In the training ground, the air shimmered faintly with the hum of gathered mana. Dust swirled across the cracked stone floor as Ray faced Rowena of the Ravenclaw family. She stood poised, her sapphire-blue robes rippling with the faint heat of the flames flickering in her palms. A talented mage born of ancient lineage, Rowena had awakened her gift for fire magic early—a gift she shared with her father, Duke Alexander, who now watched from the side with proud, gleaming eyes.
Ray, however, remained calm. The faint scent of ozone spread around him as thin streaks of lightning danced along his fingertips, forming glowing runes that pulsed with restrained energy. Across the arena, Robert raised an eyebrow, while Alexander's lips curved into a confident smile.
A silent tension filled the air—two young prodigies, their magic swirling like storms about to collide. Then, almost as one, both released their attacks. Lightning met fire midway, bursting into a flash so bright the spectators had to shield their eyes. The ground trembled from the clash of elements, and a deep hum resonated through the field.
"They seem to be on equal ground," Alexander remarked, his voice steady but proud. "Whoever has the highest stamina will win this fight."
Robert chuckled softly beside him, folding his arms. "If we're talking about stamina, my son has been swinging a sword since he was four. Ray won't tire before she does."
True to his word, Ray began to push forward. His lightning grew fiercer, slicing through the waves of flame. Rowena's fire sputtered under the pressure, and soon she faltered. Within moments, the clash ended—Rowena's flames extinguished, leaving faint scorch marks on the arena floor.
Ray had won.
As cheers erupted from the audience, Rowena stood trembling, her face streaked with frustrated tears. Alexander immediately strode to her side, wrapping her in a comforting arm. Ray, meanwhile, stepped down from the platform, his expression unreadable.
Robert noticed. "What happened, son? You don't look too happy," he asked gently.
Ray frowned, his voice low and uncertain. "It didn't feel right. I think she didn't fight with all her strength. It was as if… she let me win."
Robert laughed heartily. "You're overthinking it. She just wasn't strong enough to match you. Besides, you didn't even use your full power—your lightning magic or your sword. You were the one who went easy on her."
Ray nodded after listening to his father. Was I overthinking? he wondered. He glanced back at Rowena, who shot him a hateful look before leaving with her father. Ray sighed. Maybe I really was overthinking.
The next match began soon after, between Cole Ashford and Atlas Montclair. Both stood tall, their auras flaring—third Qi stage cultivators, with Atlas only a breath away from the fourth.
The crowd murmured in anticipation. Cole drew talisman papers that glowed with bluish runes, releasing water bullets in quick succession. Atlas, unfazed, swallowed a physical enhancement pill, his muscles tightening as veins of light rippled beneath his skin. His speed multiplied—he darted through the hail of water like a phantom.
Cole summoned a talisman shield in desperation, but Atlas threw a pill bomb that exploded with concussive force. The shield cracked and splintered—and before Cole could react, Atlas was already upon him, locking him in a submission hold. The referee raised his hand, and Cole surrendered.
The crowd roared again. The final match was set: Ray Walker versus Atlas Montclair.
Both boys locked eyes—no words, only mutual recognition.
Atlas was given an hour to rest. He sat cross-legged at the edge of the arena, cultivating quietly, his breath forming faint white mist in the cool air. Ray stood not far away, arms folded, his expression calm and focused. He hadn't spent much energy earlier, and now his presence radiated steady confidence.
When the referee called them back, the arena fell silent.
Atlas smirked. "You didn't have the chance to demonstrate your full strength earlier. I hope you go all out this time. Since my cultivation is two levels above yours—and I can even fight on equal ground with fifth-stage cultivators—this will be unfair. I'll let you make three moves first."
Ray's eyes gleamed with lightning. He laughed softly. "I wouldn't give me that chance, brother Atlas. I didn't even show my true strength when I fought Rowena."
Then Ray started to activate his third peak Qi stage soul cultivation. He didn't want to reveal too much of his strength to the others—if he revealed his fourth iron stage soul cultivation, then Atlas would have wet his pants by now.
Atlas's grin faltered for a heartbeat before returning. "So, the rumors are true… you're a formation cultivator. But remember, I am a Montclair—trained in alchemy since birth."
With that, Atlas activated his own soul cultivation, his soul force rising to match Ray's.
Ray looked at this without a hint of concern. Then, he activated his Qi Stage cultivation. Instantly, a massive surge of energy burst forth—nearly equal to Atlas's own. Seeing this, Leonardo Montclair's eyes narrowed sharply, and the other two dukes could only stare in shock as Ray's spiritual Qi Stage cultivation flared to life.
The referee, sensing the intensity between them, raised his hand. "Begin!"
Since Ray didn't seize the initiative, Atlas was the first to move—a blur of motion powered by the pill's energy. He struck like lightning, fists glowing with destructive force. But runic light had already gathered around Ray's feet. The lightning runes on his legs flared to life, doubling his speed. He slipped through Atlas's blows like smoke through fingers, while pill bombs detonated harmlessly behind him, filling the arena with a thick, acrid mist.
Atlas grew furious and unleashed his ultimate technique—a soul attack. Ray recognized the assault instantly and realized he had no way to counter it; he had never been taught how to defend against strikes aimed at the soul. Ray froze for a fraction of a second, recognizing the danger. A soul strike… I've never learned to defend against that. The realization intrigued him—perhaps he could learn such techniques from his mother or his third mother someday.
But now wasn't the time for curiosity. He couldn't afford to let the attack land. Summoning all his lightning energy, Ray surged forward, his speed doubling once more as he slipped past each soul strike. Gradually, Atlas's movements slowed, his energy draining away until exhaustion overtook him and the fight's outcome became clear.
Ray took this chance, used lightning speed, and appeared behind Atlas in seconds, placing his lightning-charged finger—filled with lightning runes—at Atlas's head.
The referee's voice echoed through the arena. "The winner is Ray Walker!"
The crowd erupted. Atlas's face twisted with disbelief as he stumbled forward. "No! I—"
But Duke Leonard Montclair rose from his seat, his expression stern. "Enough, Atlas." His tone left no room for argument.
Ray exhaled, smiling faintly, and turned toward his father. But just as he began to step down, the great doors of the private training ground creaked open.
A boy, no older than nine, strode in—dressed in fine silks, his golden eyes burning with fury far too mature for his age. His small voice carried across the stunned arena like a blade.
"Who is it," he demanded coldly, "that bullied my fiancée?"