SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS

The midday sun scorched the Phoenix Range like a furnace, but that did nothing to reduce the excitement surging through the tournament grounds.

Stalls brimmed with shouting vendors, betmakers waved thick scrolls of odds, and the energy in the air thrummed with violent promise. Among the colorful chaos, a new name was on everyone’s lips—

Kent King.

And at the heart of this storm stood the freshly erected Golden Rat Gambling House, its lavish red-and-gold banner dancing in the wind like a challenge.

Fatty Ben stood proudly under it, waving a fan decorated with a rat holding a coin. He was busy entertaining a pair of flirtatious vendor girls, boasting, “You see ladies, when people say ‘fortune favors the bold,’ they mean me. And my boss? He’s the lion of this land!”

But the easygoing moment ended in a flash.

“Which idiot is the owner of this store?”

A voice as cold as mountain steel echoed across the arena. The crowd turned just in time to see Young Master Lee—clad in white and gold robes of the Living Mountain Pool Academy—storming across the square. Two attendants flanked him, and his aura of aggression parted the crowd like a scythe through wheat.

Fatty Ben’s face twitched. “Trouble,” he muttered.

“Which bastard! Speak now, or I’ll peel the fat off your bones!” Lee shouted wildly.

All eyes turned towards Fatty Ben. “Master Lee, he is the one.” The servant pointed his finger towards Fatty ben.

Lee marched up and shoved one of the vendor girls aside. “You! I heard your filthy little gambling house is placing bets on Kent King. Are you out of your bloated mind?”

Ben blinked, then gave a slow grin. “Oh, so you’ve heard? Yes, yes! Grand odds today. One coin, win ten. Special offer—first round only. Want to try your luck?”

Lee’s eye twitched. “You dare to mock me?”

Then, without warning, his palm struck. SLAP! The echo rang out loud and clean across the square.

Ben stumbled back, his cheek turning crimson.

“Where is he?” Lee snarled. “Don’t play games with me. I want Kent King’s head!”

The crowd fell silent, the earlier buzz now replaced with tension. Nobody dared interfere.

“You will pay for this.” Ben retorted angrily without any fear on his face.

“Paht!” A second slap rang out. “Answer me, where is Kent King now?” Lee barked.

Blood slowly seeped from Ben’s split lip, but his grin remained intact. “So eager to meet your doom? Well, I can’t say no to drama.”

He pulled out a glittering Sky Communication Orb and activated it.

Soon, Kent’s image appeared on the orb. Kent already stopped when he saw the swollen face of Fatty Ben.

“Master Kent,” he said, spitting out blood. “You’ve got a guest. Some arrogant donkey with the stench of a drowned frog says he wants your head.”

The orb flickered. Kent already flew into the sky on his dragon.

Then a voice crackled out, slow and chilling:

“Is that so?”

“Yes, Master. Come and teach a lesson to this wild boar. I really want to pay back those two slaps.” Fatty said with a smile.

Before Lee could snatch the orb, a deafening roar shook the sky.

BOOOOOM!

Wind surged, clouds scattered, and from the far eastern ridge, a shadow streaked across the sky.

People screamed and scattered as a colossal scaled dragon with lightning flickering around its wings dove down like a thunder god. On its back stood a single figure in black—calm, unmoved by the storm he carried.

Kent King.

“Speak of the devil…” Fatty Ben chuckled, limping back with satisfaction.

The dragon landed with a ground-shaking quake. Kent didn’t even dismount. His golden eyes looked down coldly at Lee, who stood frozen, his bravado draining fast.

“I believe,” Kent said lazily, “you laid hands on my man.”

Lee gritted his teeth. “Kent… you dare show your face here? I’ll kill—”

The dragon’s claw snapped forward, faster than any could react.

In an instant, Young Master Lee was grabbed mid-air and lifted like a ragdoll, his elegant robes flapping wildly. He screamed in outrage, reaching into his robes to pull out a shimmering silver sword—a Grandmaster-ranked weapon with frost essence radiating off its edges.

“Oh? That again?” Kent raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t learn last time.”

He raised his hand and muttered: “Spatial bind—Wither Thread.”

Chains of translucent light snapped out from the air itself, wrapping around Lee’s weapon, arms, and legs, rendering him completely immobile. The sword fell from his hand and clattered to the ground.

The crowd gasped.

Kent pointed, and the dragon flung Lee into the air. A tree branch on the side of a nearby cliff snapped forward unnaturally—as if it had waited all day for this moment—and caught Lee by his ankles.

Now, the mighty Young Master Lee of Living Pool Academy hung upside down, flailing, his face turning beet red.

Fatty Ben, still holding his swollen cheek, limped forward.

Kent called down, “Fatty… return the slap.”

The crowd collectively gasped. No one dared to believe it.

Ben grinned wide and wobbled toward the hanging Lee. “With pleasure.”

SLAP!

One cheek.

SLAP!

The other cheek.

“Slap!”

“That’s for me,” Ben said. “And that’s for the girls you pushed.”

Kent’s voice echoed like thunder:

“Let this be a lesson. No one lays hands on my people.”

“Release him if you dare!” he roared to the stunned onlookers. “Anyone touches him before sunset, and I’ll personally treat them to a storm burial.”

Kent turned to Fatty. “Let’s go. Time to prepare for the first round.”

The dragon beat its wings once, sending a shockwave through the square, and lifted into the air.

The stunned silence continued long after they disappeared into the horizon. The name Kent King now felt like a tidal wave crashing down upon the Phoenix Range.

Meanwhile, Lee dangled miserably in the wind—his dignity torn, his pride shattered, and his face twice slapped by a man he considered a clown.

And the Golden Rat Gambling House? Its banner now danced with pride, and its odds—

1:10 on Kent King.

Now, everyone is doubting to line up.

–

Thank you all for Great Support!