SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS - Chapter 1007: Time for Golden-Heir!

Chapter 1007: Time for Golden-Heir!

The drums of destiny had begun to rumble on all 7 nations.

Across the sprawling lands of the Seven Magus Nations, winds carried whispers of fate, and the very skies shimmered with anticipation. The greatest event of the mortal realm was about to begin — the Golden Heir Tournament.

Once every fifty years, this grand convergence shook the foundations of the magical world. It was not just a tournament — it was the convergence of ambition, bloodline, and talent. A battleground for the young and fearless. The one who emerged victorious would be more than a champion.

They would be the Golden Heir, chosen by the Immortal Association, and sent to the legendary True Heavenly Wizard Academy — a plane of supreme cultivation, a holy ground where only the most prodigious walked toward Heavenly Ascension.

Now, with only two weeks remaining, the Seven Nations had begun to move like storm tides converging at the eye.

The Summit Mountain…

At the heart of the continent stood the sacred Heavenly Phoenix Range, and at its base, the colossal Summit Mountain, surrounded by spiritual rivers, flameforged cliffs, and void-carved valleys.

Seven massive platforms, each a thousand meters wide, were being carved and fortified by Formation Grandmasters from the Immortal Association. These were no ordinary arenas — each platform was a domain, imbued with the core essence of a nation’s legacy.

The Stonefire Nation’s Arena burned with volcanic arrays, lava streams flowing beneath transparent battlefloors reinforced with dragonbone glass.

The Skywind Federation’s Stage shimmered with floating array circles, allowing high-speed aerial combat where gravity twisted and obeyed no logic.

The Frostveil Empire summoned their eternal glacier from the far north, forming an arena of biting cold and mirrored terrain that obscured perception.

The Duskgold Dynasty created a shadowy stage covered in golden mist, where time slowed and illusions danced.

Seven arenas. Seven philosophies. One crown.

In cities, villages, sect strongholds, and wandering markets, magical news orbs floated in the air, flickering with glowing visions of the preparations. They were connected by Sky Transmission Arrays, which allowed anyone with sufficient mana or wealth to tap into live feeds.

Aurora Glasses, rare spirit artifacts used by nobles and mages alike, projected the visuals directly into the user’s consciousness. With them, one could experience the summit grounds, view the construction of the dueling stages, and replay legendary matches from past tournaments.

“Look at the Immortal Blacksmiths forging the soul-bound boundary stones!”

“Did you see that? The Divine Crane Sect is sending all three of their top disciples this time!”

“They say one of the Voidborn Tribes is sending a masked participant.”

Children imitated their favorite sword moves. Commoners sold trinkets marked with the Golden Heir sigil, a crest of seven stars revolving around a radiant crown. Cultivation academies organized mock tournaments. Clans offered rewards to disciples who made it through even a single round.

The world had stopped spinning on its own axis and now revolved around the Golden Heir Tournament.

Mass Mobilization: A Realm on the Move

The roads toward Heavenly Phoenix Range were now flooded.

Flying beasts roared across the sky, their wings trailing spirit flames as they carried young contenders and sect elders.

Spirit ships, like floating palaces, moved gracefully through cloud seas, banners of their clans fluttering with pride.

Teleportation hubs, long sealed, were reopened by royal decree. Archmages stood guard to maintain space stability as thousands poured through daily.

Each nation declared a holiday in the last ten days before the tournament. Even the Beast Clans, normally neutral, had begun sending emissaries. The reclusive Wyrm Monastery, hidden for decades, announced a single disciple would represent them.

It was not just about strength now — it was about legacy. Winning the tournament meant not only personal glory but raising the status of one’s nation, one’s clan, and one’s bloodline for generations to come.

The Heavenly Path: True Wizard Academy Beckons

What awaited the victor was more than a title. It was a destiny few could imagine.

Beyond the Sky Veil, past the Silver Portal guarded by the Immortal Association, lay the True Heavenly Wizard Academy.

A sacred realm floating in the upper layers of the firmament, it was said to be built atop a slain Void Serpent, its body forming the academy’s grounds.

Only the Golden Heir could enter — and only one was chosen every fifty years.

There, the victor would gain, Heaven-Grade Resources, like Ascension Crystals and Phoenix Lotus Elixirs.

A chance to train under Heavenly Realm Instructors, beings who had touched the edge of godhood. And most of all — the right to attempt Heavenly Ascension, the step beyond the mortal cultivation ladder.

Many had dreamt of that step.

Few had taken it.

None had ever returned the same.

Stirring of Giants

In hidden mountain halls, great sect leaders began closed-door discussions. Old oaths were rekindled, and young protégés were warned:

“Do not take the stage lightly. This is a stage of kings.”

“You may be a genius in your province, but there, you are one drop in an ocean of monsters.”

“Even if you do not win, return alive. That alone is merit.”

Old debts would be settled. Secret alliances would unfold. Assassins disguised as competitors would strike, and those with ancient grudges would cross blades.

Already, seven names had emerged as the favorites. None knew their real identities — but through the arcane undercurrents, bets and predictions flowed:

The Twin Star Blade wielder who could summon a second body in battle.

The Silent Monk whose every footstep silenced the soul.

The Crimson Veil Witch, whose illusions made enemies slay themselves.

But none knew what dark horse would emerge. None knew what unknown name would carve a legend.

Final Countdown

Two weeks.

That was all that remained.

And the world moved as if counting down the seconds.

Blacksmiths worked through the night. Alchemists brewed final batches of elixirs. Formation masters placed defensive seals on their young masters. Clans arranged security squads. Royal families dispatched honor guards.

And above the Summit Mountain, seven immortal lanterns lit up the sky — one for each nation.

The countdown had begun.

A voice echoed once more from the peak — cast through every news orb, every Aurora Glass, every divine array:

“Let the champions gather. Let the stars align. May the Golden Heir rise and grasp the Heaven’s Will.”

The world trembled in excitement. And somewhere, hidden among thousands, someone smiled silently.

The Golden Stage awaited.