While Ethan spoke, his gaze drifted thoughtfully over the arena—taking in the irrepressible tension and the countless faces, each one marked by anticipation, curiosity, or awe.
The roiling sea of disciples, elders, and masters faded briefly from his awareness as his attention rested, for an instant, on Lyralei. In her presence, the veiled power of the sect was palpable; she radiated an effortless authority that no one dared oppose.
He knew, deep down, that the day's events would not end in a climatic duel with the Saint.
His words, bold and unfaltering, were meant simply to force an answer—to draw a line and expose the heart beneath the drama. But his voice stirred an immediate reaction from the crowd.
"The empress is here, and Ethan still insists on fighting?"
"Is he really determined to challenge Her Highness the Saint?"
"If he defeats her, fame is certain. If I had such a chance, I'd seize it in an instant."
