Aetheric Chronicles: Reborn As An Extra-Chapter 489: Scythe’s Manipulation
The timer hit zero with a sharp chime, and the golden screen that had hovered above the colosseum vanished in a ripple of magic. Ren’s voice rang out, steady and commanding.
"Time is up! All trades are final."
The crowd of examinees shuffled nervously, some clutching their tokens with relief while others stared at their hands in despair.
"Those who have passed, stand to my right," Ren continued, gesturing to one side of the colosseum. "Those who have not, to my left."
The movement was almost immediate. Over a hundred examinees moved to Ren’s right, their steps brimming with cautious pride. The rest, fewer in number, trudged to the left with the weight of uncertainty on their shoulders.
From his position in the middle of the crowd, the scythe boy stood still for a moment longer than the others. He took a slow breath, his sharp eyes gleaming with calculation. Then, with deliberate slowness, he stepped to the left, joining the failure examinees.
As soon as everyone was in place, Ren lifted his bracelet—a sleek, dark metallic band embedded with glowing blue runes. With a single tap, the runes lit up, and a mechanical hum filled the colosseum.
The ground trembled beneath their feet. Gasps rippled through the crowd as five circular arenas rose from the center of the colosseum floor. Each was made of polished stone, etched with glowing runic patterns that shimmered faintly in the sunlight.
"These are the dueling platforms," Ren announced. "This is where your final challenges will take place."
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The crowd murmured in awe, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade. Ren continued, his voice firm.
"Those who did not pass can challenge one of the examinees who have passed. You will stake your tokens for a chance to claim victory and secure your place. The passed examinees have the right to decline a challenge—once. But remember, should you lose, your tokens will be forfeit, and your journey here will end."
His words struck like a thunderclap. The scythe boy could feel the anxiety rising around him, the desperation and fear wafting from the failed examinees like a delicious aroma. His lips twitched into a faint smirk, but he quickly schooled his expression, lowering his gaze.
"Let the challenges begin!"
At first, the matches proceeded as expected. Failed examinees stepped onto the platforms, challenging those who had passed. Most duels were swift and decisive, the difference in skill and preparation apparent. Those who fought for a second chance fought with everything they had, but the advantage of elemental powers was hard to overcome.
From his position among the passed examinees, the scythe boy watched with disinterest, his scythe resting lightly against his shoulder. His sharp eyes flitted between the fighters, but his mind was elsewhere. He was waiting—for the right moment.
Let those who didn’t trust him feel despair first.
When the fifth duel ended, he stepped forward, his movements unhurried yet purposeful. Whispers spread through the crowd as the others made way for him, their gazes filled with a mix of curiosity and anticipation.
The boy with the scythe ascended one of the platforms with an air of nonchalance, his weapon balanced effortlessly in one hand. His opponent—a broad-shouldered boy wielding a two-handed mace—stepped up with visible hesitation.
The duel began with a resounding gong, but it was over in moments. The scythe boy moved like a phantom, his strikes precise and merciless. His opponent’s mace never found its mark, and the fight ended with the boy’s scythe hovering a hair’s breadth from the other’s throat.
The defeated boy stumbled back, panting heavily. His tokens clattered to the ground as the scythe boy sheathed his weapon, his expression unreadable.
But then, something unusual happened.
A failed examinee immediately stepped forward to challenge the scythe boy. He accepted the duel without hesitation. This time, the fight was different. The scythe boy fought defensively, his movements slower and more deliberate. It was as if he was totally a different person with no power. When the final blow landed, it was his opponent who stood victorious.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"Did he… lose on purpose?" someone whispered.
The scythe boy’s grin was subtle but telling. He stepped down from the platform, the picture of calm, even as his opponent celebrated their unexpected victory. Yet moments later, another failed examinee challenged him—and the pattern repeated.
By the fourth duel, the whispers had turned into open speculation.
"What’s he doing?"
"Why is he losing so easily?"
Those who had traded their tokens wisely or hoarded them now stared at the scythe boy with a mix of suspicion and unease. Meanwhile, the failed examinees began to realize what was happening.
Two minutes before the trading phase had ended, the scythe boy had gathered the low-token examinees in a secluded corner of the colosseum. His words were calm yet magnetic, dripping with quiet confidence.
"I’ll make you pass," he had told them. "Challenge me, and I’ll lose. All of you will pass the test."
At first, many had been skeptical. Why would someone help them? What was his motive? But desperation had a way of silencing doubt. And now, as they watched his plan unfold, their hesitation turned to faith.
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One by one, the failed examinees stepped forward to challenge him after each time he defeated a passing examinee. One by one, he "won" and "lost", the cycle continuing.
The scythe boy grinned, his sharp teeth flashing as he stepped down from the platform after his latest defeat. Around him, the number of marked examinees was growing steadily, yet his plan was far from over.
To him, this was all a game.
He wasn’t helping these fools out of kindness. No, he was gathering them—claiming them as his prey. Each one bore his invisible mark, and when the time came, he would strike them all down.
Now, who should I challenge this time?
He surveyed the crowd of passed examinees, his sharp eyes lingering on the strongest candidates. Some of them stared back with wary eyes, their bodies tense, ready for a fight. Others looked on with barely veiled eagerness, their pride urging them to challenge him and put an end to his games.
He ignored them all.
His gaze landed on a group near the edge of the colosseum—three girls standing together. Two were identical twins, their green and white hair catching the sunlight, and the third was a quiet beauty with raven-black hair. They were deep in conversation with a young man who had dark brown hair, his demeanor calm and composed.
The scythe boy’s grin widened, his sharp teeth glinting.
"Perfect," he murmured to himself.
He stepped forward, his scythe glinting under the sun as he pointed it at the dark brown-haired boy.
"You," he called out, his voice cutting through the hum of conversation. "I challenge you."
The girls and the young man turned in unison, their movements fluid as if choreographed. Their eyes locked on the scythe boy, and their expressions shifted with the kind of curiosity that only those with sharp instincts could possess. But it was the young man who captured the scythe boy’s attention, and the moment their eyes met, something in the air changed.
The young man’s gaze was piercing, his deep brown eyes cold and emotionless, like two pieces of polished obsidian. For a split second, the scythe boy felt a chill run down his spine. It was subtle, just a flicker of discomfort, but it was enough to make his heart skip a beat.
He blinked, shaking the feeling away, and his grin only widened.
No. He wouldn’t be distracted. This was exactly what he wanted. This was his source of joy in this tiresome mission.
The young man was powerful—he could feel it. He wasn’t just any examinee. The scythe boy’s instincts screamed that this young man was on the cusp of breaking through to the next Tier. His aura, his calm demeanor, even the way his body was poised—it all screamed strength, the kind of strength that would make this fight one worth savoring.
His mouth watered for the challenge.
