Sumian's anger simmered quietly beneath the surface, like a pot on the verge of boiling over. Lumian was no longer the same person he used to be, and that alone was enough to shake the fragile balance within the family. Even Lumias had begun to sense it—something had changed, something irreversible. In this household, Lumian had always been nothing more than a servant in disguise, a burden forced upon them by blood. Weak, simple-minded, easy to ignore—those were the labels silently placed upon him. Even his own parents looked at him with a subtle contempt, a quiet disappointment that never needed words. Lumian had endured it all without resistance, swallowing every insult, every humiliation like it was his duty to bear. But what Lumian tolerated… Reyax would not.
In his previous life, Reyax had reached terrifying heights, yet he was far from complete. There were countless things he didn't know, countless truths he had never uncovered. His journey had never been about understanding the world—it had always been about tearing it apart. Driven by nothing but revenge, he had stirred chaos wherever he went, leaving destruction in his wake without ever questioning the deeper meaning behind it. Knowledge, restraint, wisdom—those were things he lacked. All he ever had was rage.
The rest hall stretched across a vast area, resembling a temporary battlefield in itself. Injured cultivators sat scattered across the ground, some leaning against pillars, others lying flat as healers moved around treating wounds. The faint smell of herbs mixed with blood lingered heavily in the air. Those who were yet to fight sat in silence, their expressions tense as they prepared themselves mentally. Some meditated, others stared at their hands, imagining the battles to come. The atmosphere was thick, suffocating, filled with an unspoken pressure that weighed on everyone present.
Lumian sat quietly on one side, leaning against a round stone bench. Unlike the others, his expression was calm—too calm. At this moment, he was in control of his own body. Yet inside his mind, Reyax remained, watching, listening, existing as a constant presence that refused to fade. What started as a brief encounter had somehow turned into something far deeper. In such a short time, Reyax had become someone Lumian could not ignore—perhaps even someone he unconsciously relied on. Whether that was a good thing or not… he didn't know.
Around him, whispers spread.
Those who had witnessed fragments of his previous fight didn't fully understand what had happened, but they had seen enough to feel uneasy. And those who had seen more… kept their distance. There was caution in their eyes, a subtle fear they couldn't quite explain. Lumian noticed it, but he didn't react. He simply sat there, as if none of it mattered.
"…Master," Lumian spoke inwardly, addressing Reyax.
He called him that not out of obligation, but because Reyax embodied something he lacked—certainty, dominance, control.
"How can I become powerful?"
His question was simple, but the weight behind it was heavy.
"You're always the one fighting for me… and I don't like that," Lumian continued. "I've started to understand your perspective. Freedom… it comes from power. The stronger someone is, the freer they become."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then Reyax laughed.
A low, knowing laugh.
"You are still a child," Reyax replied calmly. "One day, you will look back at your life and realize that everything you did… could have been different. Every decision, every path—you will see how easily things could have changed."
Lumian remained silent, listening.
"Humans are not truly free," Reyax continued. "They simply convince themselves that they are. A truly free person is someone who can think freely, without being bound by fear, desire, or expectation. But humans… they are the only creatures who live in chains and still believe they are free."
His voice grew colder.
"You will always be bound to something. Power. Emotion. Desire. Survival. Something will always control you, whether you realize it or not."
Lumian's gaze lowered slightly.
He didn't fully understand… but he felt the truth in those words.
After a moment of silence, Reyax spoke again.
"Just because you are not free… doesn't mean you are powerless. You may not escape the chains of nature… but you can break the chains placed upon you by others."
Those words struck deeper than anything else.
Memories began to surface in Lumian's mind.
From the moment he was born, he had grown like a weed—unwanted, unnoticed, surviving without care. His parents never truly acknowledged him. Their eyes always carried disappointment, as if his very existence was a mistake. The only person who had ever shown him warmth was his grandfather.
Lucraetius.
The only one who treated him like he mattered.
Under his care, Lumian had once believed in himself. For a brief period, he thought he could become something… someone.
But that illusion shattered when he turned fifteen.
His grandfather died.
And with him… everything else faded.
After that, life lost its meaning. Days passed without purpose, and Lumian simply followed along, existing rather than living. Even when he took on a dangerous mission, it wasn't out of courage or ambition.
It was because he didn't care if he died.
He wanted an end.
A strange, quiet end that would free him from everything.
But fate had other plans.
Instead of death—
He found Reyax.
Now, even though he still had no real desire to live, something else had taken root inside him.
A deep, burning anger.
Toward his family.
Toward his clan.
Toward the world itself.
---
Meanwhile, the arena continued without pause. Fights erupted one after another, each clash echoing through the massive structure. Yet at the main guest table, the atmosphere was noticeably different.
Heavy.
Uneasy.
Nel stood beside Cross, trying to comfort him, though her words seemed to have little effect. Cross's face was pale, his eyes filled with guilt and despair. Soon, members of his clan would arrive to retrieve Kromi's body. And when they did… what would he say? How could he face his own son and daughter-in-law, knowing that he was the reason their child was dead?
Not far from them, Mili sat in silence.
Her expression was unreadable, her gaze distant. As a cultivator of the Wisdom Path, her mind was constantly moving, analyzing every detail, every possibility. Nothing escaped her notice. The events unfolding around Lumian had already caught her attention, and she was trying to piece together the truth.
And then there was Jezu.
Calm.
Still.
But far from unaware.
His calculations had reached a conclusion.
Laimian's condition… was connected to Lumian.
There was no doubt in his mind.
Yet he couldn't leave.
Something about this situation felt incomplete.
What exactly was Lumian hiding?
What kind of power had he obtained?
The answer… was just out of reach.
---
Elsewhere, Lu had rushed to Laimian's side, her breathing uneven as panic gripped her.
"Uncle! Lumian—he—he—" she stuttered, unable to form her words properly. "He did this!"
Laimian lay there, his condition grave.
Yet surprisingly—
He didn't look shocked.
It was as if he had already expected something like this.
What disturbed him wasn't the attack itself… but the transformation.
What had happened to Lumian?
What kind of event could change a person so completely in an instant?
His power—
It had surpassed even rare Immortals.
That alone made no sense.
His mind raced.
"Did he… sell his soul to a devil…?" the thought surfaced involuntarily.
Everything felt like a puzzle.
And every answer only led to more questions.
---
"Lumian!"
The call echoed once more.
His name rang through the arena.
All eyes turned.
Lumian slowly stood up.
His opponent was already waiting.
Somewhere nearby, another match was ongoing—Sketches was fighting fiercely in the adjacent ring. If both of them won, they would face each other in the next round.
But for now—
All attention was on Lumian.
He began walking toward the arena.
Step by step.
Calm.
Unhurried.
Yet every movement carried an invisible weight.
His current opponent—
Saima.
A Rank-2 cultivator from the Kla Clan.
A Water Path user.
Exceptional in close combat.
She stood ready, her body tense, her eyes fixed on him.
But beneath that focus
There was hesitation.
A trace of fear.
Because she had heard.
Because she had seen.
"…Is he really the same person?" she wondered silently.