In this city, though, Max wasn't Max.
Here, he was simply "Feng" — a 17-year-old Spirit Elder with a cultivation rank of 32. Modest, believable, and most importantly, unremarkable by Douluo Dalu standards.
The Twilight Scepter, with its delicate silver-and-black design, hummed faintly with power, but only to those who could truly sense it. Most mistook it for a rare variant of a staff Martial Spirit — useful, but not terrifying.
Perfect.
As Feng, he moved through Barak City like any young Spirit Master — quiet, observant, blending into the crowd. No one suspected the truth. And that was exactly how he wanted it.
The streets of Barak City bustled with activity, especially around the northern district where the Great Spirit Arena loomed like a stone colossus. Lanterns swung from poles, casting pools of warm light across the cobbled roads. Merchants hawked snacks, Spirit Tool vendors peddled minor wares, and Spirit Masters of all ranks mingled freely.
Feng — no, Max — walked among them with the calm confidence of experience. His traveler's robes were simple but clean, his Twilight Scepter tucked across his back in a cloth wrap. Most passing glances slid over him, mistaking him for another young cultivator chasing coin and Spirit Rings.
The Great Spirit Arena itself dominated the skyline. Circular in design, its outer walls were decorated with banners of the Barak Kingdom and painted murals of famous duels. It wasn't as grand as the arenas in the imperial cities, but it had its own reputation — practical, brutal, and filled with opportunity for ambitious Spirit Masters.
Max registered with ease.
"Name?" the bored clerk asked, barely looking up.
"Feng," Max replied smoothly.
"Martial Spirit? Rank?"
"Twilight Scepter. Rank 32."
The clerk's eyes flicked up briefly at the mention of a scepter-type Martial Spirit but shrugged and scribbled it down. Staff and scepter users were relatively common — unless one truly understood what the Twilight Scepter represented, it drew little suspicion.
"You're up in the intermediate bracket. Matches start soon."
Max thanked him and stepped into the viewing stands. The lower brackets were already underway, filled with hopeful Spirit Masters ranging from Rank 20 to low-30s, most wielding common Martial Spirits. He watched the matches quietly — a Blue Silver Grass user narrowly defeating a Wind Falcon; a Fire Wolf struggling against a defensive Shield Beetle. Standard, predictable.
Soon, his name was called.
"Feng, Twilight Scepter, Rank 32… versus Shen Lin, Ironwood Spear, Rank 33!"
Max walked onto the arena floor, boots tapping lightly against the stone. Across from him stood a tall youth with a spear of dark wood clutched in his hand. His expression was confident, though not arrogant — clearly a local with some victories under his belt.
The referee raised his hand. "Begin!"
Shen Lin wasted no time, charging with practiced footwork, his Ironwood Spear thrusting forward with precision.
Max sidestepped, spinning his Twilight Scepter free from its wrap. The silver-and-black weapon shimmered faintly under the arena lights — elegant, understated.
A flick of the wrist. A small pulse of twilight energy — neither light nor shadow — intercepted the spear's strike, deflecting it harmlessly to the side.
Shen Lin's eyes narrowed.
Max smiled faintly.
The crowd watched, unimpressed at first. No flashy explosions. No overwhelming power. But as the seconds passed, keen observers realized how clean Max's movements were — efficient, fluid, without wasted effort.
Shen Lin pressed the attack, unleashing his Spirit Skills. The Ironwood Spear lengthened, roots of phantom wood curling toward Max.
Max tapped his scepter against the ground.
[Twilight Mirage], his first skill, activated.
His figure blurred, like light refracting through fog, and the roots passed through an afterimage.
Before Shen Lin could react, Max stepped inside his guard, the scepter's head gently tapping the youth's shoulder. No brutality. No injury. Just a simple, undeniable advantage.
The referee paused, eyes widening. "Victor — Feng!"
The crowd murmured, many still confused, but a few veterans in the stands exchanged knowing glances. Clean technique, precise Spirit Power control… this 'Feng' wasn't some naive youngling.
Max stepped off the stage without fanfare. Another quiet victory. Another small step in his lowkey travels.
Later that night, he sat at a corner table of a modest tavern near the arena, sipping tea as chatter filled the air — talk of matches, recruitment rumors, sect politics.
He listened. Observed. Learned.
A full month had passed since Max — under the identity of Feng — arrived in Barak City. The days flowed by quietly, each blending into the next as he continued his unremarkable life as a traveling Spirit Master.
But for all its outward normalcy, much had changed beneath the surface.
In that month, Feng had quietly carved out a reputation within the Barak Spirit Arena. Not as a prodigy or a flashy talent — but as a dependable, sharp, tactical fighter. His clean victories, subtle use of the Twilight Scepter, and composed demeanor earned him respect from the veteran fighters and curiosity from the younger ones.
More importantly, he wasn't alone anymore.
His small team had formed naturally, without grand declarations or elaborate recruitment.
The first was Lan Xue, a bright, energetic girl with a rare Lightning Rabbit Martial Spirit. Agile, quick-witted, and possessing natural speed that made her a terror on the battlefield. Despite her bubbly personality, she had a stubborn streak and an independent spirit — but somehow, she ended up trailing Feng everywhere, her wide blue eyes always gleaming with curiosity.
The second was Mu Qing, quieter, older by a year or two, with sharp emerald eyes and a cool demeanor. Her Sky Poison Ivy Martial Spirit wasn't flashy, but its creeping vines and corrosive toxins made her deadly in control battles. Where Lan Xue was impulsive, Mu Qing was calculating — the perfect balance.
It started with casual cooperation in the arena — teaming up in doubles or three-person fights for coin. Then it became shared meals. Then shared lodging.
Now, they traveled as a unit. A quiet, effective little team roaming the outer regions of Barak City, taking up low-level commissions, exploring the nearby forests for Spirit Beasts, and building their strength.
At night, however… the dynamic shifted.
Max never pushed, never declared himself. But both women had gravitated toward him naturally — Lan Xue's playful teasing slowly giving way to shy affection, Mu Qing's cautious distance melting into quiet trust.
***
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