The inner garden of the royal palace was not a place of rest.
Black emerald trees rose like petrified fangs, their sharp leaves shining under the dim torchlight. The ground was paved with dark blood-colored stones, groaning underfoot as if remembering everyone who had stepped on them.
The youths gathered away from the eyes of the kings…
but not away from the breath of authority.
No one spoke first.
Each was measuring the others.
The elder daughter of the Crystal King was the first to move.
Her hair was transparent silver, her eyes the color of cracked ice. Her gaze passed over everyone with apparent indifference.
"Strange…"
she said in a cold, calm voice.
"This is a large number of faces I will see again at the Sect Gathering…
if I stay alive."
A small smile followed, but it was deadly.
The son of the King of Tasso let out a short laugh, snorting with contempt:
"The gathering?
Don't raise its value too much.
Many here won't pass the first round."
One of the Seven Valleys heirs, a thin young man with sharp eyes, replied:
"The early rounds only eliminate the reckless…
people like you."
The tension ignited.
From the shadows stepped a disciple of the Melted Blood Sect.
His skin was pale, black blood veins coiling around his neck. His voice sounded as if blood itself was speaking:
"You talk about the gathering as if it's a game.
There…
a person is not measured by origin, but by how many times they returned from death."
A female disciple of the Hundred Curse Sect laughed, an unsettling laugh:
"Yes…
or by how many curses are still screaming inside them."
The younger daughter of the King of Oraro clenched her fist:
"You sect people always boast about the filth you live in.
That doesn't make you stronger…
only less human."
A disciple of the Spirit Assassination Organization, a young man with an eerily ordinary face, finally spoke:
"Humanity?
It's the first thing thrown away when the countdown begins."
A heavy silence followed.
The elder son of the King of Arko, athletic build, a faint aura surrounding him, said:
"All this talk…
and no one has proven anything yet."
He looked directly at a disciple of the Eastern Mercenaries:
"I heard you sell your courage to whoever pays more.
Do you sell it as well to those who frighten you?"
The disciple smiled, his teeth sharp:
"We only sell to those who deserve to live afterward."
One step forward.
An aura rose.
Invisible pressure began to form.
Some youths stepped back instinctively.
Others moved forward, unwilling to show weakness.
The Crystal King's daughter suddenly looked at everyone:
"All of you…
are fighting because you fear one thing."
All eyes turned to her.
"You fear discovering…
that you are not special."
Silence.
Then… a burst of auras.
Spiritual pressure, clashing wills, the air itself trembled.
The ground cracked with fine lines.
But before it turned into bloodshed…
Slow clapping…
calm…
cold.
Korval stood at the entrance of the garden, smiling.
"Wonderful.
Just by seeing this, I can say the new generation has not disappointed me."
The auras dropped immediately.
The youths bowed, some out of respect, some out of fear.
Korval stepped forward, looking at them one by one:
"This tension…
this desire to surpass others…
it is beautiful."
He paused, then said:
"But conflict in the shadows…
leaves too many questions unanswered."
He turned to the kings who had approached quietly.
"What do you say…
we turn this festival into an opportunity?"
The King of Tasso narrowed his eyes:
"An opportunity for what, exactly?"
Korval smiled:
"A small competition.
Friendly.
To measure the improvement of our youth's strength."
The kings exchanged glances.
The Crystal King said:
"A competition under your roof…
a bold proposal."
But inwardly he muttered:
"Korval, Korval… what are you planning? Are you about to reveal your fangs?"
Korval replied:
"And who said our world rewards caution?"
He looked at the youths:
"No killing.
No interference from elders.
Just…
show what you have learned."
A short silence followed…
then smiles.
Some were excited.
Some were thirsty for battle.
And some saw this competition as the beginning of a delayed massacre.
In a distant corner,
Ashen was watching.
No interest.
No excitement.
Only one truth passed through his crimson eyes:
All of them…
would be a test.