A solemn voice rolled across the White Jade Stone Platform. For a heartbeat, every city lord of the Hundred Great Main Cities froze. Their expressions tightened in unison, then—almost mechanically—they clasped their hands and bowed toward the center.
"Greetings, Second City Lord."
Three hundred young talents, each representing one of the Hundred Great Main Cities, instinctively mirrored the gesture. Sharp-minded, disciplined, trained—their voices carried respect, awe, even a hint of fear.
"Greetings, Second City Lord."
A ripple of energy shimmered above the platform. In an instant, a man in a black robe appeared, hovering effortlessly. Middle-aged, square-jawed, stern—he radiated authority. Hands clasped behind his back, his piercing eyes scanned the crowd, cutting through them like blades. The weight of his presence pressed down, tangible, almost suffocating.
This was Darius, Second City Lord of the First Main City. One of the strongest among the Hundred Great Main Cities. Aside from the elusive Grand City Lord, no one dared rival him.
The Hundred City Battle—grandest event of the Eastern Land. Naturally, Darius presided over it. But it wasn't just his title. Iron-clad impartiality. Cold-blooded precision. Right and wrong were absolute in his eyes. Deceit? Trickery? Not a single attempt escaped notice.
His reputation? Legendary. Among the younger generation, he inspired more awe than even the Grand City Lord. Every young talent had heard stories—tales of his severity, his unyielding presence. Now, seeing him in person, a chill ran down their spines.
His gaze swept the crowd, stripping away pretense and secrets alike.
"So strong… even stronger than City Lord Qi… this is no ordinary presence," Darian thought, feeling the oppressive weight against his chest. Weak-willed types would collapse instantly. This was more than authority. This was a test.
Darius's eyes narrowed, acknowledging those who stood firm. His voice, deep and commanding, carried over the platform.
"The Hundred City Battle is the grandest event of the Eastern Land, held once every three years. That you have been chosen to represent your city is an honor. It proves you are the strongest among your generation."
He paused, studying the confident faces before him—pride, solemnity, self-assurance painted across them. None of it surprised him.
"Yet," he continued, voice sharp as ice, "in my eyes, you are nothing more than a swarm of self-satisfied children. You flaunt your talents, bask in admiration—but you are inexperienced. Immature. Talent? Hmph… mere trash."
His words hit like molten steel. Shock, defiance, anger flared across the young talents' faces.
"Defiant, are you?" Darius thundered. "I have seen countless like you. Every Hundred City Battle, a wave rises just like you—arrogant, proud. Every wave falls, trampled. But among them, true talents emerge. They treat others as stepping stones, forge themselves into unstoppable forces. They shine: victorious, brilliant, untouchable. You… do not."
The platform seemed to tremble under his words. Blood surged like fire in the three hundred youths. Fighting spirit erupted like lava from a volcano.
Darian felt it too—a spark of warmth, a reminder that ten years of solitude could temper, but never erase, youthful fire. Behind him, Selene's blood boiled. Seraphina's delicate hands clenched; her gaze sharp as a blade.
The city lords, watching quietly, smiled subtly. They saw their own youth mirrored in these faces. Every Hundred City Battle reflected not just talent, but the honor of the cities themselves. Triumph meant prestige, reward, glory.
Darius's gaze swept the platform again, calm but piercing. Slowly, he spoke.
"Good. I see your defiance. You will have a chance. Soon, you will enter an independent spatial realm to prove yourselves—not as trash, but as warriors capable of triumph. We, the city lords and I, will watch. You will either rise and sweep all aside, or be crushed like insects. The Hundred City Battle is yours to seize. Whether dragon or worm, win or lose, it is your responsibility alone."
He raised his right hand. Energy surged. The White Jade Stone Platform trembled. Above the three hundred young talents, a blinding white light erupted.
"What… what is this fluctuation?" Darian whispered. The light shimmered as if the air itself had been split and reshaped.
"This is the energy of a spatial gate," Riven said quietly. "It creates a battlefield within an independent, newly forged realm."
Darian's heart raced. Spatial power—instantaneous travel across vast distances, manipulation of the void—was a force only masters could command. For now, it remained tantalizingly out of reach.
As the light faded, a massive white gate stretched across the sky, a hundred paces tall. Inside, a strange, otherworldly glow beckoned. Murmurs of astonishment rippled through the platform.
"This… is the Spatial Gate?"
"Only those who master spatial power could open it!"
"The pressure… it's overwhelming!"
Darius raised his left hand, conjuring a luminous sphere above the platform. Small plaques glowed inside. With a decisive sweep, he shattered it, sending the seals toward the three hundred youths.
"These are your Hundred City Seals," he announced. "One for each of you. Keep them. They mark your identity in this battle."
Hands reached out instinctively. Darian caught his seal, as did Selene and Seraphina. Each plaque was palm-sized, engraved with their chosen flare: Drake Flare. On the reverse, their own names: Darian, Selene, Seraphina.
Faint white energy pulsed from the seals—a mark of Darius's craftsmanship.
He swept the platform one last time. His voice cut through the murmurs.
"Remember my words. What I have said will shape your fate in this Hundred City Battle."
The three hundred young talents held their breath. In the next moment, they would step into a trial that could make them legends… or crush them utterly.