NOVGO.NET Chapter 323: Surprise
Chapter 323: Surprise
“Ohh~?” Arthur’s brows lifted slightly, lips curling into a lazy, almost mocking smile as he looked Razeal up and down again, this time with clear displeasure mixed into the amusement.
“Just declaring you want to participate?” he said, clicking his tongue. “Not even waiting for your turn to come? And what’s with that tone, dude.” His posture straightened a little not much, but enough to remind everyone watching that he wasn’t just an examiner. He was also an royalty.
“You are standing in front of a prince,” Arthur continued, voice carrying effortlessly across the arena. “Show some basic decorum at least.”
The faint echoes of his words rolled through the colosseum. Some spectators nodded instinctively, others leaned forward, hungry for what would come next.
“What’s your name?” Arthur asked.
“Razeal.”
The answer came without much respect again.
Arthur’s smile thinned.
“Razeal… hmmm.”
He reached behind him and produced a thin, translucent list water condensed into a shimmering sheet, symbols and names flowing across its surface like living ink. He flipped through it lazily at first, then a little more carefully, eyes scanning line after line.
The silence stretched.
Spectators watched closely. The other participant with the great sword remained still, arms relaxed but alert, his attention fully on the exchange now.
Arthur stopped flipping.
He glanced up.
“You do not have a name in the participant list.”
The tone shifted.
Arthur let the list dissolve back into water behind his hand, droplets evaporating before they hit the ground. His gaze sharpened as he looked at Razeal again, no longer casual.
“So should I take you as an intruder?” he asked. “Interfering in a royal competition. Entering the arena during an active match.”
His voice dropped, colder now.
“That is a serious crime.”
He took a step closer, the water around his boots rippling subtly.
“I might have let it slide if you were on the list and simply got impatient for your turn,” Arthur continued. “But barging in like this? Jumping straight into the arena?” He folded his hands behind his back, chin lifting slightly.
“This is not some lowly barbaric brawl where anyone can enter whenever they feel like it.”
The pressure in the arena thickened.
“Now,” Arthur said, eyes narrowing, “you will face the consequences.”
Razeal sighed.
Not loudly or dramatically just tired.
“Calm down, bro. Calm down,” he said, rolling his shoulders slightly, as if the situation bored him more than anything else. “Why are you getting so worked up? I wanted to participate. I just got a little late reaching here.”
A few sharp gasps rippled through the stands.
Bro?
Arthur’s nostrils flared.
“Bro?” he repeated slowly.
The lazy smile vanished completely now, replaced by something sharp and ugly.
“Is that how you speak to royalty?”
His jaw tightened.
“Let me fix that ugly face of yours,” Arthur said, cracking his knuckles as he took another step forward. “It’s really annoying to look at.”
There it was.
Jealousy flashed through his eyes quick, instinctive, barely restrained. Even Arthur couldn’t deny it. Standing this close, the contrast irritated him. Razeal’s sharp beautiful and out of world handsome looks.
Arthur genuinely hated it.
Razeal watched him approach, eyes half-lidded.
He let out another breath.
“So this is how it’s going to be,” he thought calmly. “Guess I’ll just have to beat the shit out of him.”
Inside the live stream, reactions flared instantly.
Ancestor Xue: What is wrong with this little shit? He reeks of young master arrogance energy from those trash clans.
Degenerated Bastard: I want to break his face first then rob his mother and…
Razeal ignored them.
He hadn’t attacked yet.
Not because he couldn’t but because he was waiting.
Waiting for king to say something or not.. Obviously he’s the one to decide
Arthur raised his hand as clenching it into a punch ready to strike.
And then
“Son.”
The voice came down from above like a tidal weight.
Deep, calm and absolute.
The entire arena froze.
“Let him participate,” the king said. “It is fine.”
Arthur’s arm stopped mid-motion.
His eyes widened slightly as he turned his head upward toward the private chamber at the top of the colosseum. The massive figure of the king sat there, gaze steady, authority unquestionable.
“He must have truly wanted to participate to make such a scene,” the king continued evenly. “Let him enter.”
“But father” Arthur started, genuine confusion in his voice. “The rules.. you said never to…”
“I said let him participate.”
The king’s eyes sharpened, the water in the air itself seeming to still.
“Do you want me to repeat myself?”
Arthur stiffened.
“…No.”
He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, irritation and disbelief mixing on his face. Still orders were orders. He couldn’t go against his father.. Ever.
“Alright,” Arthur muttered, shrugging with forced nonchalance. “Guess we’re making exceptions now.”
He shot Razeal a sideways look.
Father must be getting desperate, he thought sourly. Since haven’t found anyone worthy after all this time…
While Razeal lifted his gaze toward the high chamber, his eyes meeting the king’s for a brief, measured moment. The exchange lasted only seconds, but it was enough for him to register something subtle an assessment, not hostility, not approval either but definitely.. interest seems to be there. He broke eye contact first, lips twitching faintly.
So he really allowed it, Razeal thought. That was easier than expected.
He had genuinely assumed it would turn into a mess.. guards swarming, instant execution threats, maybe even the king personally stepping in to crush his arrogance like in this novels. For a moment, he had already been calculating as what to do then or how much force he could use without provoking a full-scale retaliation. But anyways nothing of that happened. The permission came cleanly and easy.
“And here I thought this would be troublesome.” he mused, completely ignoring the possibility that the woman seated beside the king might have had something to do with it. He had no intention of entertaining that thought. It was easier.. and far more comfortable to assume this was simply the king’s whim or insticts.
Above, among the spectators, Neptunia stood frozen, mouth hanging open in genuine disbelief. Her eyes were wide, unblinking, as if she had just seen the sea itself reverse its flow.
“…Father let him participate?” she muttered, sounding as if she were questioning reality itself.
Her voice carried a mix of shock and disbelief.
“How could that arrogant old man be so..” she stopped herself, clicking her tongue sharply. “No. This makes no sense.”
“You look shocked,” Maria said calmly from beside her, arms loosely crossed.
“I actually am,” Neptunia admitted without hesitation, still staring down at the arena. “I don’t know what kind of magic he pulled on my father, but this is ridiculous. He just jumps into the arena, breaks half the rules, talks like an idiot and father lets him participate?”
She turned slightly, lowering her voice despite the roaring crowd around them.
“Must be because father be in good mood if not.. he could’ve died on the spot now,” she said bluntly. “I was already prepared to intervene. At least… maybe save his life.”
Maria’s eyes narrowed slightly as she followed Neptunia’s line of sight upward.
“Maybe his mother had a hand in it,” Maria said after a pause. “Look. She’s sitting right beside your father.”
She lifted her chin subtly, pointing toward the private chamber.
Neptunia blinked, then quickly followed her gaze.
Only now did she truly see her.
Another throne.. placed not lower, not behind, but directly beside the king’s occupied by a woman with deep purple hair cascading like liquid shadow down her back. Her eyes were the same shade, sharp and unreadable, her posture relaxed yet commanding. She wasn’t leaning toward the king, nor did she sit beneath him. She sat with him.
Equal.
“…Eh?” Neptunia frowned, rubbing her chin slowly. “I noticed her earlier, but I didn’t think much of it. I was confused, sure.. but wait.”
She snapped her head toward Maria.
“You’re telling me that’s his mother?”
Maria nodded once.
Neptunia inhaled sharply.
“No wonder you two were making such a big deal out of it,” she muttered. “I’ve never seen anyone sit at the same level as my father. Ever. And from the way he’s treating her…”
Her eyes flicked back to the chamber.
“He’s treating her like an equal,” Neptunia said quietly. “That alone is insane.”
She paused, then tilted her head, brows knitting.
“She looks strong. Just looking at her makes my instincts scream. But… she’s his mother?”
She gestured vaguely between Razeal and the woman.
“They don’t match at all. No similar hair. No eyes. Nothing. Is she a stepmother or something?”
“She’s his biological mother,” Maria replied flatly.
Neptunia turned fully toward her now.
“Then how..”
“He used to match her,” Maria interrupted. “He’s just changed too much.”
Her tone was dull, almost tired, as if recounting something she herself still didn’t fully understand.
“Since I met him, he’s changed his hair color twice. His eye color once. Even his body and structure like three times.. it’s different everytime. You’ve seen it too.”
Neptunia hesitated, then slowly nodded.
“…Yeah,” she admitted. “Now that you mention it. His eyes were black before. Completely black. And after that fight with the army we ran into…”
Her gaze sharpened.
“He did look different. Stronger. More otherworldly handsome and… refined?”
She shook her head.
“He’s weird. How can someone change their body like that? Like changing clothes?”
“I don’t know,” Maria said, spreading her arms slightly. “I really don’t get him.”
Down in the arena, Arthur exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off his irritation.
“…I guess you can participate now,” he said, tone tight. “Since my father allowed it.”
He looked directly at Razeal, eyes sharp with challenge.
“For whatever reason I can’t understand,” Arthur continued, “but I’m just the examiner here.”
A crooked smile formed on his lips.
“So what can I do, except teach you some manners while taking your test?”
Razeal’s lips curved into a faint smirk.
“Sure.”
Arthur’s eye twitched.
He turned his head toward the other participant the man holding the great sword who had been standing silently at the edge of the arena ever since Razeal’s dramatic entrance. The man hadn’t complained, hadn’t protested, hadn’t even reacted beyond stepping aside when the impact had thrown him back.
“Hey,” Arthur called out. “Can you wait a few minutes?”
The swordsman’s gaze shifted slightly, calm but alert.
“I’ll need to put some sense into this kid first,” Arthur added casually. “Then we can continue your combat test. Take a breather till then. Sound good?”
The man with the great sword lingered for a brief moment, his gaze shifting from the prince to Razeal. There was no mistaking the offense burning quietly behind his eyes. He had come here to prove himself, to fight with everything he had in front of the king of Atlantis and instead, his match had been interrupted, his presence reduced to an inconvenience swept aside with a few casual words. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, knuckles whitening for a split second.
Still, he didn’t reacted negatively.
“All right,” he finally muttered, his voice controlled, restrained to the point of stiffness.
He turned away without another word and began walking toward the edge of the arena. Offending the prince was not an option. Even swallowing this humiliation was preferable to drawing royal ire. Besides, part of him recognized the advantage. A pause meant time. Time to breathe, to let stamina recover, to analyze what he had just witnessed. His steps slowed slightly as his thoughts sharpened.
That silver-haired bastard… he thought coldly, not bothering to mask the resentment simmering beneath his calm exterior. If he makes it to the final round, I’ll deal with him myself. If he doesn’t… then well.. he was never worth my time to begin with. He thought
And with that, he left the center of the arena, the faint echo of his boots swallowed by the murmuring crowd.
Arthur rolled his shoulders once, the tension in his body settling into something closer to excitement. He cracked his neck lazily, eyes fixed on Razeal with an expression that balanced arrogance and amusement.
“All right, kid,” he said, voice carrying easily across the arena. “Let’s start.”
A crooked grin spread across his face as he ran a hand through his dark blue hair, the movement practiced, almost theatrical.
“Don’t worry,” Arthur continued, tone light, as if he were offering a favor rather than issuing a threat. “I’ll go easy on you. I’ll only hurt your face.” His grin widened. “I won’t touch anything else.”
The confidence in his posture was unmistakable. This was his arena, his stage. He had fought here countless times, bled many worriora, triumphed here. A latecomer who crashed in from the stands didn’t change that.
Razeal said nothing.
He stood calmly, shoulders relaxed, eyes steady. No taunts. No bravado. Just silence.
The lack of reaction irritated Arthur more than any insult could have.
High above, in the private chamber reserved for royalty and honored guests, the king leaned back slightly in his throne, one large hand stroking his thick blue beard as his eyes followed the two figures below.
“So,” he said thoughtfully, breaking the silence between himself and the woman seated beside him, “who do you think will win?”
There was genuine curiosity in his voice now, not mockery. His gaze lingered on Razeal for a moment before shifting back to Arthur.
“I’m quite confident in my son,” the king continued, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “He’s… sloppy at times, yes. Arrogant too. But he has my genes afterall.”
He chuckled softly.
“He’s already reached the very peak of Saint rank at just twenty six years old. And he received his combat training directly from me too.”
The pride in his words was subtle but undeniable.
“I do wonder,” he added, glancing sideways at Merisa, “whose training of their child turned out better.” His eyes flicked briefly to the sword resting at Razeal’s waist. “You had remarkable attainments in physical combat and swordsmanship back in the day. Judging by that blade, it seems your son may have followed your path as well.”
The king chuckled again, clearly enjoying the comparison.
Merisa did not smile.
“I didn’t train him,” she replied.
Her voice was calm, level.. Just deadly emotionless. Her face remained composed, devoid of expression also, yet there was something heavy behind her eyes, something unspoken that pressed against the surface. The king, caught up in his own curiosity, failed to notice it.
“I don’t understand,” he said, still smiling faintly. “What do you mean?”
Merisa’s gaze remained fixed on the arena below as she spoke.
“He was born without mana and Aura,” she said evenly. “He also failed to awaken any bloodline abilities, characteristic and any other advantages.”
The king’s hand paused mid-motion in his beard.
She continued, her tone unchanged. “He could also not learn any physical arts. Couldn’t grasp swordsmanship. It was as if everything rejected him. As if the world itself refused to acknowledge his existence.”
Her words fell one after another, each heavier than the last.
“And when he was eleven,” she added, without a flicker of hesitation, “I exiled him from the family.. So i never taught him anything.”
Silence.
The king’s smile faltered slightly. His brows drew together, surprise flashing across his features before he masked it with an awkward cough. He shifted slightly in his seat, clearly unprepared for the bluntness of her confession.
“I… see,” he said after a moment, his voice lower now. “That is… quite complicated.”
He glanced down at Razeal again, this time with a different expression less curiosity, more contemplation.
“A human without mana or aura,” the king said slowly. “No bloodline. No aptitude for physical combat or the sword…” He shook his head faintly. “I’ve never heard of such a case. That must have been… devastating.”
He carefully avoided commenting on the exile itself part.
Merisa finally turned her gaze toward him.
“Don’t mind it, King Julius,” she said, her voice softening just slightly. “It’s fine.”
She looked back down at the arena, where Razeal now stood facing Arthur, completely unshaken.
“Because he found his own path.”
There was no pride in her tone. Just a quiet uncertainty one forged through distance
“Finding his path on his own…” King Julius repeated slowly, the words rolling on his tongue as his gaze stayed fixed on the arena below. He nodded once, a gesture of genuine acknowledgment. “That is indeed commendable. To survive, to train, and to grow stronger without guidance… most would break long before reaching anything meaningful.”
He paused, then let out a soft, confident chuckle.
“Still,” he continued, his tone relaxed, almost indulgent, “there’s no need to worry. Arthur won’t go too far. He may look carefree, even disrespectful at times, but when it comes to duties I assign him, he takes them seriously. He’s an examiner today. He knows his role.”
King Julius leaned back slightly in his throne, hands resting comfortably on the armrests.
“He won’t go too hard on the boy.”
It wasn’t mockery. It wasn’t arrogance either. It was simply certainty the kind that came from decades of power and experience.. As also his was of showing kindness.
In his mind, the outcome was already clear.
No matter how admirable it is to walk alone, he thought, there are limits. Training without mana, aura, bloodline, or proper instruction could only take someone so far. Perhaps boy had defeated a few small fry. Perhaps he had survived against odds that would crush others. But something are different.. True strength and Power was different.
Arthur was his son.
Personally trained. Forged through relentless combat. Had consumed countless resources. A genius above from geniuses.
At twenty-six, Arthur stood at the very peak of Saint rank a level countless cultivators failed to reach even in a lifetime. Another few years, and the Saint King realm would be within his grasp. Compared to that, the boy in the arena sixteen, perhaps seventeen at most might as well have been standing at the foot of a mountain, staring up.
It’s impossible, King Julius concluded inwardly. Impossible for him to even come close.. Even if he was to be a genius not to say.. With that accursed like past.
He had just finished that thought when
BOOOOOOM.
The sound tore through the colosseum like a thunderclap.
The entire structure seemed to shudder. Water rippled violently across the arena floor, waves racing outward as if struck by an unseen force. The roar of the crowd died instantly, replaced by stunned silence.
King Julius’s eyes snapped open.
For the first time since the competition began, genuine surprise flashed across his face. He leaned forward, massive presence surging unconsciously as his gaze locked onto the arena.
Beside him, Merisa froze too.
Her posture stiffened, breath caught halfway as her eyes widened not in fear, not in concern, but in raw, unfiltered shock. As she stared downward, unblinking, as if afraid that even the smallest movement would break what she was seeing.
Below them, at the very center of the arena
Arthur was on one knee.
His right knee had sunk deep into the arena floor, cracks spiderwebbing outward from the point of impact. Both of his arms were crossed above his head, muscles straining as he blocked a descending leg.
A leg that belonged to Razeal.
Arthur’s teeth were clenched, veins standing out along his neck and arms as he resisted the crushing pressure bearing down on him. His boots scraped against the stone, unable to gain proper footing under the sheer force.
“…You’re a one strong bastard,” Arthur said through gritted teeth, forcing a crooked smile onto his face despite the numbness creeping into his arms. “I’ll give you that.”
His voice wavered not in fear, but in genuine bewilderment.
That single strike had driven him to one knee.
Not with mana.
Not with aura.
Not with an artifact.
Just raw, overwhelming physical strength.
Razeal stood above him, one leg planted firmly on the ground, the other pressing down against Arthur’s crossed arms. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, as if this were nothing more than a test of balance.
“Hmm,” Razeal muttered quietly, almost to himself. His eyes flicked briefly over Arthur’s trembling arms, then away. “Your sister was right.”
Arthur’s brow twitched.
“You’re not that strong.”
The words were calm. Flat. Almost dismissive.
Arthur’s eyes widened for half a heartbeat before fury surged through him.
“S–sister?” he snarled, muscles screaming as he poured strength into his body. “And you bastard.. How dare you call me weak!”
With a sharp exhale, Arthur shifted his weight, channeling whole body power through his legs. His arms surged upward in a single explosive motion, forcing Razeal’s leg back.
The pressure vanished.
Razeal flipped backward effortlessly, spinning once in midair before landing lightly on the arena floor several steps away. No cracks. No recoil. Not even a defensive stance.
He simply straightened and looked at Arthur.
Arthur rose slowly from his knee, shaking out his arms as sensation returned. His expression had changed completely now. Gone was the playful arrogance. Gone was the casual disdain.
What remained was sharp focus and irritation.
High above, King Julius finally spoke, his voice noticeably altered.
“…To force Arthur to one knee with a single strike,” he said slowly, Surprise clear even as he tried to rein it in. “That… is no small feat.”
His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Razeal more carefully now.
“He’s very strong,” the king admitted at last. “Stronger than I thought. It seems… I misjudged him.”
That was putting it lightly.
King Julius had sensed nothing no mana fluctuation, no aura resonance, no artifact activation or even any relica. Nothing that explained what he had just witnessed.
And that disturbed him.
Merisa did not respond immediately.
Her eyes remained locked onto Razeal, unblinking, as if she were trying to burn the image into her soul. The surprise that had frozen her moments ago slowly transformed into something else.
Pure, unrestrained Pride and Happiness.
Her lips curved upward, just slightly at first, then more clearly a rare, genuine smile that carried both relief and fierce satisfaction.
“It seems,” she said softly, finally breaking her silence, “that it will be my son who has to go easy on yours.”
The words carried weight.
King Julius turned to look at her, genuine surprise flickering across his face at the sight of her smile. He stared for a moment, then laughed a deep, resonant sound that echoed faintly even within the chamber.
“Haha… it seems he surprised you as well,” he said, amusement creeping into his tone.
Merisa did not deny it.
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