“This is the best you’ve got?” Jareth sneered, voice dripping with contempt.
As he spoke, his left fist opened into a palm.
From its center erupted a three-foot surge of green spiritflame, forming a blade-like shape.
The sharp green light carved through the air, slicing toward Cassian’s throat, a trail of green sword gleams left hanging behind it.
“Azure Lotus Bladeburst-the Crowley Clan’s mid-tier sword art?”
Cassian’s heart sank.
He twisted aside just in time to dodge the strike aimed at his windpipe.
Without hesitation, he activated the Grand Spirit Devour Art passed down by the Bloodfiend.
Before Jareth’s second sword strike landed, Cassian gathered spiritforce in his hand and struck out at Jareth’s chest.
Without that forbidden art, Cassian didn’t stand a chance.
The Faraday Clan’s lesser-tier skills were pitifully weak against the Crowleys’ techniques.
“Time to see the might of my Crowley Clan’s Skycleaving Palm!” Jareth snarled.
He countered with his right hand, the air around his palm shivering like turbulent waves.
With a thunderous boom, his strike clashed against Cassian’s blood-hued palm.
Jareth launched his offense with brutal force.
His techniques came out fierce, sharp, efficient-pure Crowley strength on full display.
The audience on the Ravager Arena watched, blood pumping with excitement.
“Be careful, young master…” Emily’s voice trembled.
She could clearly see the tide turning.
Cassian looked to be losing ground fast.
Then-something shifted.
The moment their palms collided, Jareth’s face twisted.
He staggered, legs weak.
Everyone saw it-his spiritforce drained away in an instant.
He collapsed to his knees before Cassian, trembling.
“What the hell?”
“What just happened?”
“Did Jareth…
kneel?”
The air turned stiff with disbelief.
Smack!
While chatter boiled below, Cassian raised his other palm fast as lightning.
A blood-red arcane sigil pulsed in his hand as he landed a clean strike right atop Jareth’s skull.
Crimson spiritflames burst from Jareth’s head, pouring into Cassian’s palm.
Jareth’s once-handsome face turned ghostly pale.
His whole body convulsed as though hit by lightning.
Only when Jareth passed out cold did Cassian withdraw his hand.
Strength surged through Cassian’s limbs.
He could feel it-his physical power had grown.
No doubt, it was the fresh blood vitality devoured from Jareth.
His sea of vital energy swelled, rising by nearly twenty percent.
At this rate, devouring the spiritforce of four more like Jareth could push him straight into Spiritcore Realm, Second Tier.
“No way…
Jareth actually lost?”
“What sorcery was that palm of Cassian’s?
Didn’t look that special…”
“Are we sure he didn’t throw the fight?
Could Cassian have paid him off?”
“Gimme a break.
Everyone knows the Crowleys outclass the Faradays.
No way Jareth took a dive.”
Below the arena, voices clashed in disbelief.
Jareth’s defeat was too sudden, too strange-it left the crowd restless, full of doubt.
“It drains both spiritforce and blood vitality…
when did the Faraday clan ever have such a vicious palm technique?” Landon frowned, unease flickering in his eyes.
Even someone like him hadn’t seen through Cassian’s move.
He glanced sideways at the steward, asking, “Are you sure he’s one of the Faraday’s?”
“Yes, City Lord.
That’s Cassian, second young master of the clan,” the steward replied.
“Not bad to look at,” Landon hummed, then gave a half-smile.
“But let’s see if he makes it to the end.”
“…Seems he has some charm.” Hannah murmured under her breath, gaze lingering on the one still standing atop the platform.
“Get him out of here.” The steward waved a hand, motioning for servants to carry Jareth down.
Then he turned and shouted to the crowd, “First round, Cassian wins!”
“No way-don’t tell me you damn bribed Jareth?” Trevor suddenly shot to his feet, a scowl twisting his face as he glared at Cassian.
Cassian shot him a bored look.
“So what if I did?
None of your damn business.
Little shit like you-I could beat ten of you in one hand, believe it?”
Truth was, he’d had enough of Trevor’s face from the start.
“‘Little shit,’ he says!?” Trevor’s lackey gawked, turning to him.
“Young Master, did that bastard just call you a little shit!?”
Smack!
Trevor slapped the lackey across the cheek, yelling, “You think I need you to tell me that!?”
Before the echo of the slap faded, Trevor leapt up to the dueling platform, snarling, “If I don’t break that nasty mouth of yours today, I’ll change my damn surname!”
As he spoke, a searing violet blaze burst from his skin, pulsing with pressure.
Then, three feet above his head, a massive purple-gold battleaxe appeared, suspended in mid-air.
“What the hell is that?
Why’s there a battleaxe floating above his head?”
“That’s not some regular sorcery,” someone quickly explained.
“It’s a soul gift, a kind of heaven-bestowed creation carved from one’s soul core.
Every cultivator has one, but creating a form like that?
Only those trained in formal sects or academies can pull that off.”
Everyone knew Trevor hailed from the Arcanum of the Divine Flame.
Having a soul gift wasn’t exactly rare for someone like him.
But in Lunaris, where most cultivators trained themselves, few had even heard of such things like soul gifts or sanctums.
To be recognized as a true cultivator, unlocking both a soul gift and sanctum was key.
As for being a genius?
That depended on what kind of soul gift one had-and how far their sanctum’s potential extended.
Cassian understood this better than most.
He’d heard Ravager talk about it many times.
“Time to die!”
Trevor roared, clenching his fist.
In that instant, the violet-gold axe above him dissolved into pure flame and surged into his right hand.
Then he lunged, hurling a crushing punch toward Cassian.
A vapor trail sliced through the air as the fist formed into a colossal axe-shaped strike, crashing down at the center of his chest!
Cassian didn’t flinch.
“Waving a rusty axe like it’s something to brag about?”
As Trevor charged in, Cassian stood unfazed.
Both his palms were already surging with the power of the Grand Spirit Devour Art and Grand Blood Devour Art.