SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS - Chapter 1094 - 1094: Memory Ponds?!
Next Day Morning…
Dining Table…
There was a rustle at the table as Fatty Ben himself creaked in through the garden gate, hair a mess, eyes glittering with the sort of sleep-deprived excitement only he could carry. He lurched to the table, plopped down a small sack, and almost knocked over a teapot.
“You will not believe—” he began, breathless, then saw the faces and raised his hands like a child caught in mischief. “Enough, enough! I’ll tell in proper order. Sit, eat, listen!” He grabbed a steaming bun and began to nibble, slurping tea noisily between sentences.
“Fatty,” Amelia said dryly, “Speak plainly.”
Fatty wagged his spoon in the air. “There’s a competition—an Academy-wide tournament. Three months from now. The prize… is entry to the Memory Ponds.”
Silence fell in the hall like a curtain. The name landed and rippled.
“The Memory Ponds?” Lin Lin repeated, almost reverent. “Those are—legends. Ancestral memories, distilled essence. Dipping into a pond lets a cultivator taste the life-skills of a master—techniques, formulas, even feelings. It can accelerate a path by decades.”
Bai Qi paled, hand to her mouth. “If that is true—”
“It is true,” Fatty said, crunching into his bun with unnecessary vigor. “Heard it in the kitchens. A hundred kitchens said it in chorus. The Academy only opens the ponds to those who win the Great Trials. It’s a chance to walk inside an elder’s memory—learn like you lived ten lives.”
Tata Lan’s eyes lit. “Imagine training for centuries inside someone else’s memories! Monsters would be toys.”
Lucy’s mind instantly turned to trade and advantage. “A single memory could make a merchant-house fortune. Recipes, contracts, hidden routes. If Kent wins—”
“If Kent enters”—Amelia cut in—”he will change the balance of everything.”
Kent, who had been listening in silence with a cup of cool tea at his side, set it down and finally spoke. His voice was low, measured. “Three months. Trials across the mountains. It will not be a single contest. The Academy stages tests of craft, will, combat, and spirit. The Memory Ponds are only a final reward—generations of knowledge compressed into a reservoir. Do we know the rules?”
Fatty, between mouthfuls, nodded. “Yes! The notice said trials begin with skill tournaments—pupa gathering, herbal recovery, array design, storm-running, beast-handling—then into staged one-on-one combat, then the proving in the great hall. Winners get points. Highest points—one goes to the ponds. It’s ruthless like a famine.”
“Good work, Fatty.” Kent said as he picked a chicken leg.
Just as the women going to comment, a small, neatly robed servant slipped inside barefoot, bowing the way academy servants bow—shallow, swift.
“Master Kent,” she said, voice polite but brisk. “Vice Matriarch Kim summons all disciples for an announcement at the great hall. She requires the presence of everyone.”
A ripple moved through the table. Lady Kim’s summons was never casual.
Kent rose, smooth as tide. He folded his robe without haste. “Very well. Finish your meals. I will attend alone.”
They walked with him to the gate, companions forming a guard until the arch. Kent paused, looking over his household as they bustled—a mosaic of laughter and steel. He nodded once, then turned and walked toward the great hall. The trees exhaled around him; flags snapped in the wind. The path felt suddenly narrow and very clear.
Behind him, the wives returned to their chatter, no longer just titters about the night but sharp, purposeful words about tactics, contingency, and the one rare prize that could twist all fates: the Memory Ponds.
–
The Great Hall of Celestial Light Mountain was filled to its brim, glowing lanterns casting their light across rows upon rows of disciples. The stone floor hummed faintly with inscriptions carved by ancient hands, and every pillar gleamed with radiant scripture of light. From above, the banners of Celestial Light swayed gently, proclaiming purity and truth.
Thousands of disciples sat cross-legged in ordered ranks, their white and gold robes flowing like a river of starlight. The murmur of whispers filled the air until the moment Lady Kim stepped onto the high dais at the front.
Her presence silenced the hall. Her robes glowed with faint silver light, her posture tall and commanding. She gazed over the multitude with calm authority before speaking, her voice ringing like a bell.
“You have heard the whispers,” Lady Kim said. “And yes, it is true. In three months’ time, the great competition for entry into the Memory Ponds will begin.”
A stir went through the crowd, whispers rising like restless waves.
“The Memory Ponds!”
“They say they hold the essence of ancient masters—entire lifetimes of skill!”
“This year… they open?”
Lady Kim raised her hand, and silence returned.
“This time, the Eastern Royal Pond shall be open. Three Ponds. Three seats. But only those who prove themselves may enter. From each of the Seven Mountains, disciples will fight to earn the right to dip into the waters of memory.”
Excitement flared in the eyes of the disciples. Some leaned forward, their breathing quickened, their ambitions barely hidden.
Lady Kim’s gaze swept over them, cold yet fair. “From our Celestial Light Mountain, the slots are limited. Only ten disciples may participate, chosen by me. Your selection will not be based on arrogance or loud voices, but on skill. The test is simple—healing and potion-making, the foundation of our path. Prove your worth, and you will earn your slot.”
At once, a ripple moved through the disciples.
“I’ll enter!” one voice shouted, clear and eager.
“Me too!” another echoed.
In an instant, more than fifty disciples shot their hands into the air, their faces flushed with determination. The hall crackled with energy.
“I will not miss this chance!”
“Ten seats for thousands—it must be mine!”
“The pond will change my fate forever!”
But in the sea of thousands, it was only fifty who raised their hands instantly.
For a long moment, no others moved. The silence became heavy. Whispers broke out.
“Only fifty?”
“Why so few?”
“Do they fear the trial?”
Then, slowly, another ten disciples lifted their hands, hesitant, their eyes darting as if afraid to draw too much attention. Some trembled; some glanced nervously at their seniors.
Lady Kim’s eyes sharpened. She could see ambition, fear, and hesitation all too clearly.
At the far edge of the crowd, Kent sat cross-legged, calm as the ocean in the middle of a storm. His white-and-gold disciple-robe rested perfectly on his shoulders, his token at his side.
He observed the hall quietly. Thousands of disciples, yet only sixty had dared raise their hands. Among them, many faces burned with pride, but far more lowered their gazes, unwilling to risk ridicule or failure.
Is this the strength of Celestial Light? Kent thought. Thousands, yet only a handful step forward when destiny opens its gate.
His hand rose—smooth, steady, without hesitation.
The moment it lifted, whispers surged.
“He raised his hand!”
“The Golden Heir himself…”
“Does he think he can stand on our sacred ground and claim the pond?”
A few sneered outright.
“He’s not one of us. Just a newcomer. He dares to dream of the Pond?”
“Arrogant.”
“He will be cut down before the trial even begins.”
Yet Kent’s face did not change. His gaze was steady, his hand-high.
