The Grand Arena.
It stood at the heart of Sovereign Territory, a monstrous coliseum carved into the earth by Zairon's own power, then refined with the help of master artisans and spirit array engineers. Each of its thirty-two floors towered like a challenge to the heavens, and its central pit could hold armies within its blood-soaked sand.
On this day, it pulsed with excitement.
Crowds from every direction — neutral kingdoms, allied cities, rogue factions, and even wandering cultivators — poured in. The air crackled with tension, anticipation, and just beneath it all... fear.
Because this wasn't just a tournament. This was Zairon's invitation to the world: "Come show me your strongest, and I'll show you your place."
Inside the observation chamber high above the arena, Zairon leaned on a throne crafted from obsidian and beast bone. His eyes flickered lazily over the fighting rings as competitors warmed up.
"Let's see what the world has to offer."
Beside him stood Wei Lian and Selene — the general who once opposed him, now one of his deadliest tacticians.
Zhao Hu lounged near the wall, tossing a gold coin. "Any bets on who makes it to the final four?"
Zairon smirked. "Does it matter? I'm not looking for winners. I'm looking for monsters."
Meanwhile, in Aelvaris…
Whispers ran through the palace like wildfire.
"The youngest prince is sneaking out."
"They say he's headed to the Arena…"
"He'll be executed if found."
King Daren sat silently in his war room, fists clenched. He already knew.
His son had gone to see Zairon.
And not as a spy. Not as an assassin.
But as a participant.
Back in the arena, the first matches began. Blood danced across the sand. Magical techniques collided like comets.
Beasts summoned. Bodies broken. Screams, cheers, and chaos — a symphony that Zairon soaked in with a wide, amused grin.
One contestant — a mysterious young man with silver hair and lightning-based techniques — began sweeping through the ranks. Zairon raised an eyebrow.
"Hm. Interesting. Keep an eye on him."
Selene nodded. "He's not from any registered kingdom."
Zairon's gaze deepened. "Then someone is moving in the dark."
But instead of fury, he grinned.
Let them come. Let them try. Let them think they can play in his domain.
Later that night, alone in his chamber, Zairon sat cross-legged, his body glowing faintly. He wasn't just enjoying the bloodsport.
He was absorbing it.
The arena was built upon a leyline nexus. Every surge of energy, every drop of spiritual essence spilled in the fighting pit, it all flowed upward — toward him.
And now, within the silence of his chamber, the madness whispered again.
Let it all burn. You could destroy them all.
No, wait… you want to rule, don't you?
Every scream down there… it's your song.
Zairon's eyes snapped open. A gold ring of light shimmered in his irises.
"I'm getting stronger."
His laugh echoed across the walls. "And the world is feeding me willingly."