed in their own fights to care about us," Elyone said, gesturing toward the other participants still locked in fierce duels. "Come on, rest a bit. We'll need all our strength for the next trial."
Jack didn't move. He was impressed by Elyone's calm demeanor, by the way he seemed to have everything under control. With him, maybe I can succeed, Jack thought. Maybe I can even bring my family out of the shadows.
He nodded but remained standing, choosing to stay vigilant. He needed to feel useful, even though deep down, he knew he probably had nothing to fear as long as Elyone was by his side.
Elyone looked at him with amusement and patted the ground next to him, signaling for Jack to sit beside him.
— "Why are you still standing?" Elyone asked, amused but without any malice. "I told you we're safe for now. Come on, tell me about yourself."
Jack remained on guard. He wanted to prove that he could be more than just a follower, that he was ready to protect Elyone if necessary, even if his skills weren't quite up to the task yet.
It was important to him to feel worthy of this boy who, at only eight years old, already seemed so far ahead. He took a deep breath and began to speak about himself, his family, and his ambitions.
Elyone listened intently, his gaze fixed on Jack, his attitude showing genuine attention.
There was nothing calculated about it, no hidden strategy.
Just real interest a sincere curiosity.
———-
In a vast, immaculate room so white it hurt the eyes two figures barely eight years old faced off, drawing the attention of the remaining spectators. What was striking was the contrast: one of the children, Lunar Lumen, carried the natural arrogance of a blood heir, while the other, an unknown boy named Byron, seemed to have no legitimacy to be here.
And yet… the unknown boy held his ground, sometimes even surpassing Lunar with flashes of raw talent. But it was not enough to overcome the devouring ferocity of the heir.
With a sharp, ruthless gesture, Lunar shattered Byron's sword, the crisp impact echoing through the air like a death knell. The sound of the metal crashing to the ground reverberated through the silent room. Cuts, like marks of war, marred Lunar's skin, but his opponent was bleeding just as much.
— "Do you really want to keep going, Byron?" Lunar asked, his blade pointed straight at the child's throat, his gaze icy and his tone laced with implacable superiority.
— "You're strong, Lunar," Byron replied, his eyes burning with defiance despite his weakened stance. "But I can still fight."
Suddenly, a cold, mechanical female voice rang out through the space:
— "Stop the match. The final ten participants have been confirmed. Any violation of the rules will result in immediate disqualification."
Lunar briefly turned his gaze to observe the room around him. Only ten people remained. The tension of the duel had completely consumed his focus, to the point where he hadn't even noticed the end of the initial trial. The projected text in the air had already confirmed the results.
In another room, another confrontation was brewing. Two young girls stood face to face.
Sery Crimson, her brows furrowed, simmered with a silent rage, while her opponent, Ayla Sky, remained unsettlingly calm almost disconcerting. They locked eyes, the intensity between them palpable, ready to explode at any moment.
Why did Sery seem so furious, while Ayla exuded such an unreadable serenity?