Outside the gates of the Martial Palace, Elder Gregory stood silently, watching the departing figure of the South Sea Swordmaster vanish into the capital's busy streets.
"He wanted to use Master Aeron as a stepping stone to break into the Great Grandmaster Realm... Foolish."
Gregory shook his head and sighed, not out of contempt, but from the quiet pity that only those who truly understood the heights of the martial path could feel.
Truth be told, the tactic the Swordmaster had used—putting himself under the pressure of a life-and-death challenge to force a breakthrough—wasn't rare. Many Martial Artists had attempted such gambles. And with his remarkable talent and years of solitary training, the South Sea Swordmaster had every right to believe in his chances.
But his misstep wasn't in the method. It was in the opponent he chose.
He had chosen Aeron Vale.
Gregory had spent nearly a year now as the gatekeeper of the Martial Palace, observing Aeron's silent cultivation from a distance. And in that time, he had grown more certain of a terrifying truth.
Aeron Vale was not just a Great Grandmaster. He was something more.
Gregory could feel it in his bones, in the stillness that hung around the palace like an ancient force. Aeron's aura didn't feel like a man pushing the boundaries of his realm—it felt like someone who had already moved beyond the map.
The thought sent a chill down Gregory's spine.
"Could it be… has Master Aeron already broken through to a realm beyond even the Great Grandmasters?"
The very idea was once unthinkable. For over a thousand years, the martial world had acknowledged the Great Grandmaster as the absolute pinnacle. The end of the path. The final summit.
But now, Gregory was no longer sure.
No Great Grandmaster he had ever read about, nor the legendary founder of the Iron Dynasty, had ever wielded the kind of oppressive, soul-cutting power that Aeron displayed with a single breath.
"No wonder…" Gregory whispered. "No wonder the South Sea Swordmaster returned broken."
---
Within the Martial Palace, Aeron remained still, his expression unreadable as he sat deep in meditation.
Since the founding of the Martial Dao Conference months ago, he had remained inside, watching. Listening. Learning.
Through hundreds of duels, clashes, displays of obscure footwork and ancient inner breathing techniques, he had witnessed a kaleidoscope of philosophies and traditions.
And while none of these martial artists were individually threatening to him, each brought with them a piece of the greater puzzle—a sliver of truth hidden in centuries of isolated practice.
[Your comprehension is heaven-defying. You observe the world's martial essence and have deepened your understanding of realms beyond Mythic.]
[Your comprehension is heaven-defying. You observe countless Martial Dao expressions and glimpse the principles of nature itself.]
[Your comprehension is heaven-defying. You develop the technique: Cloud Mist Soul-Refining Art.]
[Your comprehension is heaven-defying. You begin to sense the direction of the next breakthrough.]
Each message blazed through his soul like a flare in the void.
Aeron's eyes snapped open.
"I see it now," he murmured.
"The path beyond Mythic."
He wasn't there yet. But he could see it. It shimmered at the edge of his perception like a distant shore just over the horizon. The sheer breadth of understanding required to reach it was terrifying.
But with his Heaven-Defying Comprehension, he knew that all that remained was time.
And so, Aeron stood.
It was time to return.
---
Back outside the palace, Elder Gregory stirred from his vigil, sensing the subtle shift in the air.
The gates creaked open.
But where he expected to see a seated monk deep in contemplation, there was nothing.
Only silence.
"Aeron…" Gregory whispered.
He knew, in that moment, that the master had left.
For a long while, he stood unmoving, staring at the open doors of the Martial Palace. A strange emptiness bloomed in his chest.
Even though he had known—they had all known—that Aeron would one day leave the capital, it still felt as if something monumental had just departed from the world.
---
Far away, high in the ancient Shaoshi Mountains, the Grand Zen Monastery sat cloaked in quiet mist.
At its front gates, Abbot Elias stood with several elders. They had gathered here nearly every day since the rumors began.
The monk who had shattered the Iron Dynasty. The one who had walked through the Palace of the Great Grandmasters and emerged untouched.
They knew who he was.
The world might debate it. The sects might argue. The dynasties might speculate.
But they knew.
It could only be Aeron.
After all, who else but their own prodigal disciple—Aeron Vale—could achieve such things?
Still, they hadn't heard from him in over a year. Not a single message. Not even a whisper of his intentions.
And while they had never doubted his loyalty, the rising tide of his fame troubled them.
"The world exalts him now," said Elder Jonah, the head of the Discipline Hall. "They call him the first Great Grandmaster in history. Some say he has already surpassed the limits of the known realms."
Elder Jonah paused, then continued quietly:
"He's still just a boy, you know. Barely into his second decade of life."
The Abbot nodded solemnly.
"Fame can be more dangerous than any blade."
It wasn't that they feared Aeron would turn corrupt. But he had climbed higher than anyone else had ever dared. And he had done it too quickly. The higher one soared, the more unstable the air became.
"Let's just hope he returns before the world tries to claim him for itself."
---
As if summoned by their words, a familiar figure began to ascend the long mountain path.
A young monk, clad in simple robes and worn cloth shoes, moved steadily toward the gates.
His pace was relaxed.
His presence—calm as still water.
The Abbot's eyes widened.
"He's back."
A moment later, Aeron Vale stood before the gates of the monastery he once called home.
The elders, Abbot, and disciples bowed deeply.
He returned the gesture with a humble incline of his head.
"It's done," Aeron said simply.
Then he passed through the gates and disappeared into the shadow of the Sutra Hall.
---
Just like that—
The disciple who had once walked down the mountain with the fire of ambition in his chest had now returned.
Not as a student. Not as a wand
erer.
But as a being reborn.
He had entered the world… and now, he had transcended it.
(End of Chapter)
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