The golden light of the teleportation array faded, and hundreds of contestant followers materialized across the vast, untamed wilderness of the Public Divine Realm. A faint, oppressive hum hung in the air, a deliberate suppression ward designed to weaken the link between each follower and their patron god. This was the tournament's first critical test: to measure the strength of a follower's faith, their ability to lead, adapt, and survive without their god's direct power. Those who crumbled here would earn their patron zero points, no matter how mighty the god themselves might be.
The moment they landed, most groups froze. Wide eyes darted across the dense, ancient forest, hands flying to sword hilts and staffs, breath catching at the distant roar of unknown beasts. Even seasoned warriors tensed, their faces tight with unease—this was no simulated arena, but a living, breathing wilderness where death was permanent.
In the academy's central monitoring spire, Headmaster Valerius leaned back in his throne-like seat, his gaze sweeping across 200 separate scrying screens with the effortless focus of a fully ascended God-King. His expression darkened with every passing second.
Nearly a third of the followers had dissolved into panicked disarray the second the teleportation ended. Some dropped their weapons and cowered behind boulders; others scattered into the forest without a plan, easy prey for the realm's native beasts. Valerius's jaw tightened. This tournament was restricted to Rank 2 and above students, and half the applicant pool had already washed out in the qualifiers. Now it was clear dozens of those who'd made it through had rushed their promotions at the last minute, their followers nothing but hastily contracted mercenaries with no real loyalty, no unshakable faith, no ability to stand on their own.
He waved a hand, dismissing the failing feeds with a scowl, and turned his attention to the remaining contestants. His expression softened as he sorted through the rest.
Roughly eighty groups, led by Elara Voss's elven and dwarven followers, had only shown a flicker of initial panic before rallying. They formed tight defensive perimeters, sent out small, disciplined scouting parties, and began mapping their immediate surroundings—solid, mid-tier performance, enough to pass the first test, if nothing spectacular. Another fifty had shaken off their fear in seconds, laying out clear, logical plans for shelter, foraging, and long-term defense, the mark of well-trained, well-led followers with unshakable trust in their god.
At the very top, a dozen groups had shown no fear at all. The second their boots touched the ground, they split into specialized teams, scouted the terrain, secured a defensible position, and began executing a pre-planned strategy without a single argument. Valerius nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. These were the contenders—the ones who would earn top marks, and likely stand on the tournament's final podium.
Four groups in particular held his attention, their performance head and shoulders above the rest.
First was Finn Marrick, the empire's naval prodigy. His merfolk and sea elf followers had landed on a remote island in the realm's eastern sea, and in ten minutes flat, they'd mapped the entire coastline, set up rain catchers and tidal fish traps, and begun felling old-growth timber to build longboats. No panic, no wasted movement—just cold, efficient mastery of their environment, exactly what he'd expect from the young commander who'd broken the empire's coastal blockade record two years running.
Next was Seraphina Voss, Elara's older sister and the Voss family's golden child. Her followers had landed in a thick old-growth forest, and within minutes, they'd been set upon by a pack of shadow wolves. There was no chaos, no hesitation: her elven archers picked off the lead wolves from the treetops before they could strike, her dwarven warriors locked into an impenetrable shield wall, and her healers tended to a single minor scratch before the last wolf hit the ground. By the time the fight ended, her followers were already butchering the carcasses, curing the meat into jerky for later trade—even the elven kin, who disdained meat, worked without complaint. A perfectly balanced, perfectly disciplined unit.
Then there was Lex Thorne, the War God's top disciple. His berserkers had landed in the jagged northern mountains, and the second their feet touched the ground, they moved like a well-oiled war machine. They swept through the mountain passes, clearing out a nest of rock trolls in minutes, seized a fortified cave system with natural choke points, and set up enchanted killing zones along every approach. Every member of his retinue was a Rank 3 warrior or higher, radiating bloodlust and iron discipline. He was the clear favorite to win the entire tournament, and his opening move only cemented that reputation.
Valerius nodded approvingly, then his gaze drifted to the final feed—Laia Hayes's group.
The second he saw it, he froze, his wine glass hovering halfway to his lips.
Every other top team's followers had landed in gleaming enchanted armor, wielding rune-carved weapons, hauling magical supply chests and divine ward stones. Laia's followers? They looked like they'd fled a war-torn border village.
They'd piled out of a rickety, dented iron cart pulled by two shaggy draft lizards, the bed of the cart overflowing with squelching, jiggling water slimes. Most wore simple, patched leather tunics, no fancy plate armor, no glowing staves or swords. The only supplies they carried were a stack of rough-woven burlap sacks, a few iron shovels and pickaxes, and a locked oak crate of cheese wheels that sat front and center on the cart, guarded by two dwarves like it was a holy relic.
Valerius stared at the screen, silent for a full minute. They didn't look like elite followers entering the empire's most prestigious divine tournament. They looked like refugees.
He leaned forward, curiosity overriding his initial confusion, and kept watching.
At the front of the group, the Lizard King of the Void-Forsaken clans—one of the three leaders Laia had rescued from the void's edge—crouched down, dug a handful of dark, loamy dirt out of the ground, and popped it straight into his mouth. He chewed slowly, his head tilting this way and that, then spat it out and nodded to the rest of the group.
"Good soil," he rumbled, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Rotten leaf compost, perfect moisture, no toxic void residue. Ideal for wheat and alfalfa. The dairy herd will thrive here."
Valerius's eye twitched. *Who in the name of the God-Emperor has their followers eat dirt the second they land in a hostile, monster-infested wilderness?
The Elven King of the Void-Forsaken stepped forward, kneeling to run his slender fingers through the dirt, a look of quiet reverence on his face. He rubbed the soil between his thumb and forefinger, then sighed, soft and warm. "This is richer than the best farmland in our old realm. With this, our wheat yields will double. We'll never run out of bread for the Overgod's sandwiches, or alfalfa for the cows that make her cheese."
Valerius stared at the screen, dumbfounded. Every other team in the tournament was scanning for predators, securing defensible high ground, testing for hostile magic. These followers were standing in a deadly, uncharted wilderness, and their first priority was whether the dirt was good enough to grow ingredients for their god's sandwich shop.
In fifty years as headmaster, he'd never seen anything like it.
The Elven King stood up, turning to point at a sheer granite cliff face that rose a hundred feet into the air at the edge of the clearing. "We'll quarry building stone from that cliff. We'll carve a rain-fed reservoir into the rock face, and dig root cellars and climate-controlled storage vaults into the hillside for the cheese and grain. The rest of you, start mapping the underground—we'll need a full tunnel network within the week."
Valerius raised an eyebrow. Carving into solid granite with nothing but iron pickaxes? That would take days, drain the followers' stamina dry, and leave them completely vulnerable to attack the entire time. It was a foolish, reckless move for the opening hours of the tournament. Even the most powerful earth mages would hesitate to tackle a cliff that size without carefully conserving their arcane energy.
He leaned in, ready to watch the group waste hours chipping away at the rock, only to be caught off guard by a roaming beast or a rival scouting party.
What happened next made his jaw drop clean open.
A massive Void Ape stepped forward, hefting a water slime the size of a barrel under one arm. He rapped his knuckles against the granite cliff, listening to the echo of the rock, then nodded. He reared back, and hurled the slime against the rock with all his strength. The slime burst on impact, water seeping into every tiny crack and fissure in the granite before it could drip down the cliff face.
Before the last drop of water could settle, the Elven King stepped forward. He held out a hand, and a faint wisp of frost magic curled from his fingertips into the water-soaked cracks. The water froze solid in an instant, expanding with unstoppable, unyielding force.
A deafening *CRACK* split the air, loud enough to make the scrying feed fizzle.
The entire granite cliff face split wide open, massive boulders shearing off and crashing to the ground, leaving a flat, even quarry face and a natural hollow in the rock perfect for the reservoir. The followers didn't even flinch. The lizards immediately moved in to haul the boulders away, the apes grabbed their pickaxes to smooth the remaining rock, and the elven sprites began warding the newly carved hollow against collapse and beasts.
Valerius sat bolt upright in his chair, staring at the screen, his wine glass slipping from his hand and shattering on the marble floor.
*WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE DIVINE REALM WAS THAT?*
These were elven kin—beings born and bred for arcane mastery, for weaving grand spells of nature, frost, and starlight. They could have leveled the entire cliff with a single wave of their hand, with a single powerful frost spell. And instead? They'd used a slime, water, and freezing to split the rock with thermal expansion. With *physics*.
He'd spent a century studying the arcane. He'd ascended to God-Kinghood on the back of his mastery of divine magic. Never in his life had he seen a group of magic-wielding followers ignore their full arcane power to split a mountain with basic physical principles.
*Who teaches their followers this?* Valerius screamed internally. *You're mages! You wield the very fabric of magic! Why are you playing with high school physics?!*
---
In the academy's private viewing boxes, Laia Hayes sneezed suddenly, rubbing her nose with a frown. She was curled up in a plush armchair, a three-tiered tray of honey cakes, fruit tarts, and cream puffs spread out on the table in front of her, completely ignoring the massive scrying screen that showed her followers' every move.
"Ugh. Someone's definitely talking about me." She mumbled, before shoving a whole honey cake into her mouth, her eyes lighting up. The sweet, buttery flavor burst across her tongue, and she nearly cried. She hadn't had a proper sweet this good in nearly twenty years, not since she'd first enrolled in the academy and spent every last divine crystal on cheese instead of pastries.
She grabbed another cake, then a cream puff, shoveling them into her mouth one after another. She'd paid a small fortune for the private box and the unlimited dessert spread that came with it, and she was determined to get her money's worth. The tournament? Her followers? The War God out for her blood? That could all wait. Right now, she had a tray of pastries to finish.
Elara Voss sat across from her, staring at the scrying screen with her mouth hanging open, then looked back at Laia, who was now licking cream off her fingers. "Laia. Did you… did you actually teach your followers to split rock with freezing water? Instead of just using magic?"
Laia paused, mid-lick, and shrugged. "Yeah? Why waste magic on breaking rock when physics does it for free? Saves their energy for fighting, or planting wheat, or making cheese. It's just common sense."
Elara stared at her, dumbfounded. Common sense? No other god in the entire empire would ever think to teach their ancient, magic-wielding followers basic physics instead of having them lean into their innate arcane power. No one but Laia.
Laia went back to her pastries, completely oblivious to the fact that the headmaster was still staring at her feed in stunned disbelief, that Lex Thorne was already plotting to ambush her followers in the wilderness, that her followers were already building an impenetrable underground fortress in the heart of the realm.
All she cared about was finishing her desserts, and making sure her followers had enough good dirt to grow the wheat for her sandwich shop.
And somewhere in the monitoring spire, Valerius was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that the most promising student in his academy had apparently decided that basic physics was more useful than grand arcane magic.