Cassian knew the odds weren't in his favor—not really.
Not when it came to beating the Holy Son for this inheritance.
It wasn't that he lacked confidence. Quite the opposite. He was exceedingly confident in his own talent, strength, and sharp instinct for battle. While the Western Continent's Pope was a figure worthy of awe and dread, the so-called "Holy Son" Seraphius was... not the Pope.
And unlike beast-tamers, whose strength lay in numbers through their spiritual creatures, the church's faith-based cultivation offered no such advantages. In a direct fight, Cassian was certain he could overpower Seraphius.
If he had his six pure-blooded dragons.
That was the problem.
This trial forbade the use of spiritual creatures—or even spiritual power altogether. Instead, it measured potential successors by perhaps some other, unknown metric, one that had little to do with combat prowess.
Which brought Cassian to the reason why he wasn't feeling nearly as cocky as usual.
This civilization... it reeked of the Church.
The landscape around him was radiant—gleaming alabaster structures that floated without visible support, their architecture filled with spires, arcs, and platforms suspended in air. Marble pathways glowed with embedded sigils, and soft golden light bathed the entire trial site in a perpetual false dawn.
This lost civilization bore an uncanny resemblance to the architectural style and symbolic motifs seen in the Western Church. And in the visions of this world he'd gottn in the previous trial, it depicted a world of winged humanoids, their power denoted by the number of wings on their backs. The most formidable figures he'd glimpsed in fragmented visions during the previous trial had four pairs, though he suspected higher ranks might possess even more.
From what he could gather, this civilization had once thrived on a planet that mirrored the very image of "Heaven" as described in the Church's scriptures.
Cassian wouldn't be surprised if the origin of the Western Church's cultivation system was related to this long-gone planet—Elysium, as he'd learned it was called.
That thought alone sent a chill through his spine—and stirred something deeper.
Because, despite the clear connection to the Church, Cassian wanted this inheritance more than anything.
The people of Elysium's abilities seemed to mostly be of the light attribute, with rare instances where people had light plus a secondary element like fire or ice.
Of his current contracts—the four dragons revealed during the National Tournament (Dream, Nightmare, Solar, and Starmist) plus two newly acquired juveniles—three possessed light as an attribute: the Solar Dragon (fire, light, star), the Starmist Dragon (star, light, ice), and a juvenile Luminarch Dragon (light, earth).
More importantly, Elysium operated on a strict, faith-based hierarchy—just like the Church. And that made this inheritance all the more valuable to Cassian.
One might wonder: Why would a faith-based system be so desirable to a beast-tamer like Cassian?
The answer lay in a dilemma common to all who stood at the summit—even when there was no clear path forward, the drive to climb higher never faded.
The 9-star beast-tamers didn't twiddle their thumbs and idle their days away simply because they'd reached the known peak.
If anything, they worked harder, innovating relentlessly to refine and find new applications for their teamwork, skills, and gifts, striving to surpass their peers in ability, even if they couldn't in level.
As a long line of talented kings, the Lysander royal family was no exception. And unlike ordinary beast-tamers, the royal family had a unique advantage—they could more easily harness the faith of their nation. After all, many civilians already worship them in a way.
For generations, the Lysanders had secretly studied the Western Church's cultivation system, attempting to fuse it with their own.
If the royal family could unlock a method of faith-fueled cultivation that enhanced their beast-taming path, they wouldn't just be powerful.
They would be untouchable.
That dream hadn't started with him. It was seemingly an inescapable cycle that all the kings of the Empire would go through.
His great-great-great-grandfather tried. So did the great-great. And the great. And the not-so-great.
Hell, Cassian was certain his own father had tried and failed, but was too embarrassed to ever bring it up.
And now, that same opportunity—the very source that might have birthed the Western faith-based cultivation system—was right here, ripe for the taking.
Compared to the other inheritances he'd seen—the weird smelling acid one or the vine-infested trial, neither of which suited him—this was the one he desperately wanted.
Unfortunately, judging by the crazed yet determined look in his eyes, so did the Holy Son…
At the same time, in the Thar-Ameth trial…
The moment Serena stepped through the first archway, the air turned to fire in her lungs.
The corridor sloped downward, its walls slick with the same dark fluid she'd seen occasionally dripping from the archway—acidic, metallic, and deeply unnatural. It hissed as it struck the stone, carving shallow grooves into the floor. Even her spiritual sense, dulled as it was under the suppression of this trial, flared in warning at every drip.
Soreia was nowhere in sight.
That was fine. Serena hadn't expected her to be waiting.
But what Soreia hadn't expected, clearly, was for someone else to follow her. She'd left behind a clear trail—nothing dramatic, just the subtle indicators of hasty movement: footprints in the dust, disturbed droplets along the edge of the path where she'd skirted a deeper acid pool, and faint traces of displaced energy.
Therefore, even if Serena didn't have the advantages of clairvoyance or some prior knowledge of this trial, Serena was still able to take the right path using Soreia's knowledge.
Serena followed at a steady pace. She'd prefer to fall behind than to move rashly and get hurt in a trap or ambush.
Besides, She wasn't in a rush to catch up. She seriously doubted this inheritance would go to the first person who arrived at some altar or throne and shouted, "Mine!" These trials weren't simple races.
There would be a test.
And naturally, Serena was confident that she would win.