Chapter 81
Nekhtem’s body was singeing with agony, each second a new wave of searing pain as the flames and heat continued to blister his skin. Every breath he took felt like inhaling molten iron, and the ash that fell from the ember viper’s flames only made it worse, coating his lungs and throat, tightening his chest with every desperate inhalation.
Each minute dragged on in an excruciating dance of fire, heat, and smoke. He winced with every movement, his muscles straining against the pressure of his burns, and he could feel his body weakening, slipping from his grasp. This wasn’t the challenge he had anticipated when he stepped into the arena. This kid, Khenu—had pushed him to the absolute edge.
Nekhtem had always been the giant in the room. His size, his cultivation—everything about him screamed superiority. For so long, he had towered over the scrawny kid he used to supervise, relishing the power he wielded as a behemoth, basking in the certainty that the boy would never rise to challenge him. The kid had always been too weak, too fragile, to even dream of threatening him.
But now? Now, in this moment, he could barely hold himself together. Kei Y—that “weak” kid—had made a fool of him in front of everyone. That single, unexpected moment when Kei Y had flipped him, tossed him, and slammed him onto his back in the dirt—it had shattered something deep inside of him. In front of the crowd, in front of everyone, he had been humiliated. The very strength he had flaunted had turned against him, and it had been that moment that had set him over the edge.
Nekhtem’s rage roared to life, but it was a fury tempered by desperation. He had always known the truth of his limitations. He had barely scraped by to Level 10, barely managing to push himself to a soldier-class level. His force progression? 3%. A meager fraction. He was stuck—trapped in his own mediocrity, cursed with a pitiful grasp of Graveltide Force that never fully aligned with his body. Let alone understanding Earth Force.
And that lack of comprehension had prevented him from forming a core, from reaching the next level, from ever truly pushing past his current state. Without the core, he couldn’t progress beyond soldier class, couldn’t develop into anything more than the brute he was now. The dream of power had always felt just out of reach, and now, in front of Khenu, that dream felt farther than ever.
In his frustration and helplessness, he had turned to the only thing he could think of—his gang. A group of ruthless individuals, a motley crew who used the weak for labor, breaking their spirits for the gain of wealthy aristocrats who paid handsomely for cheap, disposable workers. The same group Kei Y and Silvie had come across, the ones who trafficked in labor like cattle. It was them who had shown him a path, a way to break through the limits of his own cultivation. A chance to push into soldier class, even if it meant compromising his dignity and humanity.
They had offered him the shortcut he so desperately needed—no need for comprehension of the forces, no need for a deep understanding of the core. They could push him there—if he proved his worth. If he could break through the barrier and pay the price.
And now, as his body writhed in pain, seared by flames, Nekhtem cursed his own weakness, cursed the kid who had put him in this impossible situation. He had sought strength, had thought he could just force his way to the top, but now it was clear: he had underestimated Khenu in the worst possible way.
Kei Y had not only defeated him physically—he had completely shattered his pride, and in doing so, left him grappling with the reality of his own limitations.
Nekhtem stood in the midst of his agony, his body searing with pain, his breath shallow and labored. Every part of him felt like it was being consumed by the fire, his own flesh betraying him as he struggled to stay on his feet. But it wasn’t just the physical torment that broke him—it was the humiliation. The realization that everything he had strived for, everything he had worked so hard to attain, had been meaningless.
He was nothing.
He couldn’t even hold onto his pride in the face of the kid he had once bossed around, the kid who now stood before him with that wicked grin—a grin so evil, so excited, it almost seemed inhuman. The way Kei Y’s eyes shone with sadistic thrill, as if relishing every second of this fight, every second of Nekhtem’s unraveling.
So this was it...
He had believed in his own potential, believed he could be something greater, that he could claim power and rise above his origins. But now, as he stood here, broken and burning, he realized the bitter truth: he had overestimated himself. He had misjudged the very person he had dismissed for so long. The power, the advancement, the greatness he had craved—all of it was out of his reach. His strength, his potential... it had all been nothing more than a fleeting illusion.
And it all came crashing down in front of the very person he had once seen as weak. Kei Y had turned that illusion into a nightmare.
Unable to hold back the frustration and humiliation any longer, Nekhtem’s laugh tore from him—a cruel, mocking laugh that echoed through the arena. It was manic, filled with self-mockery, bitterness, and the sting of realizing that all his dreams were shattered. The sound was so unsettling that the onlookers flinched, their unease rising. It was the laugh of a man who had completely lost himself, a man who had been pushed too far and now teetered on the edge of insanity.
Tears welled in his eyes, but they evaporated almost instantly from the heat, turning into steam before they could even fall. His eyes burned with the sting of it, but he didn’t care anymore. His whole body felt like it was falling apart, and in that moment, he couldn’t even stop himself from laughing.
For a brief moment, some of the spectators felt pity for him—this man who had been reduced to nothing, broken down in front of everyone, his final moments about to be filled with defeat and destruction. But as much as the crowd might have felt sympathy, Kei Y felt none of it. His eyes remained cold, the hunger for victory still present as ever.
"You done with all the crying?" Kei Y taunted, his voice sharp, mocking. "If you keep it up, it’ll look like I’m bullying you."
The words struck like a whip, harsh and unforgiving. And Nekhtem? He only laughed harder, the madness now fully taking root in his mind.
"Heh... heh... keep mocking me, Khenu," Nekhtem rasped, his voice hoarse, but dripping with twisted acceptance. "I already know I’m pathetic. I won’t ever advance much. It seems like you did really well hiding your genius from everyone... making them think you were just some weak, frail kid..." He coughed, blood mixing with the ash as he struggled to catch his breath. "But you know what they say? A dead genius never amounts to much..." His words trailed off into a fit of coughing, the ash from the flames choking him, stifling his rant.
Kei Y, watching him, didn’t even flinch at the words. His expression was one of cold amusement, his voice dripping with contempt as he retorted, "That’s really sad... couldn’t even get your final words out properly."
The taunt hit hard, and Nekhtem’s face twisted in a mix of pain and rage, but the fire continued to burn in his body, leaving him weak and choking, unable to follow through with any more bravado. His grand, desperate final words crumbled into a choking, pathetic sound.
For all his strength, all his posturing, it seemed like Nekhtem had truly lost it all in that moment. And Kei Y? He stood there, a figure of merciless precision, watching the once mighty soldier crumble, preparing to finish what had already been set into motion.
In that moment, with nothing else to lose, Nekhtem made a choice—a decision born from desperation and madness. A sharp crack echoed within his body. It was the unmistakable sound of his cultivation crumbling, the very foundation of his strength splintering. The fracture of his core, a silent event, was imperceptible to all but those who could see the inner workings of his body.
The aether that surged through him, uncontrolled and wild, flooded his system in an overwhelming torrent. Nekhtem's aether pathways, already fragile from years of struggle, buckled under the strain. They began to tear apart, slowly but surely, and with each passing moment, his chances of ever becoming a true cultivator dissolved. The flow of aether coursing through him was chaotic, no longer guided by the understanding or control he had once fought to master. His body writhed, spasming as the strain intensified.
Nekhtem didn’t care. He had already given up on being a cultivator, on reaching any kind of greatness. His only thought now was to destroy Khenu—to end the humiliation, to claim victory in the only way left to him. The damage to his cultivation was irreparable, but as long as he could take down that scrawny kid, he would die with his pride intact.
Kei Y, ever observant, didn’t flinch. He could sense the flood of raw aether moving inside Nekhtem—he didn’t need to see the internal damage to understand what was happening. His perception cut through the chaotic surge, recognizing it for what it was: a last-ditch, unstable power-up. The force radiating from Nekhtem was immense, but it was unstable—like a storm waiting to tear everything apart.
“Feel free to take your time with your power-up," Kei Y said, his voice dripping with uninterested amusement. "I can wait.”
Nekhtem scoffed, the crackling power around him intensifying as the earth seemed to respond, growing more and more solid beneath his feet. He was becoming an earthen golem, his strength radiating like the shifting of tectonic plates, but all the while, his internal systems were collapsing. The damage was irreversible, but in his madness, he didn’t care.
Kei Y’s expression remained unchanged. His grin widened ever so slightly as he noticed the change in Nekhtem. “Rude,” he remarked, feigning offense, as though Nekhtem’s desperate move had somehow insulted him.
There they stood, a clash of titanic forces. Nekhtem, a hulking mass of raw, untamable strength, radiated power in every step, the very ground trembling beneath him as he towered over Khenu. His body pulsed with the aether he had unleashed, and for the first time in the fight, Nekhtem felt a surge of relief. This was the moment. Finally, he would be able to kill Khenu and end this humiliation once and for all.
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A dark, twisted smile barely painted his face as he prepared for the final strike. But then his eyes caught something—the way Khenu’s hand moved, drawing in the air. It was a rune. A full rune, glowing with ember and ash as it formed in front of him. Nekhtem’s heart skipped a beat. No...
In that split second, a horrible realization sank in. The words Khenu had spoken earlier—the casual, almost mocking “Feel free to take your time with your power-up, I can wait”—weren’t just idle banter. Khenu had been letting him power up, allowing him the time to charge in, knowing all along that he was just drawing the rune for his next attack. Nekhtem sobbed inwardly. You really hate me that much? You really want to humiliate me so much? Am I really such a terrible person?
The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, his mind spiraling as he felt the weight of his own brokenness. For all his strength, for all his power, he had been nothing but a pawn in this fight. He had been played.
But the worst part was that, in the midst of his self-loathing breakdown, he was too consumed by his emotions to even notice the rune being fully drawn. He hadn’t noticed Kei Y’s hand moving with his force quill, hadn’t realized the imminent danger that was right in front of him.
In his desperation, with nothing left to lose, Nekhtem charged forward with all his might. His hulking form crashed through the ground, the earth shaking beneath him as he threw himself into the attack with reckless abandon. There was no strategy, no thought—just rage, raw and unrestrained.
Kei Y, however, was unfazed. He barely acknowledged the charging behemoth, his voice dripping with disdain as he muttered, "Woah, big guy," almost bored by the sight.
And then, from the rune he had so casually finished drawing, a firestorm erupted. An ember ash arrow took shape, the fiery essence of the rune pouring out in a thick cloud of ash. Kei Y didn’t even take Nekhtem seriously enough to use the arrow as a real weapon. He coughed from the thick ash pouring out, more interested in the smoke than the target itself. With a flick of his wrist, he shot the ember ash arrow forward—not to defeat Nekhtem, but to rid himself of the choking, irritating ash that was clouding the air.
Nekhtem, with no awareness of his opponent’s lack of seriousness, charged right into it. The arrow, laden with the very essence of ash and ember, struck him with brutal force. The moment it connected, the earth seemed to shake with the intensity of the attack, but it wasn’t the power that crushed Nekhtem—it was the suffocating weight of the ash, filling his lungs, blocking his breath.
The moment was surreal. The once-mighty warrior who had proudly stood tall, towering over everyone else, now lay broken in the dirt. His once-imposing earthen armor had shattered, and the gleam of life had faded from his eyes. His hulking form, now vulnerable, lay defeated amidst the rubble. The earth that had once answered to his every command was now indifferent, nothing more than dust beneath him.
Kei Y stood a few paces away, coughing from the lingering ash that still clouded the air. "Cough, cough... man, to think the end of your life would be this way," he muttered, clearly unimpressed. "Cough, cough... dang, that ash is thick and really clings to your lungs. What was I saying? Oh, yeah, if you’d just minded your business, this could have been avoided."
He paused for a moment, considering. "If it’d help you feel better," Kei Y continued, his tone casually mocking, "I can send your gang members to meet you in the afterlife. Maybe you could be idiots over there too."
Kei Y gave a slight shrug. "For what it’s worth, that armor really is durable. I honestly thought I’d pierce a hole through you, but I only managed to destroy it. Good job, big guy."
Kei Y’s words were laced with mockery, but the praise at the end was almost genuine. He wasn't cruel for the sake of cruelty—he simply didn't care. To him, this was just another fight, another step toward something more.
The tension was thick in the air, an unbearable silence hanging over the arena. Nekhtem lay there, his body broken, lifeless eyes staring at the sky, awaiting the inevitable end. There were no final words, no struggle left in him. It was as if, in this moment, he had finally accepted the brutal reality of his own fall from grace. He did this to himself. There would be no regrets, no delusions clouding his last breath. He simply waited.
Kei Y stood before him, the coldness in his eyes unmistakable. He wasn’t here for a conversation. He wasn’t interested in mercy. His hand moved fluidly, drawing multiple rune strokes with deliberate precision, preparing a series of final attacks to end this once and for all.
But just as the tension peaked, a voice cut through the air, gruff and commanding, coming from outside the arena. “Young man, don’t you think it best to learn your place and know when to withdraw? Let bygones be bygones… You’ve already won. There’s no need to…”
“I don’t listen to you,” Kei Y interrupted, his voice sharp, not even bothering to acknowledge the man outside the arena. “Is he your boyfriend or something? Just mind your business and let your lackey die in peace. Don’t humiliate him in his final moments.”
The man’s tone darkened. “I’ll remember your words. Best be ready to accept the consequences of your actions.”
Kei Y unfazed by the threat. “A meager specialist class like yourself really has to threaten a mere recruit class?” He pretended to cower, a mock expression of fear plastered on his face. “Don’t worry, I was going to find you and your goons soon enough. I’ve already marked you all for death. Just sit there and clean yourselves up—I don’t want to make myself filthy by touching you.”
The voice outside paused for a moment before responding, an almost unsettling calmness returning to his words. “Hmm... I see. I look forward to seeing you really soon.”
As the figure’s presence seemed to fade, Kei Y continued to prepare his attack, but another voice rang out from within the crowd. It was younger, softer, but still filled with authority. “Well, I’m sure you’d be willing to do me the favor then and pardon this man’s life?”
Kei Y didn’t even glance in the direction of the voice. “I don’t know you. Why should I?” His annoyance was palpable, and his impatience showed in his voice.
“Because it would be in your best interest to act within my wishes. Your life would be much simpler if you let him leave,” the young voice replied, almost as if the speaker knew something that Kei Y didn’t.
Kei Y’s face twisted in irritation. “Is everyone here stupid, or is it just me who misunderstood what a death match means? How dumb are you?” His frustration spilled out, and for a brief moment, he didn’t seem to care who heard him or how it came across.
The voice persisted, unfazed. “You’re saying you won’t let him live?”
Before the young man could say anything further, Kei Y let out a loud sigh. “Fine,” he muttered, clearly over the entire situation. Then, without hesitation, he raised his hand and shot a fireball directly at Nekhtem. The ball of flame collided with his body, sending him reeling back as the flames scorched his skin, but Kei Y had intentionally toned down the attack. It wasn’t made from the ember ash, but a regular fireball, ensuring that Nekhtem didn’t die too soon. He was not yet finished.
Kei Y watched as Nekhtem lay there, still smoking from the impact, his body twitching in pain. His gaze remained cold, and he turned to the young man, as if to say, “There’s your answer.”
The young voice grew tense, though his words barely contained the disdain. “You think you’re brave?”
Kei Y didn’t answer immediately, his gaze never leaving Nekhtem. Then, with an almost casual flick of his wrist, he summoned four more fireballs, each one shooting directly toward the broken man lying in the dirt. The fireballs whizzed through the air, the flames cutting through the space between them like a storm of destruction.
“For every word you say,” Kei Y taunted, “I’ll make him suffer more.”
The fireballs exploded on impact, each one hitting Nekhtem with a force that caused his body to lurch violently. The flames continued to consume him, more intensely with every passing second. It wasn’t just the power of the attack—it was the sheer disdain behind it. Each fireball was a testament to Kei Y’s indifference, an embodiment of his calculated cruelty.
In that moment, the arena fell silent again, as the crowd watched the final, brutal spectacle unfold. Nekhtem was caught in a spiral of flame and torment, and the ones who dared to speak against Kei Y could only watch as the man they once thought unstoppable crumbled under the weight of his own decisions.
The tension in the arena took another turn as the young man’s voice faltered, but not before Kei Y’s cold response broke through.
“You…” the young man started, his voice trembling with barely-contained rage.
Bang.
Before he could finish his sentence, a sound thundered through the arena—Kei Y, unfazed, had launched another fireball in his direction, the impact of the explosion cutting off whatever was about to be said. The force of the explosion rocked the ground, sending dust flying everywhere, but Kei Y didn’t even flinch.
“I’m going to make good on my promise,” Kei Y said, his voice smooth. “Keep talking.”
In that moment, a shift happened. The atmosphere in the arena seemed to change. A sudden pressure weighed heavily on everyone, an invisible force that made it hard to breathe. It wasn’t just the physical impact of the fight—it was something more primal, more visceral. The crowd started to shift uneasily in their seats, and the air became thick, almost suffocating.
Kei Y, for the first time in this entire confrontation, felt the weight of it too. The pressure in the air was like a suffocating force wrapping around him, pushing against his chest, and making his movements feel sluggish, unnatural. Who was this?
The source of the pressure revealed itself. A figure stepped forward from the shadows, his presence leaking out like a crushing wave. It was like the very essence of his being was radiating a force that bent the world around him. Even Kei Y couldn’t ignore it, despite his unshakable confidence. This individual’s will felt like a mountain, and it was coming for him.
“That’s a General Class,” Silvie said in shock, rushing from her seat toward Kei Y. Her voice was a mix of disbelief and concern. "We need to move—now.”
A figure emerged from the edge of the crowd, his demeanor composed and humble. The General Class, his attire immaculate and his posture unassuming, stepped forward with a quiet grace. His aura didn’t scream power; rather, it exuded calm authority, like a well-poised servant or butler, always proper, always polite. There was no arrogance in him, just a quiet professionalism that stood in stark contrast to the chaotic atmosphere around him.
“Young man,” the General Class said, his voice soft and respectful, filled with a humble sincerity. "I can only apologize for my young master's rude words earlier. Would you please do this old man a favor and simply hear me out?"
Kei Y, despite sensing the weight of the presence, didn't respond immediately. His instincts told him that this man was not to be underestimated, but there was no arrogance in his movements—just a quiet strength.
"I understand this is a death match you were wrongfully dragged into," the General Class continued, his tone even and polite, like a butler addressing an honored guest. "However, I must point out that there are circumstances in which, should the gap in will between two combatants be significant enough, the stronger party may dissolve the contract and bring it to a close."
Kei Y took a moment to process his words. He hadn’t considered this possibility—that was new to him. But despite the calm delivery, Kei Y wasn’t interested in mercy.
“I know it’s difficult to accept,” the General Class continued, keeping his tone humble and gentle. “But that individual”—he gestured toward Nekhtem, broken on the ground—“is my young master’s lackey. If it would be of any convenience to you, ending his life here would not cause too much disruption. And, in fact, if it pleases you, my young master has taken an interest in your abilities. He would be willing to offer you any cultivation materials, no matter their cost or rarity.”
Kei Y, unfazed, stood quietly for a moment, taking in the offer. The words were tempting, but he wasn’t someone who was easily swayed by offers of power or material gain. His gaze flickered back to Nekhtem, lying defeated, and then back to the General Class. He wasn’t here to make deals.
Before Kei Y could respond, the young man beside the General Class tried to interject. “Wait, what? Isn’t that—”
The General Class gave him a single, gentle but firm glance, silencing the young man’s words before turning his focus back to Kei Y. His voice was calm, humble, and unwavering. "What do you think, young man? Would you consider it?"
Kei Y paused, contemplating the situation. He could sense the sincerity in the General’s words, but he wasn’t interested in playing the pawn in someone else’s game.