Grand Return System

The Demon Beneath the Sword

Shan had completely lost his sense of propriety when he faced the Demon from the Nine Nethers.

The world seemed to narrow into a single point.

Above the arena, black and crimson sword light churned like a storm birthed from the underworld itself. Selena stood at its heart, silver-white hair flowing against the violent winds of Mana, blue eyes cold and unwavering. Her fitted snow-white robe fluttered around her like frost-born mist, yet the pressure emanating from her felt like a mountain crushing down upon all things below.

And before her—

Shan.

A lone figure resisting an apocalypse.

His breathing was ragged, blood trailed from the corner of his mouth, his fingers trembling where they gripped the False Sword. Yet in those dark eyes burned stubbornness so fierce it bordered madness.

Below the stage, Shera’s face had long lost its calm.

"Shan, don’t force yourself. Quickly admit defeat..." Shera shouted weakly below the stage. No matter how much he planned, he never expected Selena to have such a shocking sword technique.

His voice carried desperation no father could hide.

This was no longer a contest between divisions.

This was survival.

But Shan heard him—

And ignored him.

His pale face lifted toward the towering Demon manifestation. That monstrous sword image seemed capable of swallowing heaven and earth whole, its killing intent freezing the blood of every observer.

"Am I going to lose? No, how can I lose just like that..."

His thoughts burned through pain.

Lose?

After all his years carrying the pride of Secret Sword Summit?

After everything expected of him?

No.

Even if his bones shattered, he would not retreat.

His grip tightened.

With a sudden roar, like a wounded beast cornered beyond reason, Shan moved.

Shan used his False Sword and slashed towards the Demon like a young man who was not afraid of death.

That strike held no elegance.

No retreat.

Only conviction.

Only defiance.

Even some elders watching could not help but inhale sharply.

"He’s charging into that?" one muttered.

"He’s gambling his life..."

Selena’s eyes flickered.

For the briefest instant, admiration passed through them.

Then—

Boom...

The world erupted.

A deafening explosion tore through the arena.

The collision of sword intents became a sun of destruction.

The barrier protecting the battlefield trembled, cracked—

Then shattered.

Violent Mana surged outward like a flood breaking through a ruined dam.

Shocking sword intent rushed in every direction.

The disciples present panicked.

Some stumbled back.

Some screamed.

Some froze where they stood, their faces pale under the crushing pressure.

Even distant spectators felt their skin sting from the escaping sword aura.

Yet before disaster could spread—

A powerful presence descended.

Mike moved.

Like an old mountain waking.

His grey hair stirred in the wind as he raised a hand.

A vast force swept outward.

Fortunately, Mike took action in time and blocked all the violent sword intent.

The raging sword currents struck his barrier and vanished like sparks dying against the sea.

Only then did the disciples breathe again.

Silence followed.

Heavy.

Unnatural.

Dust rolled across the ruined arena in waves.

Cracked stone.

Broken sword marks.

Fragments of shattered defenses.

And in the settling haze—

A fallen figure.

Shera moved before thought.

Shera leaped up and arrived above the arena. He slowly caught the heavily injured Shan and fed him a pill.

His hands, usually steady, trembled.

Blood soaked Shan’s robes.

His chest barely rose.

For a terrifying moment, Shera’s face went pale.

Time stretched.

At last—

Shan woke up after a long time. He looked at his father’s concerned gaze and said dejectedly, "Father, I’m sorry. I lost."

That one sentence pierced deeper than the sword wounds.

Shera’s throat tightened.

His son was apologizing.

Even now.

Even broken.

Shera’s eyes turned red while he looked at his heavily injured son, and he didn’t know what to say.

The proud master of Secret Sword Summit...

Speechless.

Only a father remained.

He pressed a hand against Shan’s shoulder.

"Shan, it’s fine as long as you’re fine. It’s fine if you lose. I saw your performance just now."

His voice cracked.

His dignity was no longer important at this moment. He could give up anything as long as his son was fine.

And those words stunned many who heard them.

This was the man famed for his stubborn pride.

Yet now—

There was only love.

Shan’s lips trembled faintly.

"Father..."

He wanted to say more.

But no words came.

Shera lowered his gaze.

His thoughts churned bitterly.

He and Leon had only inherited the feud between the two factions. This was a feud between him and Leon. What did it have to do with the younger generation?

What indeed?

How absurd it seemed now.

He regretted getting them involved.

That regret struck like poison.

He originally wanted to end the many years of conflict between the two factions with this Martial Meeting, but he never thought that he would almost lose his son’s life.

For years he had clung to grudges passed down like old scars.

Yet what had it brought?

Almost tragedy.

His fingers clenched.

Then loosened.

Slowly...

Shera raised his eyes.

Across the ruined arena, amid drifting dust and fractured stone, stood Leon.

Midnight robes embroidered with thin amethyst threads moved lightly in the wind. Long black hair framed a face unreadable as ever, while those purple eyes carried depths no one could easily see.

Teacher and rival.

Enemy and equal.

So many identities layered between them.

Shera looked at Leon with a complicated expression, not knowing what to say.

There was guilt there.

Shame.

And something like reluctant respect.

Because everyone had witnessed it—

Selena had won not through luck, but overwhelming mastery.

A voice nearby whispered,

"Amethyst Summit Division... has truly risen."

Another answered in awe,

"Leon’s student is terrifying."

But Leon paid them no mind.

His gaze rested only on the arena.

Only on his student.

Then—

Movement.

Like moonlight stepping onto still water.

The charming figure had already arrived on the arena with a single step.