Rebirth of the Battle God

Bang! Buzz!

The arena shook violently. The walls rattled, dust danced in the air, and stones skittered like sparks from a raging forge. Fists collided with the kind of force that could topple mountains—or at least crush anyone standing in their way.

Darian Kaelthorn stumbled back three steps, chest aflame, bones rattling from the impact. He looked no older than fourteen, fair-skinned, with sharp, almost ethereal features. His eyes—bright, intense, unyielding—seemed like they could pierce straight through the world. But now, under the laughter and jeers of the crowd, that brilliance was veiled, tucked away behind a calm as still as midnight waters.

His black hair had escaped its tie, fluttering around his face like dark silk in the wind. Yet Darian did not move. He didn’t even glance at the boy who had defeated him in three brutal moves. Instead, he closed his eyes, retreating into himself. The arena, the noise, the flashing fists—it all belonged to some distant, indifferent world.

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

The announcer’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding, stirring cheers and jeers alike.

Kaelen stepped down from the platform. Tall. Broad-shouldered. A jagged scar ran down his cheek like a warning etched in flesh. At eighteen, he radiated confidence, authority, and a hint of cruelty. His sharp eyes flicked over Darian with something like contempt.

“Darian… ten years. Zero victories. You’ve probably forgotten what it feels like to win. Pathetic.” The words dripped with predatory satisfaction, and Kaelen’s grin only made them worse.

The arena erupted. A hundred young disciples in light-blue robes laughed, jeered, and spat out their ridicule like a storm.

“Three moves and he’s down! Trash Darian, as always!”

Darian remained unmoved, eyes still closed. Calm. Serene. Yet beneath that stillness, a subtle pulse thrummed—quiet, unwavering, strong. Ten years of mockery had forged him into something sharper, harder, unbreakable. Deep inside, a dormant power stirred, eager to awaken.

Heaven has not forsaken me… after ten years… I will succeed.

Kaelen turned toward his clan seats. “Haha, Aeris, one step ahead. Don’t fall behind.”

Aeris Valeblue watched from the front row, composed as always. Her red silk gown hugged her slender frame, embroidered blossoms tracing delicate patterns over her chest. Her face was flawless, her brows sharp enough to silence a crowd, but her eyes—bright, calculating—gave nothing away.

“Defeating that weakling makes you proud?” Her voice was smooth, cutting. “Yes, Kaelen, you’ve improved—Eighth Stage of Ironbody Tier. But compared to Lucian? Still far behind.”

Kaelen’s grin faltered for a fraction of a second, jealousy flickering in his eyes. He chuckled dryly and returned to his seat. Just mentioning Lucian Valeblue stirred awe and envy throughout the arena.

“Next match: Aeris Valeblue versus Sylara Valeblue!”

Two figures leapt onto the platform. Aeris moved with quiet confidence. Her opponent—a plain-looking boy—stood in awe, barely hiding his admiration. The audience leaned forward, anticipation crackling like static in the air.

Darian finally opened his eyes. Years of hardship had honed his heart into calm resolve. A glance at the stage, then he turned to leave. Aeris’s gaze followed him, sharp, filled with disdain.

“Begin!”

The duel erupted. Fists collided with thunderous force. Every strike reverberated through the arena.

Darian moved toward the back, bowing to the elder among the ten Valeblue patriarchs.

“Uncle Theron, I will take my leave to continue my cultivation,” he said softly. Calm. Composed. Free of resentment.

Theron’s gaze softened. Once, Darian had been a prodigy of unmatched promise. Entrusted to the Valeblue Clan at four, carrying a mysterious artifact, he had achieved the Fifth Stage of the Ironbody Tier by five, defeating a grand academy prodigy. The realm had taken notice.

And then… silence. Ten years of halted progress, of brilliance turned to mockery. Trash Darian. The whispers never stopped.

As Darian stepped toward the exit, the air shifted. A ripple of energy swept through the arena. An ethereal chill brushed over the spectators. From above, a figure descended. Tall. Perfectly poised. Every muscle taut with power. A pale-silver crescent moon shimmered behind him.

Gasps echoed.

“Lucian! He’s come out of seclusion!”

Seventeen-year-old Lucian Valeblue stood in pristine white robes. Hair neatly tied. Aura commanding. Power radiated off him like the mark of the divine. Even Aeris’s eyes softened—despite her pride.

“Haha! Seventeen years old, already at the Valor Soul Stage! A once-in-a-century genius!” Elder Eldric declared.

Lucian bowed. “Greetings, Patriarch, Elders.”

Darian’s gaze lingered on the silver moon behind him, then shifted back to what truly mattered.

“My first request,” Lucian said, voice cold, “on Aeris’s behalf, is to annul her engagement to Darian. He is unworthy.”

The crowd stirred. Aeris leapt forward, fury in her expression.

“Father, I will not marry him! Trash Darian. Rescind the order immediately!”

Darian paused mid-step, a faint smile on his lips.

“Uncle Theron, I refused the engagement long ago. But if it must be formalized, I would appreciate an official annulment.”

Silence. Aeris flushed. Anger, humiliation, all tangled on her sharp features.

Lucian’s second demand struck harder. “The Blood Dragon Jade. Darian has no right to keep it.”

Darian’s expression hardened. That jade—and the sealed letter within—was his most treasured possession, the final legacy of his master. And arrogant Lucian dared to claim it?

One month later.

Darian’s eyes were half-lidded, calm but smoldering with restrained fury. Ten years of ridicule had shaped him into unyielding steel. Respect for Uncle Theron and the Valeblue Clan remained, but just barely.

“Patriarch,” Lucian said, voice slicing the tense air, “I request you grant my two demands.”

Theron’s gaze swept over both young men. Lucian’s Spirit Core radiated undeniable energy, yet Darian remained unmoved.

Finally, Theron spoke.

“As for Aeris… Darian requested the annulment long ago. It was a jest. Officially null. No mention shall be made again.”

Aeris trembled. Relief flickered, only to be swallowed by humiliation.

“The Blood Dragon Jade is not Valeblue property. It belongs to Darian. I merely safeguarded it. Its fate rests with him alone.”

A hush fell. Elders exchanged looks. Lucian faltered.

“So what if it’s his? Can he wield it? Protect it? Fifth Stage Ironbody Tier? Not even worthy to touch my shoes! I, Lucian, am the true power here! Darian… can you?”

Mockery surged. “Trash Darian has no right!”

Darian chuckled, calm and unwavering.

“So what if it’s provocation?” he murmured. “What is mine, I will protect.”

Black hair whipping in the wind, his hands rose, fingers curling into fists. No energy flared, yet his will pressed outward—silent, invisible, undeniable.

“Hahahaha… Lucian! One month from now, will you face me? If I lose, the jade is yours. If I win, from that day forward, whenever you see me… You will turn and walk away!”

The arena froze. Whispers spread.

“Did he just challenge Lucian?”

Lucian laughed coldly. “Good! One month from now. Right here. I will fight—and grant you a shred of dignity before I destroy you.”

Darian cupped his fists toward Theron. “Uncle Theron, bear witness. I take my leave.”

He walked away, unyielding, commanding presence in every step. Ten years of silence ended that day. Darian Kaelthorn would never be underestimated again.