SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS

“Bring them.”

The hawk-nosed senior snapped his fingers.

A line of disciples hurried forward with jade gourds bound in silk. Stoppers yanked; pale light flew forth—pearled pupae, fresh-spun, each trembling with its own tiny current. They swarmed the basin, and the mirror of water became a field of stars.

“Rules,” the broad-shouldered senior barked. “No cages, no spells that bind the body. Water arts permitted; so is footwork. If you fall into the basin, your count resets.”

“Time limit?” Lucy called, tone suddenly bright, as if at an auction she’d just decided to run.

“Two incense sticks,” the third senior snapped. He thrust a stick tip-first into the ice at his feet; flame caught on its own, unwavering. Another followed on the far edge of the basin. The source of ths content is NovєlFіre.net

Kent took one step onto the garden’s lower stair. The basin trembled—just a quiver—and stilled, like a beast scenting a greater beast.

From the Glacial River ranks: “He’s trying to scare water.”

“Water doesn’t scare.”

“Neither do we.”

Bai Qi exhaled, slow. “He will walk it.”

Lin Lin’s eyes narrowed, curious in spite of herself. “He will teach it to walk him.”

Thea’s fingers drifted to her throat, then fell away. Lily folded her arms tighter, as if bracing against a gust only she could feel.

Below, the hawk-nosed senior raised both hands. “Begin on my mark. Any other mountain may witness, but no interference. If you cheat, we freeze your tongue to the flagstones.”

Tata Lan hopped onto the rail. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Three,” the senior called, drawing power so the basin’s skin tightened like drumhead.

“Two,” answered the broad-shouldered one, frost haloing his boots.

“One,” said the third, palm hovering over the incense, ready to turn it as soon as the ash marked time—

A pressure fell.

Not a blast, not a shout—a presence, like deep water passing under a keel. It rolled down the terraces, bent the bamboo, hushed the banners. The incense flames flattened without going out; the frost sigils on the paving stones bled into blur.

A single word, heavy as a bell dropped into a lake, came from above.

“Enough.”

The air itself froze. A figure descended, robes as vast as clouds, hair white as moonlight, eyes deep as an endless sea. An elder of the Academy had arrived. The disciples of Glacial River Mountain instantly bowed low, their faces paling.

The elder’s gaze fell on Kent, sharp and cold, but also tinged with curiosity. “Golden Heir you may be, but you are not yet a disciple of this Academy. Until you stand-beneath the banner of a mountain, you cannot partake in its duels. No tests. No competitions. To do otherwise would upset the balance.”

The Glacial River disciples stiffened. Their victory had been stolen from their hands before it even began. Rage burned in their eyes, but they dared not argue.

Kent remained silent for a breath, then inclined his head slightly. “I still need-time to choose. Until then, I will not raise my hand.”

His calm dismissal struck sharper than any sword. He turned his back on the disciples, robes flowing as though nothing in the world could touch him. The crowd erupted in murmurs, whispers spreading like wildfire.

“Golden Heir refused the duel…”

“No—he dismissed it. As if it were beneath him.”

“The arrogance… or perhaps the confidence.”

Inside the pavilion, Fatty Ben muttered nervously, “Hah, lucky for those worm-collectors. If Brother Kent had agreed, they’d be eating their own ice streams by now.”

But Kent did not linger on the matter. His mind had already moved elsewhere.

When he returned to the Central Hall to report, his eyes shifted toward the side. “That servant girl who guided us the first day… the one who sold stone slabs, who took us to the mountains. Where is she?”

The old elder behind the desk lifted his gaze. His smirk deepened. “Servant? Boy, she is no servant. That one is Lan Xiang, top disciple of the Academy. She has already reached the pinnacle of her realm. Only a breath separates her from stepping into the True Heavenly Realm.”

Kent’s brows tightened faintly. “Then why… act as a menial guide?”

The elder dipped his brush into ink, unhurried. “Because she has tried every method. Every scripture, every pill, every battle. Yet the heavens refuse her. Perhaps she grows bored. Perhaps she seeks her own path.” He let the words hang like smoke before lowering his head to continue his scribbling.

Kent said nothing more. He turned and left.

Outside, the sun was lowering into the western horizon, painting the academy’s peaks in amber fire. At the base of the Central Hall steps, he saw her—Lan Xiang. She stood alone, leaning on her floating stone slab, arms folded, eyes watching the horizon as if nothing could stir her.

Kent walked toward her. His steps were slow but sure. She turned when she felt his presence, her gaze sharp, but not unfriendly.

“You are not a servant,” he said simply.

Her lips curved faintly. “Ah. So the old man told you.”

Kent’s eyes studied her. “Why pretend?”

Lan Xiang shrugged lightly. “Because titles mean little when the heavens laugh at you. I have trained every path, tested every scripture, battled every opponent the academy could throw at me. Yet… no breakthrough. My bottleneck mocks me. So I amuse myself—selling stone slabs, guiding arrogant heirs, watching who trips first.”

There was no bitterness in her tone, only a strange, quiet amusement.

Kent regarded her in silence for a moment, then said, “Even still, pretending to be lowly… isn’t it tiring?”

Her smile widened, the corners of her eyes softening. “Better than being worshipped and pitied in the same breath. Fun is the only thing left to me until the heavens open their gates.”

For a time, they stood in silence, the wind lifting their robes. Then she asked, “And you, Golden Heir? Do you not feel the chains of destiny? Everyone watches you, whispers about you. Do you not want to cast it aside and laugh for a while?”