For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Ren Kai sat frozen, fingers tightening around the armrest of his throne-like seat. The shock had passed—but the wound had reopened.
Then he laughed.
Softly. Calmly.
“Well,” Ren Kai said, raising his cup as if in mock toast,
“I heard you were dead.”
The words were light.
Too light.
Jin didn’t move. He didn’t even turn fully toward him.
A faint smile curved his lips.
“You didn’t see my body though,” Jin replied.
The smile reached his eyes.
Ren Kai’s knuckles whitened.
Beside him, Lian Yue sat rigid, her gaze locked on Jin as if staring at a ghost pulled from her nightmares. Her lips trembled, but no sound came out. Her deadened eyes flickered—confusion, guilt, longing, terror—all warring beneath the surface.
Jin didn’t look at her.
Not once.
That hurt more than any blade ever could.
The Celestial Sect Leader cleared his throat, golden spiritual light spreading from the central platform, forcibly breaking the tension.
“Silence,” he commanded.
The arena obeyed.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
“By tradition and decree,” he announced,
“I hereby recognize the arrival of the Heavenly Demonic Sect, led by Sect Leader Jin Valentine.”
Murmurs rippled like a tidal wave.
“A new Heavenly Demon?”
“So young…”
“That pressure—he’s real.”
Jin remained seated, one leg crossed over the other, Esdeath resting at his side. His presence alone bent the air.
The Celestial Sect Leader continued.
“This year’s Sect Competition will consist of one complete round.”
A wave of interest surged through the crowd.
“No preliminaries?”
“All in one?”
The leader raised his hand.
“The rules are simple. Each contestant will display their strength in direct combat.”
“Victory will be determined by knockout, submission, or pinning the opponent to the ground until surrender.”
“Killing is discouraged,” he added carefully,
“but not forbidden if deemed unavoidable.”
Eyes gleamed.
Blood would flow.
“Each sect may send one representative per match,” he concluded.
“Matches will continue until all representatives have fought.”
He gestured to the arena floor.
“Let the competition begin.”
The first names were called.
Disciples stepped forward—clashes of techniques, flashes of flame, ice, lightning, and steel. Spiritual pressure crashed and recoiled as bodies were thrown, pinned, or forced to yield.
Jin watched.
Calm. Analytical.
“Too much reliance on artifacts,” he murmured once.
“That one’s foundation is unstable,” he said another time.
The Five Demons stood behind him, silent, eyes sharp, absorbing every movement.
Dorian cracked his neck.
Seraphine’s gaze was icy.
Kaelric didn’t blink.
Ashara smiled faintly.
Nyx tilted her head, eyes half-lidded, already peeling apart the mental rhythms of the fighters below.
Ren Kai watched Jin from the corner of his eye.
The man hadn’t moved. Hadn’t reacted.
As if none of this mattered.
That unsettled him.
The overseer stepped forward again, his voice echoing through the arena.
“Next match.”
He glanced at the scroll in his hand.
“Nyx Elowen,” he called.
A ripple of attention moved through the stands.
“Heavenly Demonic Sect representative.”
Nyx stepped forward.
Her movements were light. Unhurried. Almost dreamlike.
“And opposing her—” the overseer continued,
“Rickale Dragus, of the Dragon Flame Sect.”
A roar erupted from the Dragon Flame Sect’s side.
Rickale Dragus strode forward, flames licking around his arms, draconic scales faintly visible along his skin. His aura was explosive—violent, proud, overwhelming.
He grinned when he saw his opponent.
“…A girl?” he scoffed.
Nyx stopped at the edge of the arena.
She looked at him.
Smiled faintly.
And the air around her… felt wrong.
Jin leaned forward slightly.
His eyes sharpened.
“Show them,” he whispered.
The overseer raised his hand.
“Begin.”
