As Lira stepped out of the ring, her movements graceful and measured, Marquis Ventor’s admired quietly.
‘Not bad.’
He turned slightly toward the elders at his side, his gaze flickering with a hint of appreciation. “Indeed,” he said, his tone smooth, almost indulgent, “she is not only strong but truly striking to behold. A force of beauty and skill combined.”
Elder Xue allowed herself a rare smile, pride evident in her expression. “Thank you, Marquis,” she replied, inclining her head slightly. “Our Lira has worked hard to reach this level. Her diligence reflects the standards of our sect.”
Elder Kael, however, snorted derisively, his tone laced with contempt as he watched Lira exit the arena. “Praise for a trifle,” he muttered, his voice loud enough for both the Marquis and Elder Xue to hear. “It’s hardly impressive to defeat a nameless whelp. Any true disciple of a proper sect wouldn’t waste time on such a weakling.”
Elder Xue’s smile thinned, her gaze icy as she glanced over at him. “A true disciple of our sect learns more than brute strength, Elder Kael. Discipline, poise, the very qualities you so clearly lack.”
Marquis Ventor intervened smoothly, though the amusement in his eyes did not entirely mask his enjoyment of the tension between the two. “Ah, but every match has its purpose. Even a minor contest can reveal much about a fighter’s essence.”
Kael’s lips twisted in a humorless smile, his gaze turning cold as he regarded Lira’s retreating form. “Essence, you say…It really is coming from someone like you….” His tone was mocking, and he was clearly implying. “Someone whose body has been touched everywhere….”
The moment Elder Kael’s words lingered in the air, a biting chill settled over the lounge. The subtle, regal atmosphere seemed to shift, the temperature dropping as an unmistakable pressure filled the space. It was the unmistakable aura of a 6-star Awakened—Elder Xue’s cold fury manifesting as frost edged along the corners of the room.
Her voice was low and sharp, a warning that cut through the silence. “Watch your mouth, Kael.”
Elder Kael’s smirk remained, unfazed by the sudden change in atmosphere. He met her gaze head-on, his stance unwavering as he dismissed the ice-laden pressure surrounding him with casual disdain. “And where,” he sneered, his voice laced with mockery, “is this so-called ‘essence’ now, Elder Xue?”
Xue’s eyes narrowed, her posture rigid as she held his gaze. The room seemed to tense, the air thick with her barely restrained anger. But Kael did not falter. He stood there, indifferent to her challenge, his smirk only deepening as he raised his chin slightly in defiance.
Marquis Ventor let a delicate, almost amused smile play at his lips. “Impressive, truly,” he said, his tone dry yet measured, cutting through the tension with the ease of a master. “Both strength and restraint are admirable qualities, wouldn’t you say?”
Elder Xue’s aura retreated slightly, though her eyes remained sharp as she looked at the Marquis, her fury tempered but not fully quenched. Elder Kael chuckled softly, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. He had proven his point, at least in his own mind, and did not need any further words.
The Marquis watched them both, his gaze thoughtful. This wasn’t just about the disciples in the arena; it was a reminder of the unspoken battles waged between the sects and the delicate balance of power that governed these ancient rivalries.
“Hmm….”
As Marquis Ventor’s gaze lingered on the figure entering the arena, he recognized a stark contrast to Lira’s poised elegance. This young man, cloaked in a silvery-red robe that caught the light like embers against steel, radiated a fiercer energy. His expression was serious, his jaw set in a look of cold determination that mirrored the intense aura around him. He moved with a controlled yet volatile presence, as if restraining a fire within.
This was Varen Drakov, the senior disciple of the Silver Flame Sect and one of their most promising talents. His every step was purposeful, his silvery-red robe a striking mark of his allegiance and status within the sect. The crowd’s reaction was immediate, a mixture of awe and anticipation. They knew of Varen’s reputation, of his merciless skill and the passionate ferocity that defined the Silver Flame Sect’s approach to combat.
Marquis Ventor noted the rigid, focused expression on Varen’s face, a mask of cold resolve that hinted at the underlying tension between him and Lira. The rivalry between their sects was well-known, but between these two, it was more personal—far deeper and more intense than the usual tournament rivalries.
Elder Kael’s gaze held a hint of satisfaction as he watched his prized disciple take his place. “There he is,” he murmured with pride barely concealed. “Now, this… this is true strength.” His voice was calm, but the undertone of vindication was unmistakable.
Marquis Ventor’s interest deepened as he watched the young man’s approach. This promised to be a far different match than the ones before, not only a showcase of strength but also a clash of ideals and personal vendettas simmering beneath the surface.
Elder Xue’s gaze hardened as she regarded Varen stepping into the arena, her lip curling slightly in distaste. “Nothing but a brute,” she remarked icily, her voice low yet clear. “Acting on a whim, lacking restraint. A reckless fire, nothing more.”
Elder Kael let out a soft, derisive chuckle, shaking his head with a look of bemusement. “Brute? You misunderstand, Xue.” His tone was calm, edged with pride. “The Silver Flame Sect’s fire doesn’t just burn anyone. It only consumes those deserving of its heat. We wield our strength with purpose. Calling us brutes, while pursuing ‘carnal’ desires under the guise of discipline… now that is hypocrisy.”
Elder Xue’s expression turned even colder, her posture rigid. “We pursue mastery in all its forms, Kael. The Cloud Heavens Sect is not so shallow as you imply.”
Elder Kael’s smirk lingered, his gaze sharp as he leaned slightly forward. “Mastery in all its forms, hmm? Tell me, Xue, does that include the ‘mastery’ over infidelity… or has the Cloud Heavens Sect chosen to exclude that particular art?”
Elder Xue’s expression remained cool, though her fingers pressed against the armrest with restrained tension. “Acting on mere rumors,” she replied smoothly, “is the mark of a brute, Kael. Baseless accusations do nothing to strengthen one’s position.”
Kael shook his head slowly, his smile deepening with a touch of disdain. “Rumors?” he echoed, voice low and almost amused. “Come now, Xue. We both know the truth. There’s no need to hide it. And fire… it burns brightest when exposing falsehoods.”
Marquis Ventor glanced between the two, his amusement clear as he sipped his wine, observing the thinly veiled barbs with a glint of interest. He sensed that, while the verbal exchange might be over, the true confrontation had only just begun.
On the other side, inside the arena, Varen stepped onto the stage, his stance poised and commanding.
His eyes remained steady as he regarded the man standing before him, noting the furrowed brow and his opponent’s controlled breaths, each one measured. The man’s determination was evident, yet Varen knew how this would end. The gap in their power was insurmountable, but perhaps his opponent hadn’t yet realized it.
‘Such unfortunate timing,’
Varen thought, feeling the weight of his responsibility as the Silver Flame Sect’s senior disciple.
‘This man—he’s reached a decent rank, even a respectable one. But here and now, it will count for nothing.’
The announcer’s voice signaled the start, and Varen’s hand moved to his hilt, his every movement unhurried. His aura unfurled around him, a burning silver that contrasted starkly against the blue-grey of his opponent’s mana.
‘This is not about honor for me,’
he reminded himself, feeling the slight pulse of energy from his opponent as he prepared his opening move.
‘I cannot give him a chance; this match is an obligation, not a personal challenge. I am here to prove the strength of the Silver Flame Sect.’
As they engaged, the man lunged with admirable speed, his eyes focused and his form solid. Varen sidestepped gracefully, his sword catching his opponent’s blade mid-air. The sound of steel clashing echoed sharply, and Varen felt the faintest spark of frustration from his opponent.
‘A wasted effort,’
Varen mused, watching the man recover his stance.
‘But perhaps he still thinks he can turn this around.’
Another strike, this time with greater force, cut through the air toward him. Varen countered effortlessly, his silvery mana swirling around him in controlled bursts.
His blade met the strike, redirecting it without an ounce of hesitation. The ease with which he moved spoke volumes, each step light.
‘He’s giving everything,’
Varen observed.
‘But against me, effort alone cannot bridge the chasm between us. He deserves to know where he stands, even if it means facing defeat.’
Seeing his opponent falter, Varen pushed forward, his movements gaining momentum as he closed the gap. When the man finally attempted a desperate, overhead strike, Varen didn’t hesitate.
He sidestepped, his own sword flashing as he knocked the man’s weapon from his grip in one decisive stroke.
As his opponent stumbled back, disarmed and defeated, Varen caught the look in his eyes—resentment mixed with reluctant respect.
“Sigh…..Have a better luck next time…”
He could only mumble to himself. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com
‘But, not bad. Definitely qualified for a recommendation.’
Varen took a quiet breath, his gaze still locked on his disarmed opponent, who looked up at him with a fire that hadn’t quite dimmed, despite the swift defeat. There was something in the man’s stance—a resilience, an unyielding spark that spoke of a martial spirit far from shattered.
Varen nodded slightly, a rare hint of approval flickering in his eyes as he inclined his head.
“You…” he asked, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of curiosity. “What is your name?”
The man straightened, meeting Varen’s gaze directly, his voice steady and filled with unwavering vitality. “My name is Hao Ren.”
Hearing the strength behind his words, Varen’s lips curved into a faint smile. ‘Good,’ he mused to himself. ‘Even a loss hasn’t quenched his resolve. This one’s spirit still burns strong.’
He stored the name in the corner of his mind, quietly impressed. This Hao Ren had potential, and though he had lost today, the future held many roads yet.
With a final nod, Varen turned and left the stage, his silvery-red robe catching the light as he moved. The spectators’ eyes remained on him, their murmurs a mixture of awe and respect, as he returned to the place where his Junior Disciples gathered.