Chapter 13: The Battle Tournament Ceremony
Two days passed in the blink of an eye.
The City of Dream, Daveron, burst into feverish life. Streets that had lain quiet under perpetual frost now thrummed with the arrival of demon practitioners from every corner of Fortsterling. They came on foot, on horseback, on the backs of snarling spirit beasts and winged horrors. The air grew thick with clashing auras: crimson flames, black blade aura, the low growl of armored mounts. Banners snapped in the wind, each embroidered with the sigils of demon cities, academies, and bloodlines long at war.
Yet amid the sea of cultivators, some stood out like blades drawn in moonlight.
A child no older than fifteen walked alone through the press of bodies. His eyes glowed with a constant, unsettling pinkish light, neither flame nor mana, but something deeper, dream-touched. Dark hair neatly parted, posture relaxed yet radiating unshakable confidence, as though the entire crowd existed only to part before him.
"Abadon," a deep voice rumbled from behind. "I see you made it here too."
The child turned. Approaching him was a giant of a boy, broad shoulders, wild grin, a massive tower shield strapped to his back and a double-headed axe resting casually on one shoulder. Steam rose faintly from his skin; his aura already simmered like a furnace barely contained.
"Zion of Oren," Abandon replied, lips curling into a matching smile. "You crazed lunatic."
He stepped forward. Pink light flared brighter in his eyes. Zion's entire body stiffened mid-stride, muscles locking as though invisible chains had wrapped around his limbs.
"He's grown stronger," Zion muttered, steam pouring thicker from his pores. His axe began to hum, crimson energy coiling along the blade.
Before the tension could ignite into violence, a heavy hand clamped down on Zion's shoulder.
"Foolish one. Do not perform any disgraceful act further."
Zion shivered violently. "Fa, Father!"
The man who had appeared behind him ignored the outburst entirely. Tall, broad, clad in dark steel chased with crimson runes, he stared down at Abandon with calm, measuring eyes.
"You are Onazi's child," he said simply.
Abandon met the gaze without flinching. Before he could respond, the sky itself rippled.
A tremendous tear opened high above the central plaza. Five Vulcan Lions, each Rank 5, manes wreathed in living flame, burst through, pulling an enormous obsidian carriage. They circled once, twice, trailing fire across the sky.
"Everyone, welcome the Demon Commander Academy!"
The crowd erupted in applause. A man in deep red robes stepped from the carriage. His eyes were ancient, deep, scarred by endless battle. He leaped down, aura flaring to cushion his descent like a falling comet. Boots struck stone with controlled thunder.
"May the divinity of the Demons rain forever," he intoned, voice carrying across the plaza. He claimed one of the high seats reserved for academy heads.
"Isn't that Lord Alvin?" whispers spread like wildfire. "The one rumored to have slain Wailing Blade of the Righteous Path… vice-principal of Demon Command Academy."
His cold gaze swept the crowd once, then settled.
Another rift tore open.
A Blade Wolf King, massive, silver-furred, eyes like drawn steel, leaped from the rift, running across the sky itself. Blade energy trailed in its wake, carving glowing arcs through the clouds. Atop its back sat a man in black robes, posture relaxed, almost bored.
"Everyone, welcome the Blade Devil Academy!"
The wolf performed a final, acrobatic spiral before shrinking mid-leap, becoming a small black pup that landed on the man's shoulder. The rider landed lightly.
"Blade is the only way," he said simply, claiming his seat.
"Dabara the Persistent Blade," voices murmured. "The top academies… they're all appearing on this land."
Lord Alvin's gaze flicked toward Dabara, cold, unreadable. Dabara paid him no mind. The pup on his shoulder yawned.
Then the sky split again.
A knight in full crimson armor charged out of the rift astride a night-black stallion, its coat gleaming like polished obsidian, muscles rippling with restrained power. Hooves struck air as though it trod on solid ground.
"Everyone, welcome Twilight Academy!"
The crowd rose to their feet. Twilight Academy, renowned across Fortsterling for forging the finest demon knights, commanded instant reverence.
The stallion halted before the high seats with perfect martial precision, hooves striking in time to unseen drums. The knight removed her helm. Long red hair spilled free, framing a proud, beautiful face etched with quiet disdain.
She leaped down, armor clinking softly.
"General Alvin of Demons. General Dabara of Blades." Her voice was clear, edged. "This one greets you."
Alvin clicked his tongue and turned his head away. She ignored the slight, taking her seat with regal calm.
Then, silence.
A low hum filled the air.
A single figure appeared high above, standing on a floating blade. His robes whipped in the windless sky. Aura ignited, violet-black, coiling into the shape of a roaring dragon that danced across the heavens.
"Everyone, welcome the Celestial Demon Academy!"
The applause was thunderous, reverent, almost fearful.
"The number one academy in Fortsterling," an old warrior breathed. "Famous for possessing evil spirits within their Ego weapons."
The figure descended in graceful silence. His presence carried the faint, unmistakable tang of something demonic, something ancient and hungry.
"So if I am not mistaken," the old man continued, "that is General Vabun. The one whose Ego weapon houses the Devil Dragon spirit… vice-principal of Celestial Demon Academy."
Vabun landed without sound. The violet dragon dissipated into smoke that clung to his blade. He took his seat, highest among them.
I moved through the crowd.
My cane tapped the stone in steady rhythm, mapping the chaos around me. Life energies surged from every direction, thousands of cultivators, their auras clashing, overlapping, drowning out finer details. Echoes bounced off bodies, banners, weapons, stone. The sheer density confused my perception; I could not pinpoint my exact location amid the press.
"Urgh."
I collided with a bulky figure.
Before I could speak, a meaty hand seized my collar and yanked me upward.
"Haha, who is this blind insect before me?" The voice dripped disgust.
Without thought, I grabbed his wrist. I pushed off the ground, spun mid-air, and twisted. Bone cracked. The man screamed.
The crowd gasped, several voices rising in shock.
I released him mid-spin, pushed away, and melted back into the throng. My presence faded, cloak drawn tight, aura masked. I walked calmly, cane tapping, as though nothing had happened.
Several gazes followed me.
Some cold. Some excited. Some burning with sudden rivalry.
But one never wavered.
A turbulent energy locked onto my departing figure, vicious, focused, unblinking.
"Yunku," a low voice spoke from behind the watchers. "Has someone caught your interest in this place?"
The eyes remained fixed on me. "No. Just insects skittering."
A final glance, cold, predatory, then the presence turned away.
I kept walking.
The ceremony had only begun.