Morning light spilled over the high stone arches of the Solaris Colosseum, casting long, jagged shadows across the dusty arena floor. Chilled wind swept through the open-air stadium, carrying the scent of dry earth, cheap ale, and the electric tension of thousands of eager spectators. Isaac stood in the preparation tunnel, his fingers digging into the cold stone wall to steady his shaking knees. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps that sounded incredibly loud in the narrow stone corridor. For a zero-tier outcast like him, this public trial wasn't just a test of magical combat; it was a public execution disguised as aristocratic sport. "Get out there, boy," a burly guard grunted, shoving Isaac rudely toward the blinding sunlight of the arena. Stumbling forward, Isaac blinked against the sudden, overwhelming glare of the mid-morning sun. A deafening roar hit him like a physical blow, vibrating through the soles of his boots. Spectators packed the tiered stone benches, their faces a blur of jeering mouths, waving banners, and pointing fingers. Everyone hungered to see the useless academy reject crushed under the heel of a real warrior. "Do not let them see you sweat," Isaac muttered to himself, forcing his chin up as he stepped onto the hot sand. His chest felt incredibly tight, a familiar panic clawing at his throat like a physical hand. Ever since he had transmigrated into this world of Solaris, he had been running on pure survival instinct, constantly terrified of being exposed as a fraud. Every magical test in this academy had labeled his core a useless void, a zero-tier embarrassment to the magical elite. Bound to him by a forced marriage contract, this legendary, calamity-class dragon was a terrifying bond that Isaac still couldn't fully comprehend. Aurelius’s presence was a heavy, coiling warmth deep within his soul, a constant reminder of the price he had paid for survival. "I can do this on my own," Isaac whispered, squeezing his hands into tight fists. He had fiercely rejected the dragon’s offer to simply vaporize his opponent. Desire for freedom burned in his gut, urging him to prove he wasn't just a helpless pet to be played with by an ancient, possessive monster. Glancing upward, Isaac scanned the high, shadowed cornices of the stadium walls. He needed a weapon, something that wouldn't alert the sensitive magic-detection barriers surrounding the arena. High above the ground, nestled in a damp crevice near the VIP boxes, was a dark, pulsing shape. A nest of venom-flies. Known for their painful, paralyzing stings, these aggressive insects relied on a powerful hive-mind network. Ordinary high-tier mages would have burned them away with a simple flame spell, dismissing them as minor annoyances. But to Isaac, who possessed the forbidden, dormant ability of a beast tamer, they were a perfect tactical tool. Quietly, he began to channel a microscopic amount of his secret taming mana. He kept the flow incredibly thin, like a single strand of spider silk, guiding it up through the air toward the nest. *Awake,* he projected, sending the silent command into the hive mind of the insects. *Listen to my voice. Prepare to swarm.* A low, rhythmic buzzing began to echo from the high stone arches, barely audible over the roaring crowd. Isaac smiled faintly, a spark of genuine hope flickering in his chest. His trick was set. Now, he just had to survive the initial onslaught of the champion. Iron gates on the opposite side of the arena screeched open, scraping loudly against the sandy floor. A massive figure strode out into the light, drawing a thunderous cheer from the crowd. Leon, the spear-wielding champion of the academy, looked absolutely radiant in his polished silver armor. Runic inscriptions glowed with a faint blue light along the shaft of his heavy spear, humming with pure, high-tier magical energy. His steps were measured, confident, and deadly. But as Leon drew closer, Isaac felt a sudden chill run down his spine. Something about the champion’s posture was off. His movements were too smooth, his shoulders too relaxed for someone about to engage in a public duel. "Well, if it isn't our little zero-tier darling," Leon said, his voice carrying an eerie, melodic undertone that made Isaac’s skin crawl. A cold sweat broke out across Isaac's forehead. He knew that voice. Instead, the smooth, velvety purr of the ancient dragon filled his ears, a creature who loved hijacking the bodies of other mages just to torment him. "Aurelius, stop this," Isaac hissed under his breath, his eyes widening in panic. "What are you doing? I told you to stay out of this!" Leon—or rather, the dragon possessing him—merely tilted his head, a wicked, golden spark flashing deep within his brown eyes. "I am merely playing my part, my sweet little tamer," the possessed champion whispered, so low that only Isaac could hear. "Let us give them a show, shall we?" Desperation flared in Isaac’s chest. He couldn't let this happen. If the academy masters realized Leon was possessed, they would hunt them both down. "No!" Isaac yelled, drawing his blunt training dagger. "Fight me for real!" Leon raised his heavy spear, the runic light flared brightly. "As you wish," the possessed warrior laughed, lunging forward with terrifying speed. Excitement rippled through the crowd as the champion closed the distance in the blink of an eye. Isaac didn't hesitate. With a sharp flick of his fingers, he triggered his trap. *Attack!* he commanded the venom-flies. A black cloud of angry insects descended from the rafters, swarming directly into Leon's face. They buzzed furiously, biting at the exposed skin around his eyes and neck, completely blocking his vision. It was a brilliant tactical maneuver. Leon’s charge faltered, his spear wavering as he tried to swat the insects away. Isaac seized the opportunity, lunging forward to strike the champion's exposed knee with his training dagger. Surviving a dangerous counterattack was his primary concern, so he poured all of his physical strength into the blow. Instead, the moment his blunt blade made the slightest contact with Leon's armor, the champion's body went completely limp. Leon’s knee buckled with a loud, theatrical snap. "Oh, the agony!" Leon cried out, his voice dripping with an absurdly exaggerated theatricality. He spun around, throwing himself backward onto the sand as if he had been struck by a high-tier lightning bolt. Isaac stood there, his dagger frozen in mid-air, his jaw dropping in sheer disbelief. "What are you doing?" Isaac hissed, staring down at the writhing champion. Leon rolled across the dust, clutching his leg and letting out a series of dramatic, agonizing groans that wouldn't have fooled a child, yet somehow looked incredibly convincing to the distant crowd. "His magic... it is too powerful!" Leon gasped, looking up at Isaac with a pair of eyes that gleamed with pure, unadulterated mischief. A playful wink flashed across his face before the champion collapsed onto the sand, motionless. Silence fell over the grand colosseum. Nobody spoke. Not a single soul moved in the massive arena. For a long, agonizing moment, the only sound was the wind howling through the stone arches. Suddenly, a single spectator stood up in the front row, his eyes wide with terror. "He... he defeated the champion with a single tap!" someone screamed. "Did you see that invisible shockwave? A zero-tier mage possesses hidden, legendary power!" another yelled. Suddenly, the entire stadium erupted into a deafening, hysterical frenzy. People were cheering, screaming Isaac's name, throwing flowers and coins onto the arena floor. In their eyes, Isaac was a hidden genius, a master of invisible, ancient magic. But Isaac couldn't move. His breath caught in his throat, a cold, sickening horror wash over him. Staring down at his own trembling hands, he then turned his gaze to the unconscious body of Leon lying in the dirt. Every cheer from the crowd felt like a heavy stone crushing his chest. His carefully planned strategy, his desperate attempt to prove his own worth, his desire to stand on his own two feet—all of it had been rendered completely meaningless. Aurelius had made a mockery of his struggle. By turning his hard-fought battle into a pathetic, manufactured stage play, the beast had stripped away his agency. Worst of all, Isaac realized he was now trapped in a lie of epic proportions, a lie that would draw the attention of every dangerous mage in Solaris. Roaring in disbelief, the crowd watched as the champion fell, but Isaac looked at his own hands in horror, realizing the entire victory was a manufactured lie orchestrated by his possessive dragon.

Chapter 10: The Arena of Deception