A different silence filled the flying palace.
Not just heavier,
but deeper.
A silence that did not press on the ears,
but slowly crawled into the chest,
disturbing the natural rhythm of breathing,
making hearts beat as if they were being watched.
It was not the silence of ignorance,
but the silence of a moment
when a curtain is pulled away,
and an idea is laid bare,
one the mind refused even to imagine.
One of the kings—
the one who was used to hiding his fangs behind a friendly smile—
finally moved his lips.
His voice came out calm…
too calm.
"So…
won't you introduce your guest, Corval?"
The words sounded simple,
but they were a desperate attempt
to restore order to a hall
that was starting to fall apart from within.
Corval did not delay.
His smile was warm…
warm to the point of suspicion,
as if it did not belong to the scene.
"Of course, of course.
This honored guest is called Ashen."
Then he stopped.
A short pause…
but time inside it stretched,
as if everyone felt
an invisible blade
being slowly raised
above their necks.
"And by the way…"
he said it as if it were a minor detail,
as if what came next
would change nothing.
"He does not follow the Blood Shaman path like us."
At that moment…
the silence did not fall.
It exploded.
Not with sound,
not with movement,
but inside minds.
Thoughts collided.
Old beliefs cracked.
And red lines—
were broken without mercy.
The kings froze.
Not from direct fear,
but from delayed realization.
The sect leaders' expressions stiffened,
and some felt a cold sting
crawl along their spines,
like the memory of something
that should have remained buried.
Corval…
let the words sink in.
He did not rush.
He did not explain.
He let everyone taste their weight
like a slow poison…
certain and unavoidable.
Then he continued,
with the same smile:
"Yes…
exactly as you are thinking."
He paused again.
Another pause.
Deeper.
"Ashen follows the Blood Refinement path."
It was as if the air was suddenly pulled out of the hall.
Breaths were cut off.
Chests tightened.
And the flying palace—
for a moment—
seemed as if it might fall.
The Crystal King's eyes widened against his will,
as if an old memory
had been struck at its core.
The Taso King clenched his fist
until his knuckles turned white,
feeling bone groan
beneath his skin.
The leader of the Melted Blood Sect
felt his heartbeat accelerate,
not from excitement,
but from instinctive warning.
As for the young generation…
here,
there was emptiness.
They did not understand.
Not yet.
In their minds,
the world was still simple,
divided by clear lines:
only the Blood Shaman path was dominant and cultivable.
Anything else was mere myth or nonsense.
But their beliefs began to shake today.
Yet Corval…
was not finished.
"But do you truly know what is most interesting?"
he said lightly,
as if joking.
"That he is at the peak of the Blood Trainee level…"
"And on the verge of breaking into the Blood Warrior stage."
This time…
it was not silence.
It was an earthquake.
The words were not heard—
they collided.
A child.
Fifteen years old.
The most dangerous path in existence.
And he stood
at the threshold of its next stage.
The King of Uraro felt bitterness rise in his mouth,
like the taste of failure
he did not commit,
yet still carried its weight.
The King of Arko closed his eyes for a moment,
as if reality
needed to be rearranged.
One of the sect leaders muttered unconsciously,
"Impossible…"
But no one corrected him.
Because everyone knew…
it was not impossible.
It was…
terrifying.
The Blood Refinement path
was not a path of power.
It was a living curse.
Those who walked it
were either madmen
who could not distinguish between life and death,
or sick geniuses
who dragged fate by the neck
and forced it to bow.
And no one…
survived it for long.
The kings began recalculating.
Not alliances…
but disaster scenarios.
If he lives…
he will be an existential threat
that cannot be contained.
If he dies…
he will leave behind a vacuum
over which powers will fight
until the last drop of blood.
As for the young generation…
here
came the true breaking point.
Pale faces.
Broken breaths.
Eyes that lost their shine.
That path…
the one they had heard of
as a story to scare children.
A path called:
the Curse of Refinement.
The Terror of Blood.
The road with no return.
They said the survival rate on it
was closer to zero
than any other number.
They said whoever chose it
either did not live long…
or did not remain human.
And now?
A boy…
their age…
stood before them.
Calm.
Fearless.
Without hesitation.
All their pride…
all their arrogance…
all their dreams of superiority…
cracked.
Some lowered their heads.
Some looked at Ashen
as if seeing a ghost
walking among the living.
And some…
for the first time in their lives,
felt small.
Very small.
Ashen?
Nothing changed.
He did not explain.
He did not boast.
He did not seek their gazes.
He stood there…
as he always did.
As if this path
was not a brave choice…
nor a mad challenge…
but simply
the easiest road
available to him.
Corval looked at the shocked faces
and saw what he wanted.
Then he said,
with calm that killed:
"Now…
do you understand
why I said this display
would change your view of the world?"
In that moment…
no one doubted.
This day
would not be forgotten.
And this boy…
would not pass
without leaving behind
blood…
or history…
or both.