Auren Galewright’s hands, hidden inside his wide sleeves, trembled uncontrollably.
"You... you... you’re Saint-rank?"
He tried to keep his composure, but his face betrayed everything—fear, disbelief, panic. Everyone watching could see it clear as day.
"Saint-rank? Not quite yet," Uncle Jed replied casually. "Still have to face the Heavenly Tribulation. Speaking of which... how was the show just now? Pretty intense, huh? Tell , what do you think would happen if I chose to face my tribulation here, right on the peak of your Windspirit Faction?"
Auren’s body flinched at the very ntion of it, cold sweat forming at his temples. He didn’t even answer.
"Young friend Jed, truly the most gifted prodigy in ten thousand years. If mory serves, you’re not even fifty yet, are you? To reach such a realm before half a century... Makes an old man like feel rather useless."
A sudden voice echoed from the mountain path winding up toward the platform, aged and heavy with authority.
"Grand-Ancestor..." Auren imdiately turned and bowed deeply, his voice trembling. Everyone else instinctively followed suit as an old man with stark white hair and beard slowly ascended the stairs. His robe was faded, worn with ti, yet no one mistook him for anything less than formidable.
Uncle Jed’s body went still at the sound of the voice, but otherwise, he didn’t react.
"Prodigy is too generous a term," Jed said coolly. "Just a man with nothing to lose."
The old man chuckled. "A man with nothing to lose, eh? That’s even more dangerous."
Then, without so much as glancing at Auren, the old man continued, "Auren Galewright, after this summit, you are to step down as leader."
Auren froze for a second before bowing deeply again. There wasn’t even a flicker of resistance in his expression.
"Brother Jed, are you satisfied now?" the old man asked with a polite smile.
Jed tilted his head, unconvinced. "Your internal affairs are none of my concern. Why even ask ? Afraid I’ll bring the whole peak down if I ascend here? Who’s this act for, old man?"
He stretched his arms, his expression unreadable. The old man’s smile twitched slightly, but he quickly suppressed the irritation in his eyes. Deep down, he was terrified. It wasn’t Jed’s current power that frightened him—it was what was coming. Once Jed faced the Heavenly Tribulation, the entire peak would be caught in the storm. That cataclysm didn’t discriminate. Anybody in its vicinity would attract their own corresponding trial. And for soone like the Grand-Ancestor, who had barely entered Saint-rank, it would an facing the kind of tribulation ant to crush early Voidbreakers. Certain death.
Jed ignored the old man completely now. With a lazy wave of his hand, two smooth stones zipped out from the unconscious disciples of Windspirit Faction lying nearby. These were special artifacts designed to slow a person’s descent—common in these high-altitude tests. He walked over to Julian.
"Uncle Jed..." Julian had a sinking feeling in his gut. He barely got the words out before he felt a sudden grip on his collar.
"You brat," Jed scolded, lifting him like a sack. "No ambition at all. You’re young and already thinking like your old man. Off you go!"
Regis, standing nearby, sighed with a wry smile. ’What do you an ’like ’? When did I beco the symbol of conservatism?’ Still, seeing Jed’s power reach such a realm, he couldn’t help but feel proud.
Without waiting for a reply, Jed shoved the artifact into Julian’s belt, then with a flick of his wrist, tossed him into one of the glowing light pillars. Julian didn’t even have ti to react—he flew backward, the waterlon he was holding sohow still in hand, feet-first into the beam.
"Aaah—!"
Everyone else had been pulled in head-first. Julian, true to form, entered the portal completely backward, legs flailing. He imdiately felt a rush of blood to the head, a dizzy spell overtaking him as the world flipped upside down.
Jed’s eyes turned to the Black Qilin lingering near the edge of the platform.
"I—I’ll go! I’ll go!" the Qilin stamred, shrinking his neck like a frightened puppy. He dropped to all fours and scrambled into the last light pillar, vanishing without hesitation.
The Black Qilin had only recently learned to take human form, just over two decades ago. Back then, he’d foolishly taken Julian as his disciple. Later, Regis sealed his transformation to protect him. Only now, in Hurricane City, had that seal finally been lifted.
---
Julian gritted his teeth as he fended off blow after blow, anxiety gnawing at his insides. Ethan... could he really take on a War God-rank at full strength?
BOOM!
An earth-shaking blast tore through the valley. The sky quaked. Dust exploded upward in waves, the force making it hard to breathe even from hundreds of ters away. Julian and his opponent were thrown apart, and he barely landed on his feet before whipping his head toward the blast site.
"Holy crap..." he muttered. "That’s insane..."
As the dust settled, Julian’s eyes widened. The battlefield had shifted—Ethan and Eamon had drawn their fight away from the Youth-Preserving Fruit tree, likely on purpose. Now, a crater had ford in the middle of the valley. Ethan stood at its edge, wind rippling through his long coat, his gauntleted hands gleaming under the sunlight. His eyes glowed crimson, radiating a presence both terrifying and divine.
At the center of the crater, Eamon knelt in defeat. Blood stread from five deep claw marks across his chest. But that wasn’t even his worst injury—his right arm hung at an unnatural angle, shattered completely. His back was visibly sunken in, the spine likely fractured. Head lowered, his expression was hidden.
Then, a low, broken laugh escaped his lips. He raised his head slowly, blood sared across his mouth.
"Good... very good..." he rasped. "Now die... Bloodfla Art!"
A vortex of blood-red fire erupted around him, wild and consuming. Ethan’s crimson eyes flickered, the energy around him suddenly taut with tension. That last blow—he had packed six Heavy Strikes and three Lacerates into a single, crushing punch. It had nearly broken his arms in the process. And still, Eamon lived.
’Dammit... these War Gods are built like monsters...’
Now he watched, alard, as Eamon activated the Bloodfla Art—a forbidden technique he’d seen once before. Back when Julian was ambushed, several enemies had used it. The results were devastating.
If Eamon, already near the peak of War God-rank, unleashed it... could he break into half-step Saint? Or worse—fully cross over?
"Brother, he’s trying to run!" Micah’s voice rang out from the cliff’s edge. He looked half-dead, clothes in tatters, face caked with dirt and blood. "He’s using Blood Escape—don’t let him get away!"
Ethan’s expression sharpened. He brought his palms together, and the Ursar’s Claws dissolved, reshaping into the long, jagged Twilight War Spear. With a surge of power, he channeled another Lacerate skill into the weapon. The spear shimred, then shot forward like a bolt of divine fury.
WHOOSH...
But it was a second too late. Eamon’s body blurred into a streak of blood, vanishing upward into the sky. The Twilight War Spear pierced through the afterimage, embedding deep into the earth below.
A ragged scream echoed faintly through the valley. "You... you will all die! Just wait! I’ll wipe out your whole clan! Every last one of you!"
Then, silence.
He was gone.
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