The next morning, the Flame Clan was buzzing with excitement.
Disciples filled the courtyards, their voices rising in waves of speculation and bravado. The International Tournament was being held in the capital of the country of Rican, Reglan State, and the top clans from across the region had gathered to compete for glory, prestige, and rare treasures.
"I'm telling you, it's going to be Senior Lian," one disciple said. "He's already at the peak of the spirit fusion realm as a low-level elder of our clan."
"No way. Senior Hua has the Flame Physique. He's unbeatable in close combat."
"Don't forget about Ry Lin. Her dual-element technique is insane."
At least ten names from the Flame Clan were being thrown around—each one a top disciple, each one a contender for the title of champion.
Meanwhile, in the guest quarters, Elijah stood waiting. He had arrived early, expecting resistance, perhaps another round of Jael's sharp tongue. But what he found surprised him.
Jalen called Jael over.
"Go greet your new master," he said.
Jael nodded and walked over to Elijah. There was no hesitation. No sarcasm. No dismissive tone.
He bowed deeply. "Master."
Elijah blinked. "I'm honored. Raise your head."
He turned to Jalen. "Thank you. I'll take good care of the boy."
Jalen said nothing. He simply nodded.
Then he glanced toward the courtyard. "Your clan is lively today."
"Well, today's the International Tournament," Elijah said. "Held in the capital. All the top clans in the country from across the sixty states are entering to prove who's number one—and to compete for treasures. That's why the disciples are so riled up." He sighed heavily. "Unfortunately I have to lead the disciples of our clan who are competing there."
"Can anyone join?" Jalen asked.
"Of course. Anyone under a thousand years old and between the Diamond Realm and Spirit Fusion Realm can enter—clan or no clan. Participants can only challenge others within their own realm to keep things fair. So in the end, there'll be six champions—one for each realm."
"Are you planning to have the human boy join?" Elijah asked.
"Only for experience," Jalen replied.
"Well, it's easy. You can just register the boy upon arriving at the capital city before the fights."
"Can I join too, Dad?" Jael asked.
"Sure," Jalen said.
Elijah raised an eyebrow. "Do you mind if he joins under the Flame Clan?"
Jalen looked at him for a long moment, then answered, "He's already your disciple. His ties to your clan are set."
Elijah nodded. "Then prepare yourselves. We leave via teleportation formation in one hour."
With that, he turned and left to ready the disciples for departure.
—
By noon, Jalen, Calen, and Jael arrived at the tournament grounds with the Flame Clan delegation.
Reglan City was overflowing with cultivators. Massive banners fluttered in the wind. Floating platforms hovered above the arena, each one a stage for a different realm: Diamond, Enlightened, Star, Moon, Imperial, and Spirit Fusion.
Clans and sects from across Rican had gathered—dragon clans, spirit beast sects, human dynasties, and hybrid factions. The air was thick with anticipation.
Calen registered under the Enlightened Realm bracket. Jael registered for the Spirit Fusion Realm bracket under the Flame Clan banner.
A welcome speech followed—long, ceremonial, and painfully slow. Patriarchs from the ten top clans of Reglan hosting this grand tournament took turns boasting about tradition, honor, and the glory of cultivation. Most of the younger disciples tuned out, eyes already scanning the competition.
Then the tournament began.
Fights erupted across the stages—flashes of light, bursts of qi, roars of victory, and groans of defeat. The crowd surged with every clash.
Eventually, it was Calen's turn.
As Calen stepped onto the Enlightened Realm stage, a ripple of confusion spread through the crowd.
It wasn't his appearance that drew attention—cultivators knew better than to trust the face. It was his life force.
Young. Incredibly young.
Too young.
And yet, the qi radiating from him was unmistakable—Enlightened Realm, refined and stable.
Whispers erupted across the viewing platforms.
"His life force… it's barely a decade old."
"That can't be right. Enlightenment takes centuries."
"Who is he?"
"He registered as a rogue, but he was amongst the Flame clan disciples' barracks."
Even the patriarchs hosting the tournament leaned forward, their expressions darkening with curiosity and unease.
Across Rican's top clans, cultivators murmured in disbelief. Some were appalled. Others were intrigued. But all were watching.
Because no one that young should radiate Enlightened Realm power.
His opponent was already on the stage—a young man from the Iron Cloud Sect, hailed across Rican as one of their rising stars. He had reached the Enlightened Realm in just under three centuries—a realm that typically takes up to five hundred years to attain. That feat had earned him the title of genius not only within his clan but across the continent.
But now, standing opposite Calen, even he looked unsettled. Because the boy before him radiated power that should've taken lifetimes to cultivate—and his life force was barely over a decade old.
The match began.
Calen moved first, vanishing in a blur of golden light. Solar Dance—his movement technique—left afterimages in the air, golden trails that shimmered with heat. His opponent kept up, using grounded footwork to absorb momentum and redirect force.
They clashed mid-air, exchanging dozens of blows in seconds.
Calen ducked under a sweeping kick, spun, and launched Solar Beam, a concentrated ray of solar qi. His opponent blocked with a reinforced arm guard, sliding back but visibly scorched.
The battle escalated.
Calen conjured Solar Veil, forming a radiant shield that deflected a barrage of iron spikes. Then he countered with Solar Arrows, firing three bolts of solar qi that forced his opponent to retreat and recalibrate.
The crowd roared. Many were curious about Calen's strange cultivation method and unfamiliar qi.
The two soared into the sky, their auras lighting up the clouds. Calen's opponent activated Iron Tempest Form, coating his body in metallic qi and increasing his speed and strength.
Calen gritted his teeth. He was being pushed.
He surged forward again, activating Solar Dance—but this time, not just for speed.
Golden trails shimmered behind him, weaving through the air like threads of light. His movements became unpredictable, layered with radiant afterimages that mimicked his previous strikes. His opponent reacted to the wrong echo—defending against a phantom.
Calen struck from the blind angle, slamming his opponent into the ground.
But the young man rose again, bloodied but burning with determination.
Calen's qi flared. He had one technique left.
It was the seventh technique of the Radiant Solar Method. He had only mastered it after days of breaking into the Enlightened Realm. The sky dimmed. Heat shimmered across the battlefield.
He soared high above the arena, gathering solar energy into his palms.
Then he unleashed it.
Solar Rain—a devastating downpour of solar blasts, each one carrying the weight of a miniature sun.
The referee, a Peak Imperial Realm cultivator, leapt in, forming a barrier just in time to shield the opponent from death. Even so, the young man collapsed, unconscious, his robes scorched and his spirit sea trembling.
Calen landed, panting, his body bruised and bloodied.
The crowd erupted in cheers—and then, murmurs.
The Iron Cloud Sect's party was not pleased.
One of their elders sat motionless in the viewing platform, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—sharp, cold, and burning with fury—never left Calen.
He didn't rise. He didn't speak.
He simply moved two fingers.
A thread-thin metal spear, forged from condensed iron qi, shot from his sleeve—silent, invisible to most eyes. It curved through the air like a whisper, aimed directly at Calen's spine. A killing blow, masked as nothing at all.
Most cultivators didn't notice.
But the old monsters did nothing. Not because they approved. But because they wouldn't risk tension with a top clan—not for a nobody. An anomaly, yes .But still a nobody.
Across the stadium, top experts stirred. One of the patriarchs narrowed his eyes. Elijah noticed this and was about to help Calen, but someone reacted faster.
A crystalline ice wall erupted behind Calen, fifty inches thick, forged from frost qi so dense it shimmered like diamond dust. The spear struck it—and bounced off. No cracks. No damage. Just a soft metallic ping, like a pebble striking a glacier.
And from the opposite side of the stadium, a shadow spear tore through the air— and in a blink, it pierced the Iron Cloud elder's torso, slamming him back into his seat. He was locked there like a nailed corpse. Blood bloomed across his robes. He gasped, clutching his side, eyes wide with disbelief.
Gasps rippled through the stadium. Shock followed like a wave.