I Can Summon Legendary Figuress

"Are we seriously going to allow a Demi-human Angel to challenge the Under Mountain?"

"That’s the price we have to pay to keep Karth on our side."

"Calm down. We all know the Son of Nezha has earned this right through merit..."

The high proctors watched the registration unfold from the upper balconies, well aware that there was little they could do to prevent it.

The founding charter of the Bastion was absolute: if a Demi-human wished to gain official entry, they had to prove themselves through blood and merit. The Son of Nezha had slaughtered entire beast clans and aided in the downfall of a hostile god. He had cleared every prerequisite.

Still, the senior officials were uneasy. The Bastion had suffered internal sabotage in the past, and Demi-humans were viewed with permanent suspicion. Even those who ascended to the angelic realm were never granted unconditional trust.

Yet Karth was one of the supreme pillars safeguarding humanity’s domain, and his divine authority could not be cast aside. If his chosen Angel demanded to challenge the Under Mountain, denying him was out of the question.

"You’ll need to keep up," the Son of Nezha called out without turning around, strolling toward the threshold of the abyss.

There was zero hesitation in his posture. The Under Mountain was a lethal death trap, but to an ancient Angel, the shallow stratums were little more than an inconvenience.

The trial, however, operated under strict constraints designed to test candidates while limiting external interference.

By law, no Demi-god or higher entity was permitted to directly assist another candidate across the terrain. They could not ferry weaker fighters on their backs, shield them from environmental hazards, or carry them to the high-elevation lifts. Every applicant had to make their own way through the dark.

Yet the wording of the charter contained a deliberate loophole.

It prohibited divine entities from lending aid, but it placed no restrictions on the candidates fighting amongst themselves.

That meant Ethan’s group was an open target. As long as no Demi-god directly interfered, rival factions were free to ambush them under the cover of the cavern’s gloom—and the Son of Nezha had no obligation to step in.

He was here for his own ascension.

"Understood," Ethan murmured, glancing toward Hela.

Hela raised a hand, and with a soft chime of spatial mana, a massive, golden-feathered avian materialized above the stone. The creature spread its vast wings, crouching low to let the party mount its back.

"Get on," Ethan directed, boarding the broad spine alongside Ella and Meng.

Around them, the sixty surviving aspirants mobilized in earnest. Spells were chanted, high-tier armor clicked into place, and protective beast companions formed tight defensive perimeters.

Everyone knew that past the threshold, there were no proctors to call for a pause, no barriers to cushion lethal blows, and no crowds cheering in safety.

There was only the Under Mountain.

At the front of the gates, the Son of Nezha took a slow, deep inhale. The thermal energy around his frame contracted, compressing into a blinding spark.

Then—

"Let’s move!"

*BOOM!*

The stone beneath his boots shattered into dust as he rocketed forward like a crimson comet, disappearing into the subterranean gloom in a fraction of a heartbeat.

The candidates surged forward in his wake, struggling desperately to match the blistering pace.

Hela’s golden raptor beat its wings with thunderous force, lifting into the air and slicing through the opening along the thermal slipstream carved by the Angel.

The moment they breached the perimeter, the cavern swallowed them whole.

The divide between mortal capability and divine devastation was laid bare in seconds.

Wherever the Son of Nezha’s flames swept, charred remnants of deformed abominations lined the path. Subterranean horrors were incinerated before their claws could even clear the shadows, while others were pulverized by the raw atmospheric pressure radiating from the Angel’s advance.

These were the ancient spawn of the primordial demon sealed beneath the peak millennia ago. Though their progenitor had been bound, the corruption had festered, multiplying endlessly in the dark.

The Bastion had long given up trying to completely purge the Under Mountain; the tunnels were too vast, and the breeding grounds too deep. Instead, they turned the infestation into a permanent crucible, dispatching elite candidates and punitive legions to cull the beasts while forging the realm’s rising talents.

To the candidates dodging razor-sharp mandibles and acidic spit, however, that philosophy offered no comfort. A ravenous beast cared nothing for the prestige of a trial.

"Nine o’clock," Meng said quietly, his eyes darting toward a high stone ridge.

Ethan followed his gaze immediately.

A cluster of figures moved rapidly along the upper ledges, keeping pace with the golden raptor. They wore the colors of the Pureblood and Vanguard factions, their movements calculated and hostile.

The Son of Nezha’s presence had done nothing to deter them. The rivals understood the rules perfectly: as long as they targeted Ethan directly without drawing the Angel’s wrath, the divine entity would not intervene in a mortal skirmish.

Ethan’s eyes narrowed into cold slits. "I see them."

He reached into his storage ring and pulled out a heavy, dark-iron crossbow, tossing it casually across the saddle.

Meng caught the weapon smoothly, balancing it in one hand.

Ethan followed with a bundle of specialized, rune-inscribed bolts. "These are high-yield explosive rounds."

A subtle, dangerous smirk touched Ethan’s lips. "Infuse a little of your wind arts into the shafts and aim for the ground beneath their steads."

Meng looked at the heavy bolts, then turned his gaze toward the stalking squad on the ridge.

A broad, mischievous grin split the youth’s face. He had never been one for cautious restraint, and the idea of turning the pursuers into fireworks was too tempting to pass up.

"Say no more," Meng chuckled.

He loaded the first bolt with practiced ease, his *Air Nomad* authority immediately wrapping around the iron mechanism. Currents of compressed wind hissed along the groove, locking the projectile into a hyper-stable aerodynamic pocket.

Meng wasn’t merely a competent archer; his innate mastery over atmospheric pressure made him a lethal marksman capable of curving projectiles through dead angles.

Meng sighted the lead scout along the upper ledge, his eyes glittering.

"Say hiii!"

*Twang!*

The bolt vanished into the dark, trailing a whistling vortex.

A second later—

*BOOM!*

The ridge detonated in a violent plume of red fire and shattered stone, launching the forward scout off the cliffside.

Before the squad could recover their footing, Meng cocked the lever, loaded another round, and fired in a seamless blur of motion.

*BOOM!*

*BOOM!*

Cascading explosions ripped across the rocky ledges, tearing through the stalactites above and showering the pursuers in burning shrapnel and falling boulders.

"What the hell is hitting us?!"

"Archers on the flying mount! Scatter!"

"Deploy defensive barriers!"

Panic broke out across the ridge as the squad scrambled for cover, their coordinated ambush completely dismantled before it could begin.

Meng burst into wild laughter, his fingers working the reloading mechanism with blinding speed as he adjusted the flight paths of every subsequent bolt, curving them around stone pillars to strike behind protective shields.

*Boom! Boom! Boom!*

The gloomy cavern lit up in a continuous barrage of concussive fire, echoing through the subterranean trenches as Ethan watched the chaos unfold with a cold, satisfied gaze.

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