The Synapse Circle was a well-known clan. Not just within the Paragon Realm, but also in the normal human world.
Their name carried weight.
They were famous for inventions that bordered on the impossible. Technology. Magic. Medicine. Fields that rarely mixed—yet the Synapse Circle handled all three with ease. Many of their creations had never been replicated, no matter how much money or resources other giant organizations poured into copying them.
And for a powerhouse like that, their arrival was bound to draw attention.
The massive ship hovered silently above the grounds, its presence dominating the sky. Below, Paragon media personnel rushed into position, cameras raised, drones lifting off as they tried to capture every angle.
This was their moment.
The only chance most of them would ever get to witness the Paragon Battle Royale up close.
"This is the Synapse Circle," a female reporter announced excitedly. "The largest tech and medical organization in the world."
"They're also known for studying and practicing forms of magic considered far too dangerous for ordinary humans," she continued, her voice steady despite the growing noise around her.
"There was once a rumor that claimed the Synapse Circle's overall strength rivals that of the Divine Warriors themselves—"
"You must be crazy if you believe that," someone suddenly interrupted, scoffing loudly.
The reporter paused.
She turned toward the voice. It belonged to a large man, broad-shouldered, standing with his arms crossed.
The female reporter smiled, not offended. If anything, she looked pleased, as if she had been waiting for the argument.
"If you think I'm lying," she said calmly, "then explain this. Why don't they obey the Divine Beings?"
Her voice grew sharper.
"The Synapse Circle does whatever it wants. Even when the Divine Beings disapprove, they still act. And yet, nothing is done to them."
She leaned slightly forward.
"Haven't you heard?"
"There's a rumor that the Synapse Circle possesses a way to locate what the Divine Beings are searching for. And despite refusing to help them, the Nine still can't touch them."
"Shut up, bitch," the man snapped back.
He scoffed loudly.
"All your arguments are based on rumors. If the Synapse Circle is as mighty as people claim, then why is the Whiters Clan still the best when it comes to medicine?"
The reporter didn't hesitate.
"You really think the Whiters are better at producing medicine than the Synapse Circle?" she shot back.
Her eyes dropped briefly, scanning the man's clothing. The insignia stitched into his robe didn't escape her notice.
She smiled again.
"That explains it."
She pointed openly this time.
"You're from the Whiters Clan. No wonder you think your medicine surpasses the Synapse Circle's."
Then she tilted her head toward the sky, toward the massive ship hovering above them.
"Tell me," she said plainly, "does the Whiters Clan have a ship like that?"
The man's face flushed red with embarrassment. He said nothing more and quickly turned away, disappearing into the crowd.
Meanwhile, the ship continued its descent.
It was massive—shaped like an airborne carrier. Its body was fully exposed, layered with glowing LED lines that pulsed softly across its surface. Despite its size and clear activity, there was barely any sound. No loud engines. No violent tremors. It descended slowly, almost silently.
That alone unsettled people.
The crowd reacted fast. People shoved and pulled at one another, clearing space as they scrambled out of its landing path.
Still, not everyone made it in time.
Some vehicles remained where they were. A few beasts growled nervously, their handlers struggling to move them aside. For a brief moment, it looked like disaster was inevitable.
Just as panic peaked, several thick metal rods shot out from the bottom of the ship.
They slammed into the ground with force, digging deep as they anchored themselves. The ship's weight settled onto them smoothly, stopping its descent completely.
A second later, smoke hissed out from the front of the ship.
Then the pointed mouth of the vessel began to move.
Metal shifted. Plates folded back, retracting piece by piece. The process was clean and precise, like living machinery at work. What looked like solid armor moments ago dissolved into flowing nano-metal.
As the opening widened, figures became visible inside the ship.
At the same time, the same nano-metal flowed downward, reshaping itself into a staircase that stretched from the ship's entrance all the way to the ground.
Everything happened fast.
Smooth. Controlled.
When the stairs finished forming, two metallic humanoid robots stepped forward. Their movements were heavy but perfectly balanced. Each footstep echoed as they descended the stairs, metal striking solid ground with quiet authority.
And the crowd fell silent.
Following behind the two robots came four young adults.
They looked to be in their late teens or early twenties. Each of them wore fitted metallic clothing—flexible, smooth, and clearly advanced. The material hugged their bodies without restricting movement, making them look only slightly less mechanical than the robots leading the way.
Then came the last figure.
A man stood calmly atop an Egyptian-styled carpet.
The carpet floated.
It hovered in the air as if gravity simply didn't apply to it, carrying the man forward with slow, steady motion. He wore a purple suit, clean and sharp, with a black hat resting neatly on his head. His build was solid, broad shoulders visible even beneath the tailored fabric.
This was Draven Valdeiro.
The third son of the Valdeiro family.
He was widely known as the face of the Valdeiros—the one who represented the Synapse Circle in public. Whenever the organization needed a presence at a major event, Draven was the one sent forward.
The floating carpet drifted after the four young adults, keeping perfect pace.
"Oh my God… do you see that?" a woman shouted suddenly. "A real flying carpet. I want one of those!"
She tugged hard at the sleeve of the man beside her. He didn't look pleased, but he didn't pull away either.
Draven's appearance ignited the crowd.
Whispers turned into chatter. Heads leaned together. Eyes followed his every movement. He was tall, handsome, with a sharp jawline and a wide, confident smile that looked practiced—but not fake.
Unlike the Tamers, who had marched straight into the Colosseum without pause, the Synapse Circle did the opposite.
After disembarking from the ship, Draven slowed.
He gave the crowd time.
People rushed forward. Some were familiar faces, old contacts and allies. Others were strangers, eager to make connections, desperate for a moment of acknowledgment.
Draven greeted them with ease.
A nod here. A smile there.
And the crowd pressed in closer.
While all of that was happening, the four participants chosen for the Battle Royale stood off to the side.
They didn't mingle. They didn't greet anyone. Not even politely.
And it wasn't like anyone could approach them anyway.
The two humanoid robots stood firmly in front of the group, positioned like living shields. Their metal frames were still, but their presence alone was enough. No one was foolish enough to test their strength.
All four participants belonged to the Valdeiro family.
First was Rhyssa Valdeiro. She had snow-white hair, tied back in a strict, elegant style that gave her a cold, almost wicked look. Her height was average, but her posture made her seem taller than she really was.
Next to her stood Maelis Valdeiro, another female. She was taller than Rhyssa, with dark hair cut neatly in a hime-style. Her expression was calm, unreadable, her eyes quietly scanning the area.
The remaining two were male.
Caelan Valdeiro stood with relaxed confidence. His hair was long, reaching his shoulders, soft enough to give him an almost feminine appearance. He shared a similar height with Rhyssa, though his frame was slimmer, more refined.
Last was Eric Valdeiro.
He looked like the youngest of the four. His hair was cut low, simple, and his build was smaller compared to the others. Still, there was something tense about him, something unsettled.
The four of them were cousins.
"Eric, are you okay?" Maelis asked, turning her gaze toward him.
"It just feels… off," Eric replied, his arms crossing over his chest.
"We already know we'll win this," he added. "That kind of takes the fun out of it."
"You can't be so sure," Rhyssa responded immediately, her tone sharp and dismissive.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Just because the system says we'll win doesn't mean we will," Rhyssa said.
Eric frowned and turned to her. "What are you talking about?"
"You were there," he added, clearly confused. "The system confirmed it. A hundred percent chance of winning this tournament."
Rhyssa shook her head slowly. Not angry. Just disappointed, like she expected better from them.
"That statistic was pulled from last year," she said. "And a few tournaments before that."
She lifted a finger, making her point clear.
"But every year, there's always a chance something changes. A new clan appears. One that wasn't factored into the calculations."
She paused, letting that sink in.
"And when that happens," she continued, "those chances can go up or drop. It depends entirely on what that new clan brings to the table."
Her eyes moved as she spoke, sharp and alert, scanning the area around them.
"And from what I can see," Rhyssa said quietly, "there are more new clans this year than last year."
Her gaze swept across the crowd, moving fast from one group to another.
She recognized several banners she didn't remember from previous tournaments.
Then her eyes stopped.
For a brief moment, she locked gazes with someone standing in the distance—someone who was already watching them.
Rhyssa didn't look away right away.
Neither did the stranger.