Chapter 54: Coliseum Clashes
Everyone—elders, members, and heirs—finished their meal.
Afterwards, the entire gathering moved toward a grand arena that resembled a coliseum. The sun blazed harshly above, but the seating areas were shaded and already packed.
Just then, a tall host stepped into the center of the open stadium and raised his voice:
> "You may now engage in friendly challenges."
His tone was formal, but excitement rippled through the crowd.
Without wasting a moment, Xiao Dian Long—clad in the sharp white robes of a rising Xiao Clan heir—stood up from his seat with a loud scrape of his chair. His movements were bold, impatient, laced with the arrogance of youth. The quiet murmur of the crowd dimmed as all eyes turned to him.
"I challenge Xiao Ziyang," he declared, his voice firm and full of unshaken confidence.
A few whispers echoed across the stone coliseum stands. Some of the younger heirs exchanged amused glances, while the elders raised their brows, intrigued.
On the far side of the seating arena, Xiao Ziyang remained still.
For a brief second, it seemed as if he hadn't heard.
Then—silently—he rose.
No expression crossed his face. No fiery retort. No visible interest.
He didn't even look at Dian Long.
Ziyang simply stood up, hands in his sleeves, and made his way toward the center of the arena with a quiet grace that carried more weight than words. His calm footsteps echoed faintly across the platform as if the ground itself made way for him.
Dian Long followed behind him, jaw clenched, fists tightening with each step. The fire in his eyes was undeniable—he wasn't just here to spar. He wanted to prove something. To the elders. To the audience. To himself.
As they faced each other on the stone-tiled floor of the open arena, the sunlight bore down harshly, casting long shadows behind them. The silence was thick with anticipation.
And then—
> "I'll prove to the elders that I'm stronger than you," Dian Long said, voice sharper this time, nearly spitting the words out.
He was expecting Ziyang to say something. To rise to the bait. To at least acknowledge him.
Instead—
Ziyang brought up one hand, pinky finger extended, and casually scratched the inside of his ear.
Like the challenge hadn't even registered.
Like Dian Long was just another fly buzzing in the wind.
A few stifled chuckles emerged from the crowd.
Dian Long's face flushed with fury. His breath quickened. His nails dug into his palm.
This wasn't just disrespect—it was dismissal.
And that—he couldn't tolerate.
The referee, sensing the tension spiking, stepped forward. He raised his hand in a practiced motion—the signal was ancient, sacred in clan duels.
> "Begin."
The air shifted.
Dian Long's body moved instantly, like a coiled spring released.
The match was on.
Xiao Dian Long didn't hesitate.
The moment the referee's hand dropped, he surged forward like a bullet—
His first punch flew toward Ziyang's nose, sharp and fast.
The second—a brutal hook to the lower jaw.
Then a sweeping strike aimed at the knee,
followed by a sharp blow toward the back,
and finally—a piercing thrust straight at Ziyang's chest, right where the heart would be.
Each strike was launched with precision, power, and the eagerness of someone desperate to prove himself.
But—
None of them landed.
Ziyang's body flowed like liquid shadow, moving between attacks with an elegance that almost felt lazy.
His feet barely shifted. His upper body swayed, ducked, leaned, twisted—each movement minimal but perfectly timed.
He didn't even look strained.
In fact—
he yawned.
Right in the middle of the flurry.
His hand briefly rose to cover his mouth as if bored by the entire display.
The crowd froze.
The message couldn't have been clearer:
Xiao Dian Long was wasting his time.
Dian Long, gritting his teeth in frustration, went for one final punch—a desperate, rage-filled blow meant to catch Ziyang off-guard.
But Ziyang—
He simply shifted his weight.
Leaned to the left—just enough to let the punch sail past his cheek.
And then—
With zero wind-up, he struck.
A single, clean counterpunch.
Fast. Precise. Brutal.
Crack.
His fist connected squarely with Dian Long's face.
The impact echoed across the coliseum like a whip crack.
Time seemed to slow as Dian Long's head snapped back, his feet left the ground—and his body crumpled backward, collapsing flat on the arena floor.
Silence.
Dust swirled around the fallen heir as Ziyang stood over him, completely calm.
Not even a hair out of place.
Without a word, he turned away—
Glanced down at Dian Long with a look that wasn't smug... just disappointed.
Pitiful.
Then he walked back to his seat, hands tucked behind his back.
To Ziyang, this wasn't a fight.
It was just a brief interruption.
His only true rival was still out there—
Fengjin.
The referee stepped in and cast a minor healing spell on the fallen fighter.
Red-faced and humiliated, Dian Long kept his gaze low and slowly walked back to his seat.
He had never felt this embarrassed in his life.
---
Several more one-on-one duels followed—three or four in quick succession—mostly between young heirs of the Hale Clan and the Xiao Clan.
But after Dian Long's brutal defeat, none dared challenge the top-tier heirs.
That is—
Until a figure stood up.
A young man with unruly red hair, his expression calm yet unreadable.
Clad in the sleek uniform of the Hale Clan's elite, he looked to be around 25 years old—his build athletic, his eyes sharp with calculation.
Daren Hale.
His sudden movement turned heads.
Most hadn't expected anyone else to rise—especially not from the Hale side.
But Daren didn't hesitate.
His gaze locked across the coliseum—past the elders, past the whispering heirs—and settled on one person.
James Lee.
James was seated with one leg casually crossed over the other, a bucket of caramel popcorn in hand, completely at ease.
He was clearly enjoying the show, his posture relaxed, his shirt still buttoned, and an almost bored look in his eyes.
Daren raised his hand—and pointed directly at him.
> "I challenge you," he said, voice firm, cutting through the murmurs like a blade.
A ripple of surprise spread through the audience.
Even James paused mid-bite.
He blinked once.
Then slowly turned his head to confirm what he already knew—
Yep.
He was being called out.
A few nearby heirs looked toward him with curiosity. Some with amusement.
James didn't flinch.
Instead, he let out a short breath through his nose—half smirk, half sigh.
Then, wordlessly, he stood up.
He reached for the buttons on his coat, undoing them one by one with practiced ease.
The jacket slipped off, followed by his overshirt—both folded neatly and draped across his seat.
Underneath, he wore a plain black t-shirt, fitted enough to show just enough definition without trying too hard.
Peach-colored pants, comfortable but stylish.
And a pair of white shoes that looked brand new.
His whole vibe said:
"I don't need to try hard to look good."
The crowd leaned forward.
James stepped into the arena with unhurried confidence, his hands in his pockets, every movement fluid.
His expression had changed—
The playful smirk was gone.
His eyes were now steady. Focused.
Not tense… but watchful.
Daren stood at the center, already in stance. He said nothing, but the challenge burned in his posture.
He remembered too well how James had skipped most combat drills. How he breezed through theory with a lazy grin. How he treated practical tests like playground games.
> "He's talented, but undisciplined," Daren had once said aloud. " He is maybe the strongest in Aegis academy but it is different here."
Now, in front of the elders, clan heads, and countless heirs, he saw his chance.
Beating James Lee here would elevate him.
Not just in reputation—but in status, in honor, in credit ranking.
He would no longer be "just another Hale heir."
He'd be someone who brought down James Lee—the favored prodigy of whispers and wild rumors.
The referee stepped forward, raising a single hand between them.
Silence fell.
James rolled his neck lazily—then brought his fists up.
His stance wasn't formal.
It wasn't even polished.
But it was balanced.
Daren narrowed his eyes.
Something was off.
The crowd held its breath.
The duel was about to begin.
To be continued…