Online Game: Starting With SSS-Ranked Summons-Chapter 255: Regulus’s Vengeance (2)

"—access to the Hidden Realm of the Academy"

Gasps erupted throughout the hall. It was the first time that someone, who wasn't a descendant of the four elite families got the chance to enter the hidden realm.

Arthur's eyes widened at the scene unfolding before him. Regulus wasn't just any student of the Academy—he was the strongest of his time.

The undisputed Rank 1.

'It was clear to me that Regulus wasn't a random mage,' Arthur thought, 'but I didn't expect his background to be this...'

Regulus received the rewards with a deep bow, the perfect image of humility. But as he straightened and turned to face the crowd, Arthur caught the flash of something else—a soft smirk that spoke of satisfaction deeper than mere academic pride.

This was a victory in some greater game that Arthur couldn't yet see in full.

The young prodigy's eyes swept across the audience, lingering on certain faces as if noting enemies and allies. Unlike the majority of the crowd, whose features were strangely blurred in this vision, several figures stood out in perfect clarity.

Arthur recognized some of them immediately.

"Isn't that the king of Mera? And those... they are the elite family patriarchs."

Arthur faltered, realization dawning like a cold sunrise. "Regulus was part of the king's generation?"

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The implications cascaded through his mind.

"If this vision showed the current king in his youth, then Regulus wasn't just some ancient archmage from distant history…he was a contemporary of the current ruling powers. "

"A figure whose life had intersected directly with the present political landscape of Caldera."

They were much younger, of course—the king without the silver streaking his beard, Sauron Ashencroft with unmarked skin and fiery eyes, Raemund Draketower missing his famous scar—but their distinctive features were unmistakable.

They watched Regulus with expressions ranging from concern, calculation and shock.

'This changed everything.' Arthur thought.

The "Regulus's Vengeance" that Arthur was being shown wasn't some dusty historical footnote—it was the origin story of a conflict that might still be unfolding.

A vendetta that had shaped the current power structure of the kingdom.

Among the clear faces were two Arthur didn't recognize: a girl with golden curly hair and eyes the color of amber, who watched Regulus with an intensity that suggested more than academic interest, and a boy with hair and eyes as black as the void, whose expression remained perfectly neutral even as those around him whispered excitedly.

As Regulus stepped down from the podium, the crowd parted before him. No longer was he the desperate boy from the outer district, training through the night in a humble garden. He moved with the confidence of someone who had claimed his place in a world that had tried to exclude him.

But Arthur, watching from his position as silent witness, caught what others might have missed—the brief glance Regulus cast toward the empty seats in the family section.

There was no mother to witness his triumph.

No one to share in his glory.

And in that momentary vulnerability, Arthur felt something familiar.

The hollow victory of achievement without the ones who matter to share it.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The scene switched once more, this time showing Regulus at a grave. Surprisingly, the grave was right in front of his house, where he had always trained.

Arthur watched the young man's posture. Regulus's shoulders seemed to bend beneath an invisible weight, his head bowed, and his hands trembling slightly as they placed flowers on freshly turned earth.

Regulus was perhaps sixteen now, the sharpness of adolescence hardening into the defined features of a young man. But despite his growth, he seemed smaller somehow, diminished by grief.

What surprised Arthur, however, was the girl next to Regulus. She shared the same look of sadness as she watched him, her golden curls catching the weak sunlight. It was the same girl with golden eyes that Arthur had seen at the ceremony.

She stood close enough to offer comfort but far enough to give him space—the careful distance of someone who understands grief but isn't yet certain of their right to share it.

"I told her I would protect her," Regulus whispered, his voice carrying to Arthur despite the distance. "I promised."

The golden-haired girl placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It wasn't your fault, Regulus. No one could have predicted the attack."

"I should have," he replied, his voice hardening. "I should have seen it coming. They targeted her to get to me."

"It was those accursed demons. You can't blame yourself—"

"Who else should I blame?" His head snapped up, eyes blazing with pain and fury. "The demons? They're just weapons. It's the ones who sent them that deserve my vengeance."

The girl's expression shifted from sorrow to concern. "Regulus..."

But the scene was already dissolving, shifting with jarring abruptness. Unlike the previous calm transitions, this one felt violent—colors bleeding into one another, sound distorting, the world reforming in chaotic flashes.

When the vision stabilized, Arthur found himself in the midst of pure chaos.

A battlefield stretched before him, littered with corpses of both demons and humans. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid burn of bodies. Screams and roars formed a hellish soundtrack to the carnage.

At the frontline stood Regulus—now much older, in his early twenties, his silver hair long and wild, whipping around his face as he directed magical assaults against the demonic horde. Gone was the youth; in his place stood a battle-hardened mage, his Academy robes replaced by combat gear etched with protective runes.

His face was leaner. But most striking was the change in his eyes—no longer merely determined, but blazing with coldness that sent shivers down those who saw it.

With a swift, commanding gesture, Regulus extended his hand toward an approaching demon. The ground beneath the demon erupted as ethereal swords slowly rose, shooting upward like deadly stalagmites.

The weapons tore through the air, their blades leaving trails of silver light as they converged on their target.