The hall stretched out like a sculpted void, its black marble and silver surfaces polished to a sheen that radiated a coldness almost alive. Towering columns upheld a ceiling where ancient constellations shimmered, their golden streaks tracing a sky unfamiliar to all who stood beneath it. Light spilled from jade lamps, suspended on delicate threads, quivering as though privy to secrets the others couldn't grasp. Shadows twisted across the walls—swift and restless, like the fingers of something that didn't belong.
The silence bore down heavily. It wasn't mere stillness. It was a fist clenched against the chest, stealing breath, compelling each person to feel the thud of their own heartbeat.
At the center stood Nael. A living statue. Black robes draped over him in straight, unyielding lines, slicing through the dimness with stark precision. His white hair, nearly translucent in the jade glow, seemed to drink the light rather than cast it back. Yet it wasn't the hair or the robes that held every gaze captive. It was the emptiness. The absence. No flicker of expression crossed his face, no hint of warmth softened his stance. He simply… existed. As though the hall, its occupants, and time itself were fleeting details he'd long since discarded.
His blindfolded eyes saw nothing, yet they sensed everything. Cold. Hollow. An abyss that devoured any attempt to reach him. And in a flash—a moment sharp as a blade—they understood: there was no grasping him. No door to unlock, no key to turn, no crack to pry open.
But greed is deaf to reason. It crept among the cultivators, hot and stifling, coiling around their thoughts like tendrils of smoke. The weaker ones turned away, cold sweat trickling down their faces, dripping to the floor in faint plinks no one else noticed. The strong—those with hands roughened by years of taking—fixed their stares on him. Their eyes, hard and narrowed, measured him as if he were a rare gem: tough to shatter, yes, but not beyond breaking. "Is it true?" their minds whispered, the unspoken words searing within. "Is he really untouchable? Or does he just need a push?"
The air thickened, clinging to their skin. A low rumble rolled from nowhere, and a weight crashed down, smothering intentions still unformed. Nael didn't stir. His covered eyes swept the hall—slow, frigid, as if every move had already unfolded in his sight. Then she was gone. Celestia Black. Her absence struck like a blow before they could process it, snapping the final thread that held them in check.
Eyes darted like arrows. Greed laid bare, fear masked thinly, desire too timid to voice itself. Celestia was no longer there. Nothing tethered them. Breaths came short and ragged, shredding the silence. Fingers tightened around fabric, goblets, anything within reach. A child of his. That's what they craved. Not to cherish, not to raise. To claim. A fragment of Nael would be more than flesh—it would be power, a leap past the boundaries of their dreams. And Celestia? A goddess, perhaps, but a grandmother doesn't touch her grandson. That they knew. That was law.
To them, he wasn't a man. He was a vault. A bridge. A tool. The hall thrummed with this unspoken notion, a vibration felt in the bones though it never reached the ears. No one moved. No one dared to strike the first spark.
Until his voice broke the stillness.
"Before you rush toward an almost certain death…"
It emerged low, steady, effortless. Not a shout, not a threat. Just truth, unadorned, spoken by one who owed no explanations. The silence swallowed his words and hurled them back, heavier, sharper. Everything froze. Time itself held its breath.
"…as a Supremium, I believe you possess some common sense."
He finished, calm as if remarking on a passing cloud. The world faltered, a moment snared in a void.
Low. Steady. Effortless. Neither yell nor menace—just truth. His words sank into the silence and rose again, weighty as stones plunging into a deep lake. The world paused, breathless. Nael stood untouched, his blindfolded gaze aimed at nothing and everything.
A chill slithered up their spines, an shiver no one owned up to. There was no anger in his tone, no taunt. And that's why it cut so deep. When someone speaks like that—plainly, without flourish—it's no game. It's just the way things are.
No one answered. Lips sealed, eyes stretched wide. But he saw—or felt—the stirrings behind those masks. Doubt wormed its way in. Schemes crumbled to ash. The urge to lunge wrestled with the burden his words had dropped upon them. Deep down, they knew. They'd always known. Nael wasn't something to capture. Nor something to break.
The tension lingered, dense and choking. Quick glances flickered between them, silent questions hanging in the air. Others gripped their robes, fists crushing the fabric into soft groans. He was a wall. They were only wind, battering helplessly against it. The jade lamps wavered, uncertain. Shadows spun faster across the walls. And the hall watched, mute, as they remained trapped—caught between their wants and what he was.
The wind sliced through the air, carrying the damp scent of earth, as if the mountain wept in quiet mourning. The sky hung gray and heavy, cradling a storm that teetered, unsure whether to erupt or fade. Each breath pressed against the chest, the thick air sticking to the skin like an unspoken oath. The hall rose around them, vast and open, its black jade pillars casting shadows that pulsed with life. Faint murmurs drifted, nearly lost to the emptiness. From the mountain's natural ledges, cultivators looked on—dark shapes with eyes aglow, curiosity tangled with a cruel, hungry edge.
In the center, she stood. Crimson robes flowed over her like freshly spilled blood, her smile a blade's keen edge. Arrogance flared in her eyes, fierce and daring. Her voice lashed out, dancing through the air.
"Finally, the Yang Fei speaks."
Her gaze hunted for a reaction, a flaw to exploit. It found none. Nael didn't flinch. His eyes settled on her—slow, almost idle, yet laden with a force that bent time itself. No anger simmered there, no defiance flared. Only silence. A silence so boundless it seemed to consume sound, light, the very air. His eyes, pale and icy, cut through her like frost, piercing past her bravado to the quick, unsteady thrum of her heart.
She wavered. Just for a heartbeat, but it was enough. Her smile flickered.
Then he spoke.
"Nael."
The word tore through the hall, a whisper that reverberated like muffled thunder. Quiet, yet it sliced through all, final and unyielding. A chill raced up her spine, a tremor she fought to conceal. Her breath snagged, caught in her throat. Her lips parted—maybe to laugh, to jeer—but the words died unborn, smothered by the weight closing in.
The silence wasn't just silence. It was power. A void that tugged, stripping away any hope of clinging to control. An abyss where sound went to perish. The wind stilled. The crowd followed suit.
"Child, the adults are speaking."
His voice held steady. Not a pitch louder, not a trace of feeling. Pure indifference, sharp as a glass blade that mirrors its watcher—and dismantles them. The ground beneath her seemed to drift away, as if the world recoiled from those words.
The crowd, once baying for blood or drama, fell hushed. Some dropped their gazes, necks stiff as if squeezed from within. The stubborn ones stared into the emptiness, but even they felt the air grow thick.
Her face drained of color. The fierce spark in her eyes snuffed out in a blink so faint it barely registered. Her fists clenched, trembling. "I won't yield," she told herself, but the thought slipped, frail and lost in the silence he spun.
Nael's attention slid away from her. His gaze drifted to Yang Ming, serene, as if she were a fleeting breath, an echo too faint to matter.
"Ensure you control your little pup," he said, voice unhurried. "Or I shall control her for you."
Her frame went rigid. Fingers dug into her palms, but the cry—or defense—she longed to loose stayed locked inside, swallowed whole. There was no resisting it.
Yang Ming fixed her with a stare, eyes tight and unyielding. The air around him shimmered faintly, as if his presence warped the space. He said nothing. He didn't need to.
The Mistress of the Pink Clouds Peak turned toward the disciple. Wordless. She didn't have to speak. Her silence carved deeper than any reprimand, a judgment cold and heavy as the mountain itself.
The girl's head dipped. Her lips parted, but no breath followed. A faint tremor climbed her hands, subtle, nearly hidden.
"She is merely four domains above me."
Nael's whisper slid through the hall, soft yet edged like a blade cleaving the dark.
"I need but a millisecond to kill her."
It wasn't a threat. It wasn't bravado. It was truth—raw, cold, like the wind that now returned, sharper and heavier. The Mistress closed her eyes. Her face was stone, unmoved, yet a sliver of her seemed to soften, just barely. The girl, once a blaze of defiance, shrank to a shadow, a blurred outline against the chill gleam of the crystals lighting the hall. Shadows stretched and twisted, like ghosts chuckling under their breath.
The air hung thick, charged with the might of countless cultivators, yet Nael stood motionless. All of it—the weight, the strain, the power—felt to him like a passing breeze, unworthy of notice. Wang Ai, beside him, was another story. Arms crossed, brow creased, he seemed detached from the tension swelling around them.
"I don't like that girl."
His voice pierced the quiet, light and offhand, as if he were grumbling about the weather or a bitter cup of tea. A few cultivators turned, startled, but Nael didn't spare him a glance.
The wind carried a cold whiff of stone and wet earth, as if the mountain murmured forgotten tales. Under a gray sky swollen with rain held at bay, the hall sprawled—vast, icy, its black pillars drinking in the light. From the natural tiers, dark figures watched, their eyes glinting with curiosity laced with something sharper, more ravenous.
Something gnawed at Nael—the likeness between Wang Ai and that brash disciple from before. The same stubborn fire in their eyes, the same tilt of the chin, as if the world ought to bend for them. But Wang Ai was theirs. That shifted everything. "Like her," he mused, brushing against a memory he'd rather leave buried.
He sighed—a faint sound, nearly drowned in the dense air, yet it cut through effortlessly.
"Before pursuing me, you should at least have a means to restrain me."
His voice flowed calm, almost lazy, but each word sank into the floor, heavy as lead. The pale shimmer of wall-mounted crystals played in his eyes, turning them cold and bottomless, like wells no light could touch. The cultivators hushed, but the air thickened, poised for something unnamed.
"Though I take no pride in it, I am the son of the ruler of time and space."
The hall quaked. Not imagination—the air pulsed, an unseen ripple grazing every skin. The frail among them shivered, a swift, biting cold climbing their backs, as if brushed by an uninvited hand.
"It would be an insult if one of your fifth-class arrays even attempted to confine me."
And then he was gone. No sound, no hint. Just the void where he'd been, an absence that roared. Before a blink could pass, he stood before a peak master. The air around her crackled faintly, but she held still. Her eyes burned—watchful, firm. Nael met her gaze, tranquil, as if the world were nothing.
"Two."
A whisper. A number that fell like a stone into the stillness.
"I can teleport to any place I desire. I require no energy to do so."
Estamos quase chegando no fim do volume 1, e bom não sei se dá para interromper e iniciar um novo volume ou não.