In a room made of translucent glass, high above the spectators' seats, sat two masked men. The chamber floated like an observation deck, its clear walls revealing the chaos unfolding below. One was dressed in a white robe, his figure lean and upright, while he wore a black mask that concealed his identity. The other was dressed in a black robe, broader in build, wearing a white mask that reflected the flickering lights from the arena beneath.
"What the fuck just happened, Brother Somalia? Isn't that boy supposed to be dead?" asked the white-masked man, his voice sharp with disbelief as he leaned slightly forward.
"While it looks that way, it's because your perception level is still low. You rely mostly on body tempering arts rather than increasing your awareness," the black-masked man replied calmly, his tone steady, his gaze fixed downward.
"Brother… I asked a question, not for you to lecture me." The white-masked man became infuriated, his shoulders tensing, but his anger died down almost instantly as they both watched Candidate 160's energy rising violently below.
"That boy… Candidate 220 was supposed to be dead—that's if the attack had met him. But at that last moment, his body had passively activated a skill," Somalia answered his brother, his voice lowering slightly as if analyzing a rare phenomenon.
"You mean the boy has a skill…? How's that possible? I can't sense any energy from his body."
"I don't know how he got it, but the boy surely does have a skill… Probably a body tempering art or something which allowed him to blend with the wind…"
He burst in an instant, with trails of electric streams flogging behind him as he grabbed the Antler dagger that was flung to the wall earlier…
Due to the debris, or probably confidence in his skills, Candidate 160 didn't notice him until he got behind him and then stabbed him in the chest… Though at that moment, Candidate 160 could still have raised his axe to strike another blow—but he didn't… Candidate 160 had many chances to kill the boy, but he didn't… I wonder what their relationship is." Somalia concluded, his tone now laced with curiosity.
"Probably, father and son."
"Don't you think, Domalia… The boy has red hair and blue eyes… None of these traits are in the man… Maybe, just maybe… The boy is his disciple…" Somalia responded, tilting his head slightly.
"Interesting… He didn't want to kill his disciple, and now the disciple has finally been the one to kill him." Domalia giggled, though there was a strange stiffness behind it.
"You're so dumb, dude… What's happening there?" Somalia asked, his voice sharpening as his attention shifted back fully to the arena.
"Candidate 160 is achieving a breakthrough to the Energy Condensation Realm."
"If you were in that situation… What would you do?"
"I'll condense my energy into my chest, temporarily stopping the bleeding of my heart, and use the excess energy to heal it up…" Domalia answered, his tone turning analytical.
"Good."
Then his eyes widened suddenly.
"That means Candidate 160 is not at the verge of death… In fact, he's very much alive…" Domalia's heart skipped a beat as the realization struck him like a chill.
"The boy should not wait and use this chance to—"
Before Domalia could complete his speech, the energy of Candidate 160 burst forward violently, slamming into Socrates like an invisible wall, sending him catapulting backward before crashing hard onto the ground.
"No… No… The boy will die at this rate…" Domalia cried, genuine urgency creeping into his voice as his fingers clenched tightly.
"I don't think so…" Somalia replied quietly.
"What are you saying again? Can't you see the boy isn't in any position to fight? He can't even get up…" Domalia cried out, frustration evident.
"Look closely… The man isn't condensing his energy, nor is he healing his injuries…" Somalia pointed out, his tone calm but firm.
Domalia's mouth opened in shock, his gaze snapping back toward the battlefield.
"Just what's going on?"
.
.
.
Mr. Jaggers looked up at the heavens with a smile on his face, his eyes reflecting the chaotic glow of energy tearing through the sky as his own power escaped violently from his body, scattering like wild flames.
The dagger of Socrates pierced deep into his heart, yet there was no pain… no blood… only a strange stillness. Instead, there was a bright smile on his face, one that carried relief, fulfillment, and something deeper—acceptance.
He returned his gaze downward as he stared at Socrates, who lay on the floor, broken and unmoving.
Memories surfaced.
He recalled every moment he had spent with the boy…
It was just one night… but it was unforgettable.
The boy who had been nothing but green had actually launched a killing strike…
The way the boy recounted how he lost his meridians…
How the boy had managed to kill a wolf without any help…
How he had saved his life, killing someone without hesitation and giving him a life pill…
How he had withstood being electrocuted…
How he had killed an Alpha Wolf with nothing but strategy…
How he had withstood and subdued a power core…
How he had withstood almost getting exploded…
And finally, his last move when he almost got blown apart by a grenade…
The boy has got potential…
The boy is a rare gem that needs time to grow…
The boy will surely become someone great in the future…
"Boy… You've done so well… You've given me something I've never imagined I'd get…" Mr. Jaggers said to Socrates, his voice calm, almost gentle, despite the destruction around them.
"Just like you… I came from a prestigious family, but it was a branch… After the talent test at a very young age, it was determined that I couldn't become a Cultivator all my life… I was born to be an ordinary human…"
His voice carried no bitterness now—only reflection.
"I was neglected in my family… I became a laughingstock… The worst part were my brothers, who were talented—they always rubbed it in my face… I did everything I could… I tried my best, worked very hard to prove them wrong…"
A faint chuckle escaped him, dry and hollow.
"But I was deprived of every cultivation resource… I wasn't given access… I could only depend on my ability… It took me a lot of years before I finally sensed energy…"
The air around him trembled as his aura continued to surge uncontrollably.
"I started working hard, practicing endlessly, wanting to break through and become a Cultivator… but all through my life… I never got past the late-stage Apprentice…"
He paused briefly, his breathing uneven, yet his smile widened.
"But now… because of you… pushing me to my very limit… my forty-year dream has finally been achieved…"
His voice rose slightly, filled with quiet triumph.
"I've proved my family wrong… and broken past the shackles of an ordinary human… I've stepped into the realm of Cultivators…"
Mr. Jaggers announced happily, his eyes gleaming with fulfillment.
"You've helped me so well, boy… You've done what no one has ever done for me… I really appreciate you… I'm happy I met you in my lifetime…"
His voice softened again.
"I've achieved my dream, and I'm satisfied… You have a long journey ahead of you, boy… Unfortunately, I won't be there to guide you…"
Mr. Jaggers sighed, a faint trace of regret appearing in his eyes as he gave Socrates a pitiful look.
"I know it's not your style… but you should make use of them."
He added quietly as the two axes slipped from his hands and landed heavily on the cracked ground, the metallic sound echoing across the broken stage.
At this time, tears had filled Socrates' eyes as he watched Mr. Jaggers take a step forward…
The middle-aged man had burnt out all his energy, his body beginning to disintegrate slowly into fine ashes that drifted into the air like fading embers.
He took another step… then another step…
His right limb faded into ashes, disintegrating into nothingness, followed by parts of his torso…
"Senior…!" Socrates screamed loudly, his voice breaking as he struggled to get up, but his battered body refused to respond.
Right before his eyes, he watched as the man took another step… and another step… as every part of his body continued to fade into ashes, piece by piece.
"Condense your energy… Senior… Senior… Condense it…" Socrates cried out desperately, his voice filled with panic and helplessness.
But Mr. Jaggers took another step before slowly squatting right in front of Socrates, his remaining form flickering like a dying flame.
"Let the world know who you are…"
Mr. Jaggers said to him as he placed his left hand gently on Socrates' head—before it quickly burnt into ashes.
All parts of his body had burned away, leaving behind just his head, suspended for a brief moment as he leaned closer, whispering something into Socrates' ear—his voice faint, almost carried away by the wind—as his head slowly turned into ashes as well.
Tears streamed down Socrates' face as the voice of Mr. Jaggers faded in his ear… and then his presence disappeared completely.
The old man had turned into ashes…
He had broken through into the very first realm of Energy Condensation—but did not condense his energy, allowing it to burn out completely…
While that could be the cause of his death…
It was a loophole.
A very big loophole…
One that the system could not analyze…
Because clearly—undeniably—Socrates had initiated the final strike…
A strike to the heart…
Which could also be said to be the cause of Mr. Jaggers' death…
"The winner and the Champion of the House is Candidate 220."
The Blue Projectile had no other choice but to announce it.
But there was no cheer…
No celebration among the spectators…
As even the winner was no longer breathing.
The last thing the red-haired teenager saw was the double battle axes lying silently on the fractured ground—before his vision went dark and he fell into the realm of unconsciousness.