A shadow crossed Yuliana’s features, Jared’s sword had moved so fast even couldn’t intervene. Around them, the celestial students went deathly pale.
They had grown up watching friendly duels, never this kind of merciless strike, no warning, no hesitation, one cut, and an Earthly Immortal Realm Level Seven’s arm lay on the stones.
None of them had even seen the swing, only a silver flash followed by the spray of blood. That Dragonslayer Sword looked plain, almost crude, yet in that instant it blurred beyond sight.
An Earthly Immortal Realm Level One had just removed the limb of an Earthly Immortal Realm Level Seven. Had they not witnessed it themselves, they would have called it impossible.
Yuliana’s pupils shrank. She had believed Jared a mere pawn propped up by unseen powers, his low cultivation cushioned by allies. What had just witnessed crushed that illusion.
Earthly immortal Realm Level One, but that strike… The control, the timing, the absolute command of the field, no ordinary novice could accomplish that, no matter what weapons are used…
Every shiver in the courtyard told the same truth.
“We agreed… No running to your father afterward. Do all celestial cultivators’ promises dissolve into hot air the moment they’re spoken?” Jared’s tone was light, almost bored.
He slid his Dragonslayer Sword back into its sheath. The sword runes on the sword’s surface drank the blood streaks, leaving the metal gleaming as though fresh from the forge.
The words left every spectator flushing scarlet, a silent confession that none could refute.
He had needed the promise shouted across the training arena so no one could pretend they had missed it, no vendettas. no visiting fathers, no settling of scores, no matter how vicious the spar turned.
And yet Westley was already stripping that promise for parts, waving his prestigious surname like a tarnished badge meant to chill common blood.
Jared let his eyes glide over the semicircle of celestial students. Wherever that cold gaze landed, proud chins collapsed.
Young men, who, moments ago, had worn sneers as easily as silk, now stared at their boots, certain one more glance would earn them the fate lying at Westley’s feet.
“We cultivators of Celestia claim to persuade with reason, not violence, how dare you cripple one of us over a simple match?!”
Out stepped a tutor in blue robes, aura anchored at Earthly Immortal Realm Level Eight. He was a tutor at the academy. His face had gone slate-gray as leveled a furious glare at Jared.
“Mr. Chance, this is Celestia’s academy, not some frontier tavern. Apologize at once, then accompany me to Lord Gale so we can clarify matters!”
Jared scoffed, eyes filled with mockery. “Persuade with reason? A moment ago, your student leaned on his higher cultivation level to spit insults, calling me an uneducated savage and declaring an Earthly Immortal Realm Level One unworthy of entering the academy… You stayed silent then. Now that his strike has backfired and lies broken, suddenly you remember the rules?”
Jared advanced a single step.
An invisible wave of pressure exploded outward. The tutor felt the hit like a battering ram, retreating half a pace, eyes flaring with private terror.
The aura was nominally Earthly Immortal Realm Level One, yet it carried the oppressive weight of an expert long accustomed to thrones and tribute, not the meek presence of a beginner.
Jared raised his voice. “Doesn‘t Celestia preach cultivation of both body and character? Do the books you revere never mention not to impose on others what you yourself would not endure? Or is your vaunted etiquette reserved solely for those weaker than you?”
Words snagged in the tutor’s throat. He had watched Westley provoke Jared, a human cultivator, and had quietly believed the arrogance justified. Now the same creed quoted to students was flung back like a blade, and had no shield to raise.
