Jaren Shanley!
The moment Darian spoke the name, Valtor's brows lifted slightly. A glimmer of recognition flashed in the City Lord's eyes, followed by a spark of Felric curiosity. His gaze shifted from Darian to the youth standing upon the great bird-beast's back, piecing together an intriguing puzzle.
"Jaren? Who's that?"
"Does someone like that live in Lungrath Main City?"
"Never heard of him… but Darian clearly knows him."
Confused murmurs rippled through the ranks of the Valeblue clan juniors.
On the platform, Seraphina's icy expression deepened. From the green-robed youth whose name had just been spoken, she felt a crushing pressure, so heavy it seeped into her very bones.
Terrifying. Who is this man… and why does his presence feel like a blade against my throat?
Her instincts screamed danger. She glanced at Darian, only to find him calm as still water, his gaze meeting Jaren's without a flicker of fear.
"Jaren," Darian said evenly, his eyes like twin blades, "ten years have passed. I didn't expect you to set foot in Lungrath Main City."
Jaren's star-bright eyes locked on Darian, sharp enough to cut.
"Body Refinement at Great Perfection… barely touching the power of the Mortal Purification Stage," he said coldly. "Darian, you're pitifully weak now."
Darian's expression remained unchanged.
"What's the matter? Beat a weakened clan's so-called genius and play king over a nest of ants—does that make you proud? If so, you've truly disappointed me."
The insult struck like a slap. Lucian's face darkened, but he bit back his anger, noting the peculiar look on his grandfather's face. Around them, several Valeblue youths clenched their fists in silent outrage.
Darian's reply came like frost on steel.
"Ten years, and your mouth still begs for a beating. Did your master never teach you the virtue of silence?"
"How dare you! Insolent fool…."
The yellow-robed elder on the bird-beast spoke sharply.
Darian's voice cut through him, calm but edged with a blade's chill.
"And who are you, that I should care when I speak to this brat?"
Before the elder could answer, a soft, ethereal voice floated between them.
"Helara Nyss. Do not lower yourself to the level of ants. This is my matter stay out of it."
The veiled woman seated beside Jaren spoke, silencing the elder instantly.
Jaren's gaze never left Darian. He had come to the Eastern Lands for other purposes but the moment he stepped into Lungrath, he had felt it. That aura. That shadow burned into his memory like a brand.
Ten years ago, he had been crushed beneath it. That humiliation had driven him into three years of seclusion in the Celestara Divine Sanctuary, one of the five supreme sects of the Frostveil Dominion.
When he emerged, honed and unyielding, ready to reclaim his pride… he heard that Darian had become weakened.
He dismissed him then, deeming him unworthy of remembrance yet never truly forgetting.
And now, here he stood again.
"Darian," Jaren said, his voice low but resonant, "when you became weakened, you lost the right to be my opponent. But now… you are no longer weakened. Still not strong. But not worthless. Which means the matter between us is far from over."
The air trembled as an aura like the wrath of heaven poured from him, blanketing the arena.
Valeblue clan juniors staggered as if crushed beneath a mountain. Faces drained of blood, knees threatening to buckle.
Seraphina's eyes narrowed. Pride flared in her heart, and her own aura surged in answer. She would not bend her head.
Valtor's gaze flickered, but he did not intervene. He wanted to see something.
One by one, he measured the juniors. Lucian, pale and wounded, gritted his teeth against the weight. Seraphina stood unshaken, steady as iron.
And at the center Darian stood as though beneath a summer breeze, his eyes calm, his will unbowed.
Valtor's eyes sharpened. So… this boy's spirit is stronger even than Jaren's.
"This young master," Theron said at last, stepping forward, "I ask that you show mercy to my clan's juniors."
Golden light burst from him, a great half-moon rising behind his back the Golden Spirit Core of the Heaven Rush Stage, seventh realm of the Mortal Purification Stage. His force pushed back Jaren's pressure, letting the juniors breathe again.
But Jaren only smiled.
"Heaven Rush Stage? Good. Take one move Celestial Great Handprint!"
A massive cyan handprint roared into existence, ten paces across, descending like the judgment of the heavens.
"Heavenly Dragon Palm!"
Theron met it without hesitation. A vast dragon phantom surged upward, its roar splitting the air—
BOOM!
The impact shook the arena to its core. For a moment, the two forces seemed matched.
Then the cyan hand blazed brighter, tearing through the dragon like paper. It struck Theron square in the chest.
"Uncle Theron!"
Darian flashed forward, catching him as he staggered, blood spraying from his lips. Gasps rippled through the crowd and one strike had felled a Heaven Rush powerhouse.
And then, behind Jaren, a golden Spirit Core rose.
He too was at the Heaven Rush Stage.
Silence fell. Even Lucian's long-vaunted talent seemed like dust in the shadow of this fifteen-year-old powerhouse.
Darian's eyes burned. Jaren had crossed his bottom line.
"Jaren!"
The name cracked through the air like thunder.
Jaren's answering smile was cold as winter steel.
"What? Angry? Hahaha… and what if you are? With one finger, I could crush you now. But I won't. Ten years from today, I will fight you again, only this time, I'll defeat you with my own hands."
A ripple of recognition passed through the elders.
"So," Theron said grimly, "you're the Celestara Divine Sanctuary prodigy Darian defeated ten years ago. No wonder you're this strong."
Jaren's eyes glinted with malice.
"And if you don't appear in ten years, Darian… I'll defeat this 'Uncle Theron' of yours, and scatter his ashes to the wind."
Theron's fury surged, his body trembling from both rage and injury.
"Jaren, to make such threats here, are you declaring war on the hundred main cities of the Eastern Lands?"
Valtor's voice cut in, his expression dark as thunderclouds.
Jaren gave a slight bow mocking, insincere.
"I mean no offense to the hundred cities. Everything depends… on Darian's choice."
And with that, the great bird-beast cried out overhead, its shadow swallowing the sun.