The announcer's voice rang out, sharp and final.
"Victory—Rana Flare!"
This victory was given to her only because Jason had broken the rules—using a mystic-level spirit tool in a sanctioned duel.
But despite the announcer stating that the match was over, Jason Erupt wasn't listening. He had been given a simple task by his family: end Rana Flare. And he wouldn't stop until he did.
Bloodied, humiliated, and burning with rage, he rose to his feet, teeth bared. His mystic spirit ring still pulsed with residual qi, and with a snarl, he activated it again—this time not to win, but to destroy.
A second blast formed, larger than the first. It howled with unstable flame, spiraling toward Jalen and the now unconscious Rana.
But Jalen didn't move.
He didn't raise a hand.
He simply flicked his wrist.
This time, it wasn't just raw qi—it was precision.
The fourth form of the Spirit Wind Art: Wind Spirit Needle.
Invisible. Thread-thin. Forged from condensed wind and spirit sense.
It pierced the heart of Jason's attack—not with brute force, but with unraveling intent. The blast didn't explode. It came undone. Dissolved mid-air like mist in sunlight.
Jason's mystic ring cracked and then shattered. But before he hit the ground, his body seized—eyes wide, mouth twitching.
A second Wind Spirit Needle had struck him directly.
Not to kill.
But to silence.
His nerves scorched from within. His qi pathways scrambled. He collapsed, twitching, blood pooling beneath him.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Not just at the power.
But at the impossibility of it.
In the Vernon delegation, all ten great families stared in disbelief. But none more so than the Hewitt family.
Because the boy standing in the arena—the one who had just shattered a mystic-level attack with a flick of his wrist—was Jalen.
The same Jalen they had dismissed as weak. The same Jalen who had vanished weeks ago. The same Jalen they had been searching for.
In the eastern pavilion, Simon and Jana Flare, who had been visibly tense just moments ago, suddenly relaxed.
They hadn't even stood. They simply watched—calm, unreadable.
And that—more than anything—unsettled the surrounding clans and noble families.
"Who is that boy?" someone whispered.
Then the cultivators at the Star Realm and above felt it.
A ripple. A pressure. A presence.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't violent. But it was unmistakable.
Jalen's qi—briefly unmasked—flared like a distant star.
Early Star Realm.
Even the royal family stirred. The crown prince's fingers paused mid-tap. One of the princesses leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
The leaders of the three great sects exchanged glances.
"This boy," Lord Stormveil murmured, shaken to his core. "In all my centuries, I've never encountered a phenomenon like him."
"And here I thought that Flare girl was the most interesting thing here," Matron Sabella Verdant replied, her voice tinged with intrigue.
"I wonder which family or sect he belongs to," said Lord Ironshore.
"Considering he just risked himself to shield the Flare girl," Matron Verdant said, her voice low and speculative, "it's likely he has ties to their family. Perhaps a hidden disciple… or someone far more personal."
The implication hung in the air like smoke—unspoken, but unmistakable.
A ripple of murmurs spread through the pavilions. Some leaned forward in curiosity. Others stiffened in alarm.
The crown prince didn't like the sound of that.
Not because of politics. Not even because of Jalen's power. But because of the way Rana had smiled at him before she lost consciousness.
And not the smile of a comrade. Not the smile of a subordinate. But something softer. Closer. Warmer.
It unsettled him more than Jalen's qi ever could.
__
Jalen moved with care, lowering Rana to the ground as if she were made of glass. Her head rested against his arm for a breath longer than necessary—then he eased her down fully and knelt beside her.
From his sleeve, he drew a small jade vial—smooth, unblemished, sealed with a golden thread. Inside, three spirit pills glowed faintly, their light pulsing like a heartbeat.
His hand hovered just above her sternum.
Her body was overheating—qi spiraling out of control, her meridians frayed and scorched. But worse than that was the fracture he felt deep within her: her soul, splintering under the strain of a forced Spirit Fusion. If he didn't act now, she wouldn't just be injured.
She would die.
He had wanted to stop her. He should have. But he hadn't.
Because she had chosen this. Because he had let her. Because he thought if she could survive it, she would grow stronger.
And now, she was paying the price.
He uncorked the vial, took one of the pills, and bit down—chewing until it softened. Then, with a quiet breath, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, transferring the medicine gently.
A hush fell over the arena.
It wasn't just the act—it was the tenderness of it. The deliberate care. The way he moved was like the world had narrowed to a single point: her.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Some in shock. Others in disbelief. Dozens of young cultivators—Rana's admirers—looked like they'd been struck by lightning. Some shouted. Others sulked. A few looked ready to cry.
"Did he just—?"
"He kissed her…"
"No. He saved her."
The crown prince shattered the handle of his chair.
Simon Flare's eyes narrowed—but he said nothing.
The implications were spreading like wildfire.
___
Back in the arena, Jalen's qi flowed into her body—steady, controlled, precise. He guided the pill's energy through her damaged channels, reinforcing what he could and stabilizing what he couldn't. It was delicate work. Dangerous, even. But he didn't flinch.
Her body trembled faintly. Her breath caught. Then steadied.
Jalen exhaled, just once. Then he rose to his feet.
The announcer stepped forward, mouth open to speak—
And froze.
Because the air shifted.
It was subtle at first. A tightening. A stillness. Then came the weight.
A wave of killing intent swept across the arena like a stormfront, suffocating and cold. Two figures descended from the sky, cloaked in robes of black and crimson.
The Shadow Sect and Erupt Family patriarchs.
Both Mid Moon Realm.
Their auras hit the ground like falling mountains, cracking the stone beneath their feet. The crowd recoiled. Even the royal guards tensed.
"You dare interfere in our affairs?" The Erupt family patriarch Denis growled, eyes locked on Jalen.
"You've lived too long," the Shadow Sect patriarch Marcus added. "We'll erase you here and now."
The announcer and royal guards were about to intervene—until, in the highest pavilion, the crown prince's hand rose.
A signal.
The royal family would not intervene. That boy had dared to kiss the woman he had eyes on—in front of everyone. His chance with her—shattered in a single breath. This was the perfect opportunity to crush him.
Also, this could serve as great entertainment.
In the eastern pavilion, Simon Flare stood.
Jana rose beside him.
And behind them, the elders of the Flare family followed.
They stepped into the arena, their presence like a wall of flame.
"Stay out of this, Flare," Denis warned. "This has nothing to do with you."
Simon snorted. "Your wretched son just tried to kill my daughter. Do you expect me to stand by and do nothing?"
"If you continue to protect this boy," Marcus said coldly, "then we'll crush you too."
"With just you two?" Simon said, stepping forward. "Then come at me."
And then he released his aura.
It didn't explode.
It unfolded.
A quiet, crushing pressure filled the arena. The air thickened. The sky dimmed. The ground trembled.
Early-stage Imperial Realm.
The Erupt Family and Shadow Sect patriarchs froze.
Two days before the tournament, Simon Flare had broken through. A feat that would have taken him probably a few centuries—achieved in a little over two months.
Thanks to Jalen.
Now, with his presence, there were a total of seven Imperial Realm cultivators on the Ruona continent.
Three from the royal family.
One each from the three top clans
And now, Simon Flare.
Denis and Marcus stepped back.
Not in retreat.
But in recognition.
They could not win this fight.
Not today.