SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS

The beast lair trembled.

A colossal roar, filled with fury and unwillingness, echoed through the trail grund. The Giant Beast King—a monstrous beast containing parts of sea serpent, lion, and ancient kraken—collapsed onto its side with a thunderous crash. Its golden-blue blood soaked the obsidian battlefield, steam rising where it touched the scorched stone.

Kent stood over its fallen body, chest heaving, his robes torn, muscles taut with exhaustion and defiance. His right hand still crackled with remnants of Nirvanic flame, and his left gripped the shattered spine-spear he had forged mid-battle from the Beast King’s own tailbone.

But it was over.

The creature let out one last gurgling breath before silence fell.

Kent slowly walked forward. His eyes, dimmed from fatigue, sharpened as he knelt before the Beast King’s open wound. Without hesitation, he pressed his palm into the boiling pool of divine beast blood.

The instant it touched his skin, the world ignited.

Searing pain flooded his veins as the blood surged up his arm like molten lava. It burned through his flesh, devoured his marrow, and screamed into every inch of his body. Muscles tore. Bones cracked. His very spirit shrieked as if being refined inside the heart of a star.

But Kent did not retreat.

He opened his mouth—

—and drank.

Thick, ancient blood. Essence of a divine beast. It was poison to mortals. Madness to magi. But to him—

It was transcendence.

Lightning flashed through his meridians. Flames danced in his organs. His soul tore apart and rebuilt itself in the image of something… immortal.

His knees buckled—but he did not fall.

Instead, a brilliant golden aura exploded from his body, rising like a pillar into the abyssal sky. The stones beneath him split. The void trembled. Even the broken Beast King’s corpse twitched, as if bowing in final respect.

His skin shimmered—turning golden, scale-like patterns etching themselves across his chest and arms. The tattoos of battle now became marks of ascension. His hair fluttered upward, infused with divine essence, and his eyes glowed like twin suns.

A voice thundered in the air:

“Congratulations… You are the only one who benefited completely from the first trail.”

The Sky Naga’s presence returned for a fleeting moment—her voice softer now, almost reverent.

“You have done what no descendant or blood heir ever dared… You have devoured the heart of the Beast King and transcended mortality. The first to reach the Immortal Earth Magus stage physical body through defiance, not inheritance.”

As Kent slowly stood, the divine glow settled around him like a cloak.

But you don’t have much time to relax.

“The Second trail – Beast Surge starts now! Good Luck— Human!”

The ground below his feet cracked with a low, guttural groan—as if the very world was waking from a long nightmare. Crimson embers scattered into the void like fireflies, and a soft wind whispered in an unfamiliar tongue.

Suddenly—

BOOM!

A violent shockwave burst from beneath him. The floor disintegrated, and Kent fell once more—this time into an ocean of flame.

No… not flame.

Eyes. Claws. Fangs. Tails. Wings.

Beasts. Hundreds. Maybe thousands.

Kent landed hard on a plateau of volcanic stone suspended in midair, surrounded on all sides by an endless horizon of monstrous beasts. Towering apes covered in obsidian fur; serpentine dragons with skeletal wings; saber-toothed ravagers with molten claws. Some walked. Some flew. Some crawled through the void like shadows slipping through dimensions.

And all of them… were looking at him.

Above him, the voice of the Sky Naga echoed like divine thunder:

“This is the second trial: Beast Surge. Here, instinct reigns. Magic and might alone are not enough. To tame the primal chaos within your soul, you must earn the right to be predator… not prey.”

Then—

The hunt began.

A six-eyed horned panther pounced from the left, fast as lightning. Kent barely leaned aside as a wind slash tore through where he stood. A massive turtle with blades for legs spun across the battlefield, cracking the ground beneath it. A phantom hound, its body cloaked in ghostly flame, lunged straight for his heart.

Kent rolled backward, dodged left, ducked under a tail whip that could flatten mountains.

It was chaos.

His instincts were dulled—shaped by magic, logic, and calculation. But here, logic meant death. Calculations failed.

Beasts didn’t think. They acted.

At first, Kent’s movements were stiff—reflexes honed in the battlefield of men and mages, not in this savage crucible of primal will. He took hits. Claws raked across his back. Fangs tore into his arm. One swipe sent him flying into a jagged spike of obsidian. Blood spilled. Bones cracked.

He was prey.

But Kent wasn’t one to bow.

Each time he rose, his heart beat faster—not from fear, but from something ancient stirring within. Each dodge became smoother. His eyes moved quicker. He stopped trying to think two steps ahead—and instead, began to trust the silence in his gut. The rhythm of his breath. The shiver in his spine. The flick of his fingers.

He began to move like a beast.

Not human. Not magus. But something in between.

The terrain changed with every blink—a jungle of obsidian trees; a lake of molten fire; an open battlefield of crushed bones and shattered tusks. The beasts never stopped coming, and neither did Kent.

He bit down on pain. Gritted through injuries. Let his limbs move before his mind did.

A flaming hawk dived—he rolled under its talons and snapped its neck mid-flight.

A two-headed silver boar charged—he stepped sideways and delivered a Nirvanic palm to its neck.

A shadow wolf leapt behind him—he turned, kicked it midair, and sent it crashing into a spine-ridge wall.

He began to understand.

They weren’t just testing his strength. They were teaching him. Every strike, every ambush, every trap was a lesson in instinct. Beasts didn’t dodge because they thought of possibilities.

They dodged because their bodies screamed the answer a heartbeat before danger arrived.

That was the lesson of the Beast Surge.

To move before thought.

To survive without logic.

To kill without mercy.

Hours passed. Maybe days.

Time warped here.

He had no food. No water. No rest.

But his eyes burned golden. His skin shimmered with sweat and blood and will. And his body…

…his body had begun to change.

His fingers were faster. His shoulders rolled like a panther ready to leap. His eyes locked onto every twitch, every ripple of mana and muscle. The moment a beast moved, he had already moved three steps ahead—not by thought, but by the unshakable rhythm now beating within his bones.

Then—finally—it came.

The Final Beast… to test his instinct!

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