Theron met Ironvale’s gaze calmly.
"I killed Beifong at Eighth Bronze Resonance. What do you think I can do now that I’m at the Ninth?"
Ironvale hardly seemed to react to this, but that didn’t stop others from being shocked. This detail seemed to have slipped the minds of most.
At the time, Beifong was already Quasi-Silver; he was just waiting for the perfect opportunity for a flawless breakthrough. By joining the Obsidian Eclipse Sect, he would have gained access to a wider range of Echoes to choose from. That was likely his main goal.
With the capital of the stolen methods of the Luminescent Moon Sect, he would have had the leverage to demand something quite great as well.
Though, thinking back, if the Patriarch could get his hands on something like the Black Limbo Tortoise, then what could he have not gotten for the sake of his foster son?
It just went to show that even the youth wasn’t free from his own father’s schemes.
But to Ironvale… Explore stories at
"The gap between Silver and Bronze is quite substantial."
For the first time, Ironvale smiled.
"Indeed. To me it is." Ironvale looked off to the side, sweeping a gaze over the crowd before he landed on a particular youth. "Caelan, are you willing to fight?"
An inner disciple was startled. First, he was stunned that his hero was talking to him, and second… how did Ironvale even know his name?
"Ah… yes, yes, yes!" By the third "yes," his voice seemed to have regained its firmness.
Theron raised an internal eyebrow. Interesting.’
"I won’t offer to suppress my cultivation as I don’t think that would be very fair. Why don’t you fight one of our best First Silver Resonance disciples instead?"
Caelan blushed almost as though he was a young maiden. He really couldn’t take this sort of praise from Ironvale of all people.
"It makes no difference to me," Theron said calmly.
Theron’s words seemed to focus Caelan. No matter what… he couldn’t lose.
Soon, the two young men stood across from one another. Caelan wasn’t too old, probably around 15 years old. The gap between him and Theron was probably half a year at most.
Caelan, though, had a much taller build. He must have been at least six feet tall already, while Theron was still 5’6" or so. The difference in stature was great, and the gap in power seemed greater.
With a smooth motion, Caelan unsheathed his sword, his bronzed skin flickering beneath the sunlight almost as much as its polished surface. His grip tightened only the slightest bit before it loosened so much it seemed his blade might fall from his hands.
In that moment, he had forgotten about everything.
All the praise, all the gazes, he forgot it all. There was only the blade in his palm and the enemy before him.
There was an echo of a gong and the two moved at once.
Theron dashed forward, his steps light.
Just when it seemed he would complete an exchange without unsheathing his weapons, the sound of blades sharpening lagged behind the swiftness of his movements.
His dagger slashed toward a blind spot, his short sword moving to meet Caelan’s.
Caelan’s forefoot glided along the ground, his knees sturdy beneath the strain, his muscles flexing. He came to an abrupt and controlled stop, his blade shifting from a straightforward thrust to a violent swipe upward.
Lights of gold streaked up, clashing against Theron’s short sword.
Theron’s vision was blinded by the arc of the sword, and the strong attack against his sword almost sent it flying out of his palm. There was no doubt that Caelan’s raw power, even in a sudden change of attack, was something else.
And, because he came to such an abrupt stop, Theron’s dagger hit nothing but air.
Suddenly, Theron was swiping at nothing and his sword arm had been knocked up, leaving his chest completely open to attack.
Caelan’s foot came strong and fast, colliding against Theron’s torso.
Theron flew back, his body twisting in the air to land on his feet. The grip he had on his blades only tightened, his eyes flashing with the glow of a quickly forming spell.
But he had only completed half of its circulation when Caelan appeared.
Faster than fast, even.
It was as though he had become a streak of white-gold, his body wrapped in a glow that could have only been [Moonlit Skin]. There was no need to cast such a defensive method right now, and yet he had.
He wanted a strong and decisive victory.
Theron hurried to block, the cross of his blade barely stopping the tip of Caelan’s sword.
The sound of his dagger cracking resonated like thunder in Theron’s ears.
He reacted quickly, pulling his arm up and using the notch Caelan’s sword was cut in to forcefully send it over his shoulder before his dagger completely gave way.
A sharp pain ran through his shoulder. He had succeeded, but not enough to completely avoid injury.
And now, Caelan was suddenly so close he didn’t even have an angle to thrust his short sword.
A body coated in [Moonlit Skin] slammed against Theron’s.
The echo of bones snapping was only less obvious than the streak of blood that came from Theron’s lips. The arc of scarlet was almost blinding with so much red gold as a backdrop.
Theron landed on the ground heavily, his body aching.
He tried to stand, but a blade had appeared above him, hovering before his throat.
Theron looked at the blade for a while before nodding.
"I yield. You are very strong."
Caelan blinked, seemingly snapping out of his hyper-focused state. He hurriedly pulled back his sword as though a bit flustered and not wanting to hurt Theron. But then he remembered who Theron was and felt conflicted.
"I… don’t say such reckless things anymore," he eventually said.
After that, he sheathed his sword and turned to leave.
The cheers of the disciples of the Sect acted as his backdrop.