Rebirth of the Battle God

Bang! Buzz!

A violent shockwave tore through the air as fists collided, the sound echoing like a thunderclap. Shards of stone burst into the air from the force.

Darian staggered back three paces before he could steady himself, the heavy punch to his chest still ringing in his bones.

He looked no more than fourteen or fifteen—fair-skinned, fine-featured, and already strikingly handsome. But it was his eyes that drew people in—bright, dazzling, born to shine—imbuing his still-youthful face with an uncommon charm.

Yet at this moment, that brilliance was dulled. His black hair, loosened from the tie of his martial robe, fluttered in the wind. He didn’t even glance at the opponent who had defeated him in only three moves. Instead, he closed his eyes, his expression calm, as if lost in a world far removed from the noise around him.

“Darian, eliminated! Kaelen Valeblue advances to the next round!”

The booming announcement came from behind the massive martial stage.

Kaelen —tall, broad-shouldered, his face marked by a jagged scar—was eighteen and brimming with confidence. He leapt from the stage, his movements fluid and controlled. His eyes swept over Darian’s closed ones with open contempt.

As he passed, his lips curled into a mocking grin.

“Darian… tell me, have you been keeping count? Ten years, and how many times have you lost? Oh, wait… You probably forgot what victory even feels like. Heh… pathetic trash.”

The insults didn’t end there.

“Trash Darian got Kaelen in his first match—serves him right!”

“Three moves and he’s down. What a disgrace.”

“Ten years, not a single win. And he still keeps showing up. He’s not just trash—he’s crazy.”

The jeers came from the left side of the arena, where over a hundred boys and girls—none older than twelve—watched. Their light-blue martial robes were neat and identical, their youthful faces bright and full of energy like the morning sun.

Darian stood unmoving, eyes still shut. He had long since grown used to this.

But no one knew… deep within his body, something earth-shaking was stirring.

Even after ten years of silence, his will as hard as forged steel, Darian’s body trembled faintly. Excitement surged through him, a tremor rising from the depths of his soul, begging to be released.

Heaven has not forsaken me… After ten years… I’ve finally succeeded!

“Haha, Aeris Valeblue, I’m one step ahead. Don’t fall behind.”

Kaelen’s voice carried across the arena as he strode toward the right side, where dozens of young elites sat on stone benches. His gaze was fixed on a young woman in the front row.

The moment he approached, the air grew heavier—battle-hardened eyes turned toward him, and sharp auras filled the space. These were the Valeblue Clan’s rising stars.

Aeris sat with effortless poise, one long leg crossed over the other. Her red silk dress clung to her slim waist, blossoms embroidered across her chest. Her chin was delicate, her phoenix eyes bright beneath slender brows, and her lips a soft, crimson hue. She was a beauty that stirred hearts.

But her voice was cold.

“Defeating that piece of trash makes you so proud? Yes, your strength has improved—Eighth Stage of the Ironbody Tier—but compared to Brother Lucian, you’re still far behind.”

Kaelen’s smile stiffened. A shadow of jealousy flickered in his eyes, but he only gave a dry chuckle before retreating to his seat.

The name “Lucian Valeblue” lit up the faces of those behind Aeris—envy and admiration plain in their expressions.

“Next match: Aeris Valeblue versus Sylara Valeblue.

The deep, commanding voice silenced the arena in an instant. It belonged to the patriarch himself— Theron Valeblue.

Two figures leapt onto the fifty-paces-wide platform. A faint fragrance drifted with Aeris as she took her place, her opponent a plain-looking boy whose eyes burned with infatuation as he gazed at her.

Aeris—the Valeblue Clan’s cold goddess. Talented, beautiful, and untouchable, she was worshiped by countless young disciples.

Darian opened his eyes at last. A decade of hardship had tempered his heart—his gaze was steady and calm. He gave the stage a single glance before turning to leave. But as Aeris’s eyes passed over him, they brimmed with humiliation and loathing.

“Begin!”

Boom! Bang!

The duel between Aeris and Sylara erupted.

Darian made his way to the back of the arena and bowed to the man seated among ten elders.

“Uncle Theron, I’ll take my leave to continue cultivating.”

His voice was clear, without a trace of bitterness from his defeat.

Theron nodded, though a complicated look crossed his face.

Ten years ago, Darian had been a peerless prodigy.

Though not born of the Valeblue Clan, the boy had been entrusted to them at age four, along with a mysterious item. By five, he had broken through to the Fifth Stage of the Ironbody Tier, something unheard of. That same year, he defeated a prodigy from the Qingming Divine Palace, one of the five great sects of the Northern Heaven Domain.

The land was shaken. A five-year-old at the Fifth Stage—tempering sinews before his qi and blood had even fully formed—was a miracle.

But after that day, his progress stopped.

For ten years, no matter the method, his cultivation refused to advance. The verdict was always the same—Qi and blood mysteriously withered; unsuitable for cultivation.

The genius became “Trash Darian.”

Darian was just about to step off the grounds when a surge of origin force swept over the arena.

A tall youth descended from the sky, skin, flesh, sinews, bones, and marrow all perfected—his qi and blood fused seamlessly with his origin force. Behind him shimmered a pale-silver crescent moon, majestic in its aura.

Gasps erupted.

“Lucian! He’s out of seclusion!”

“He’s… broken through the Ironbody Tier!”

“That’s the Soul Moon!”

Lucian stood tall, dressed in spotless white robes, hair tied neatly, his presence commanding every gaze. Even Aeris’s eyes softened with admiration.

Elder Eldric Valeblue rose, pride in his voice.

“Haha! Lucian, seventeen years old and already at the Valor Soul Stage of the Mortal-Washing Realm! A once-in-a-century genius!”

Lucian bowed. “Greetings to the Patriarch and Elders.”

The praise was unanimous.

Darian, standing behind him, looked at the silver moon, his thoughts surging. So that’s the mark of the Cleanseborn Realm…

But his focus quickly returned—he had something far more important to confirm.

Lucian stepped forward. “Patriarch, I have two requests.”

Aeris’s eyes lit up. She cast a look of pure disdain at Darian’s back.

“Oh? As promised, you may speak,” Theron said.

Lucian’s gaze dropped on Darian, cold and dismissive.

“My first request—on Aeris’s behalf—is to annul her engagement to Darian. He is… unworthy.”

The crowd stirred.

Aeris leapt gracefully down from her seat, standing beside Lucian like a crimson butterfly.

“Father, I will not marry Darian. Please rescind your command. I will never marry trash.”

Darian stopped mid-step. All eyes watched, expecting rage or humiliation.

Instead, he turned with a faint smile.

“Uncle Theron, I refused the engagement long ago. Since it’s being brought up now, please rescind it. I’d be grateful.”

The crowd was stunned.

Aeris’s face flushed in anger. Lucian’s brows rose slightly, but his gaze remained cold.

“My second request,” he said, “is for the Blood Dragon Jade. Darian has no right to keep it.”

The smile vanished from Darian’s face. His eyes turned sharp.

The Blood Dragon Jade—along with a sealed letter—was all that Fu Bo had left him. It was the most precious thing in his life.

And Lucian wanted to take it.