Jared’s smile deepened. “Divine markings mirror the laws of nature, yes, but what stirs them is mastery of spiritual energy, not bloodline. Though I’m not one of the celestials, I can still draft charms that suppress divine markings.”
A flick of his finger and an Exorcism Charm bloomed in mid-air. Runes glimmered along its edges, emitting a golden pulse that muted divine markings.
Jared, after all, had studied under both Divinus and Hellion. For Westley to parade divine markings before was like teaching a fish to swim.
Westley’s pupils contracted. “Then explain Compendium of Ten Thousand Arts, it says that cultivation must advance step by step, leaping realms courts disaster. Will you call that false as well?”
“Steady progress is the foundation, not an iron shackle,” Jared shook his head. “When the first human patriarch faced annihilation, pierced two cultivation levels overnight and rose from earthly immortal to heavenly immortal. Was that textbook protocol? Cultivation is rowing upstream, sometimes you must burn the boat to find the hidden current.”
Quoting ancient records and history alike, peeled apart every argument Westley hurled, until each page lay metaphorically in tatters at their feet.
Students drifted closer, heads nodding, eyes alight with new possibilities as Jared’s words unsettled beliefs they had never dared question.
A vein throbbed at Westley’s temple. Out-argued on every front, could only snarl, “Words are wind, strength decides all!”
Westley thrust a finger at Jared, his voice sharp enough to slice stone.
“You’re an Earthly Immortal Realm Level One, a good-for-nothing. Wrap your cowardice in pretty speeches all you want. It won’t change how pathetically weak you are. If you’ve got a spine, step up and fight me. I’ll show everyone how a true son of the Celestials disciplines a human who’s forgotten his place!”
As spoke, golden divine markings blazed to life across his skin.
The oppressive aura of an Earthly Immortal Realm Level Seven roared from his body, rolling over the courtyard like thunder-proof was done playing games.
Yuliana’s brow tightened. “Westley, that’s enough. Show some respect!”
Her command cracked through the tension like a whip, yet it barely slowed him.
Westley’s glare never left Jared. “What’s wrong, tongue tied already? A moment ago, you wouldn’t shut up. Now you‘ll learn that in the face of absolute power. your cheap philosophy isn’t worth dust.”
Jared studied the raging Westley, a cold curve lifting one corner of his mouth. “Fine… Let’s fight. But I have one condition…”
Westley, certain a plea for mercy was coming, let a triumphant smile spread. “Name it!”
“If I win, you admit Celestia’s academy doesn’t hold every truth, and you concede that celestial cultivators are no more noble than human cultivators,” Jared said, letting his eyes sweep the circle of students.
Without a thought, Westley barked, “Done! If you lose, you’ll kneel, knock your head to the ground, slap your own face, and crawl out of Celestia City!”
Jared’s smile sharpened. “No problem, Mr. Gale… Just remember, when I hit, I don’t pull back. If you end up broken, don’t go crying to Lord Gale for jusfice…”
“Arrogant wretch!” Westley exploded forward. Gold-laced spiritual energy coiled around his fist, the blow howling through the air toward Jared’s face.
A wet, tearing hiss split the courtyard.
Jared’s eyes stayed flat with disdain. In his hand appeared the Dragonslayer Sword, a slate-gray blade whose simple lines hid a hunger for blood. He swung once, lazily, almost casually.
Blood sprayed, shockingly bright against the quiet paving stones in the academy’s courtyard house. It pattered onto the iolite slabs and blossomed into crimson flowers.
Westley, an Earthly Immortal Realm Level Seven, froze mid-stride, pupils contracting to pinpoints as stared at the space where his right arm should have been.
A clean stump remained, arteries and meridians pumping both spiritual energy and hot blood into the air, a tide of pain that drowned coherent thought.
“M-My arm! Argh!” His scream shattered the hush. He stumbled back, clutching the wound with his remaining arm. Pride and swagger peeled off his face, replaced by raw terror.
“You dared maim me? I’m the son of Lord Gale! You lowborn human cultivator actually severed my arm!” Westley’s gaze was filled with rage and disbelief.
