Chapter 535: A Reward
“Sis, you should know why I’m here,” Jason said with a calm smile, his tone light and teasing as if they were standing in the warmth of a peaceful garden rather than in the middle of a tension-choked situation. “Mom didn’t want you stirring up more trouble, so she sent all the way down to the mortal worlds just to keep an eye on you. And guess what? She was right.”
He shook his head, half amused, half exasperated. “You just can’t stay away from trouble—whether it’s in the Divine Realm or down here.”
Lucia’s face darkened, her expression tightening as Jason’s words pierced deeper than they seed to. But when he ntioned it was their mother who had sent him, a flicker of genuine annoyance flashed across her eyes.
Her jaw clenched, and her eyes swept once more toward Max—no longer with pressure or threat, but with unreadable coldness. “You’re lucky,” she said at last, her voice low, emotionless.
With that, she turned without another word and walked away, her long crimson robes trailing behind like tongues of fire being pulled into the void.
Her figure disappeared into the entrance of the Tower of Resonance, swallowed by the dark light of the archway, leaving behind only the faint scent of scorched air and lingering tension.
Max exhaled lightly and shrugged.
Just then, Jason strolled up casually, his warm deanor a stark contrast to the storm his sister had left behind.
“Friend from the mortal realm,” he said with a sheepish grin, “forgive my sister. She’s… well, cold doesn’t begin to describe it. Sotis I think her heart’s frozen solid. She doesn’t even treat , her own brother, like one.” He put a dramatic hand to his chest, sighing like a tragic actor on a stage.
Max glanced sideways at him, his expression unreadable, then simply nodded. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice calm. He had already resolved to deal with whatever ca his way—be it Lucia Gris or anyone else.
Jason’s grin widened as he walked beside him, clearly amused by Max’s composure. “How should I call you, my dear friend? Since you’ve managed to keep your cool even under her glare, you must be special.”
“Max Morgan,” Max replied flatly, turning his gaze toward the Tower of Resonance once again, eyes filled with silent determination.
“Max…” Jason echoed softly, as if tasting the na. “Such a nice na.”
Just then, the Tower of Resonance pulsed with a soft, crimson light, drawing everyone’s attention as its black stone doors parted. From within, Lucia Gris stepped out gracefully, her expression serene—but the slight upward tilt of her chin betrayed her pride.
A faint aura of fla clung to her robes, still simring from the trial within. As the light of the tower dimd, glowing digits ford on the door behind her, reading: 6%.
“I’ve achieved a 6% comprehension level of the Fla Tyrant Totem Stone,” Lucia said aloud, her voice cool and composed, yet laced with unmistakable arrogance. “If your comprehension surpasses 6%, I expect you to tell everything about your bloodline.” Her eyes settled on Max like a hawk spotting prey, confident and unyielding.
“Oh no… there she goes again,” Jason muttered, dragging a hand down his face and clutching his head as if witnessing the beginning of an all-too-familiar disaster. “Why does she always poke others to create problems…”
Max, however, remained unmoved. He gave a faint shrug, his face expressionless. “I’m just here to observe,” he replied casually.
Lucia’s eyes narrowed, her lips curling in disdain. “Afraid?” she asked mockingly, her tone sharp and sneering. “Is that it? Hiding behind excuses?”
Max turned his gaze on her, and this ti his expression twisted—not with anger, but contempt. “Afraid?” he spat. “I don’t compete with those beneath . Six percent? That’s pathetic. You’re proud of that?”
A gasp rippled through the crowd. Jason’s eyes went wide as he buried both hands into his hair. “Oh my gods… he said it. He really said it.”
Lucia, however, didn’t lash out. Instead, she smiled. But it wasn’t a warm or kind smile—it was the kind of smile that made bones turn cold, a smile sharper than daggers. “Then I dare you,” she said in a voice that trembled with fury wrapped in ice. “Step inside that tower. Do better than . Exceed six percent. I dare you.”
Max’s smile returned—light, easy, confident. He had been waiting for her to say those words. “I can do that,” he said smoothly. “But why should I? There’s no thrill in proving soone wrong if there’s nothing to gain.”
Lucia scowled. “Fine,” she snapped. “What do you want?”
Max’s eyes glead as he leaned forward ever so slightly, his voice calm and unwavering. “An apology.”
Lucia blinked.
“But not just any apology,” Max added with a soft, dangerous smile. “If I get more than six percent… I want you to apologize to in front of everyone here. Genuinely. No gas. No pride. No deflection. A proper, honest apology.”
Lucia’s fingers twitched at her side, fury simring beneath her skin—but she nodded slowly. “Fine. I agree. But if you don’t make it past six percent… you kneel and admit your bloodline to . Deal?”
Max’s smile didn’t fade. “Deal.” He turned to the tower, eyes burning with resolve. “Now watch and learn.”
Arriving in front of the Tower of Resonance, he touched it lightly and disappeared into it.
Max found himself standing atop an arena of white stone tiles, each one laced with ancient engravings that shimred faintly under his feet. The world around the arena was nothing but endless black fog—an oppressive void that swallowed sight and sound beyond a few ters.
It was like standing at the edge of existence, where only trial and will remained.
Before him stood a tall, broad-shouldered middle-aged man, bare-chested, muscles like coiled steel, every breath exuding a furnace-like heat.
But it wasn’t his physique that made Max tense—it was the aura radiating from him. It was the purest form of the Fla Tyrant Inheritance Max had ever sensed. It surged and flowed around the man like a living blaze, ancient and untad.
‘Is that the original inheritor of the Fla Tyrant Inheritance?’ Max thought, narrowing his eyes. There was no introduction, no warning—only pressure, and then motion.
The man lunged, fist blazing with black fire, shattering the tiles as he launched toward Max with terrifying speed. Max responded instantly, his own black flas erupting from his body. He fortified his skin with the fire, the way the inheritance taught him—to make the body a fortress, the bones molten iron.
The clash was violent. Max’s forearm, wrapped in black fire, slamd against the man’s fist. The force sent cracks spiderwebbing beneath them, but neither gave an inch.
Max slid backward, boots grinding against tile, but didn’t fall. His arms vibrated from the blow.
“Good,” the man said for the first ti, voice rough like a burning wind. “Show what you’ve made of my legacy.”
Without hesitation, Max snapped his hand outward. Black flas surged from his palm, twisting, solidifying, becoming a long, jagged spear—his first weapon, forged purely of black fla and shaped by his will. It connected to him like a limb, and he could feel every inch of it as if it were part of his own body.
He launched forward, spear flashing, but the man caught it bare-handed and yanked Max forward, bringing his knee crashing into Max’s ribs. Black fire flared in defense, but the strike still sent him reeling. Max tumbled, rolled, and caught himself on one knee, coughing.
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