"Sweep you up, too?"
Kael's calm words echoed through the packed courtyard. For a full second, dead silence reigned. None of the disciples could believe what their ears had just caught. A servant... threatening Darius, the top disciple of Grand Elder Thorne and a genius who had reached the peak of the "Mana Foundation" realm?
Darius's eyes widened, his handsome face twisting into a mask of blind, unadulterated rage. No one had ever dared look him in the eye like that, let alone insult him in public.
"You arrogant trash!" Darius roared. He raised his right hand, which instantly ignited with a searing, crimson flame, fully prepared to unleash a devastating strike aimed right at Kael's face. "I'll teach you how to speak to your betters!"
But before Darius's hand could move a single inch, Kael simply turned around.
He didn't take a defensive stance, nor did he draw his heavy iron sword. Instead, he turned his back on Darius with absolute, chilling indifference and continued walking toward the registration desk with slow, measured steps. It was as if Darius were nothing more than a mildly annoying fly buzzing near his ear.
Darius froze in place, his flaming hand suspended uselessly in the air. The true insult wasn't in a counterattack; it was in the absolute dismissal. To turn your back on an armed opponent meant only one thing in the martial world: You are too weak for me to even waste my time being cautious of you.
Muffled whispers of mockery began to rise from the crowd—not directed at Kael this time, but at Darius, who looked like an absolute fool standing there with his hand on fire. Darius ground his teeth together until they nearly chipped. He extinguished his flames, glaring at Kael's retreating back with eyes that dripped with murderous intent. Enjoy your arrogance now, servant... In the arena, I will tear you limb from limb, and Orik won't be able to save you.
Kael reached the registration desk, where the clerk was trembling slightly after witnessing the young man who had just cowed Darius.
"N-Name?" the clerk asked, his voice shaking.
"Kael. Personal disciple of Master Orik," he replied calmly, placing Orik's wooden seal on the table.
The clerk quickly logged the name and handed him a small wooden token bearing the number 404. "The preliminary rounds begin in exactly seven days at the Western Amphitheater."
Kael took the token and left the courtyard without ever looking back.
Once he was out of sight, Kael inspected the dull black iron sword resting on his shoulder. Orik had given him this specific weapon for one reason: it was insanely heavy and forged from "Dead Iron," a metal that actively resisted the flow of mana. It acted as an additional restraint to prevent Kael from accidentally releasing the Azura energy.
But Kael was a blacksmith long before he was a fighter. He ran his scarred fingers over the rough blade and sighed. This thing is just a glorified metal club. If I want to win the tournament without using the Azura energy and exposing my secret, I need a real weapon. A weapon I can rely on with my pure physical skill alone.
However, the Academy's forges were entirely controlled by the faction loyal to Elder Thorne. They would never allow him to use their fires or their metals.
Then I have no other choice, Kael thought, shifting his gaze toward the massive Southern Gates of the Academy. I have to head out into the Capital.
An hour later, Kael was walking through the bustling streets of "Valenor," the capital city. It was a massive metropolis, its buildings glittering with magical crystals, swarming with merchants, mercenaries, and cultivators from all walks of life. But Kael wasn't interested in the brightly lit main avenues.
He veered off into the narrow, sloping alleyways, following the distinct, acrid scent of burning coal and rusted metal. He descended a flight of slippery stone stairs that led him into a subterranean district lit by faint, sickly green lanterns.
He had arrived at the "Shadow Market"—the underground hub where stolen goods were fenced, shady deals were struck, and rare materials hidden from the Empire's eyes were traded.
Kael stopped in front of a dark, cluttered junk shop, where an old man with a glass eye sat behind a mountain of broken weapons. Kael slammed his heavy black iron sword onto the counter with a loud thud that made the wood groan.
"I need to rent your forge for one night," Kael stated, pulling out a small pouch of silver coins Faren had given him. "And I need 'Star Steel' dust and a hilt wrapped in Earth Dragon leather... I'm forging my own sword."