The Legendary Mage (Alavin) novel Chapter 40

Celesse couldn't understand. What kind of wrong could make them torment Alavin for eight years? Why did they enslave Stomcast for eight years?

She had thought that advancing to Advanced Mage would help Alavin improve his situation, but now it seemed not as simple as she had imagined.

...

The next morning, Alavin carried on as usual, delivering goods with a stone urn. The 10th Arena was the most urgent, requiring sturdy iron chains.

In the realm of Cobalt Strike, atop fifteen mighty peaks, there lay the Arenas, grand battlegrounds hewn from the hardest bedrock, each spanning over three hundred meters across, and adorned with an array of training apparatuses. These sacred grounds were reserved for the seasoned warriors and those directly apprenticed to Senior and Elite Protégés. Intermediate Protégés could only gaze upon these sites with yearning, while the freshman were not permitted to tread near.

The strict hierarchy of Cobalt Strike was evident in every facet, seemingly harsh but designed to spur its Protégés to greater heights. If one desired access to superior resources and accommodations, they had to be earned through strength and valor.

Although Alavin was but a freshmsn, his role as a servant granted him the rare opportunity to traverse the Arenas under the guise of making deliveries.

The spacious Arena was alive with the practice of hundreds of Protégés. Explosions of fireballs, surging waves of earth, a dance of sharp ice spears, and the clashing of swords against wild great axes filled the air. A myriad of Combat Magic roared in battle while hundreds of onlookers cheered from the sidelines.

"Make haste, you sluggard!" Alavin had barely reached the summit when an angry shout met him.

"If you're in such a rush, fetch it yourself. I deliver in the order listed!" Alavin replied indifferently, dropping the stone urn with a thunderous crash, drawing the gaze of many.

"How dare you backtalk?" A burly youth marched over, pointing at Alavin's nose with fury. "Know your place, you're a servant, tasked with deliveries, not training. If I see you loitering with that urn again, I'll shatter it—and you along with it!"

"Mind your own business. You’re out of line," Alavin retorted, hauling out a thick chain from the urn and dragging it toward an Arena.

"I'm in no mood for insolence today. Best not provoke me," the youth growled, planting his foot upon the chain. His name was Gudmund, a recognized senior Protégé within Cobalt Strike. Having just suffered a humiliating defeat in the Arena, he was looking to vent his frustration on Alavin.