Veil of Aether

The tournament pressed on, eliminations echoing like steady drumbeats until only the true talents remained.

All the fodder, the overconfident, the unprepared—gone.

Now, only the genuine prospects stood across the pyramid, each kingdom’s finest cultivators ready for the final stretch.

Surprisingly, Kei Y’s sled was still in the tournament. Despite the chaos during his mid-air standoff with Dione, while Kei Y himself had stopped, the sled had continued falling its way down the pyramid.

His teammates had barely managed to catch it before it slammed into the stone steps, rescuing him from certain defeat.

But the sled’s condition was terrible.

After Kei Y had stabbed a needle into his hippocampus and fried its brain functions, he was left teetering on the edge of brain death. His teammates had worked quickly, pouring a high-grade potion down his throat, praying it would be enough.

And it was—mostly.

The potion healed the critical damage, restoring enough neural pathways for the sled to circulate aether and control force again. But there was a gap in his memories—a blank emptiness the potion couldn’t fill.

Dione had personally checked on him afterward, asking sharp, uncomfortable questions to confirm it could still fight.

And it could.

Despite the pounding headache and the confusion swirling in its mind, the sled could still move, still channel aether, still function.

He just didn’t know why he had ended up like this in the first place.

Now, as the final stages of the tournament approached and the pyramid’s base loomed ever closer, the sled squinted down at the finishing platform, his mind still hazy.

“The tournament’s already ending?” he mumbled in disbelief.

Then his eyes found Kei Y.

“That masked brat who insulted the Queen...”

Hatred flashed across his face as the memories he did have flared, though fragmented and incomplete.

“I have to eliminate him before this ends,” he growled, glaring daggers at Kei Y.

But before he could lunge, his teammates immediately restrained him, hands on his shoulders, force fields shimmering around his limbs.

“What—? Let me go!” he protested, thrashing weakly.

“Absolutely not,” one of them muttered.

“We’re not letting this happen again,” another added firmly.

The sled blinked, confused by their adamant resistance.

Again?

He didn’t understand.

All he could do was grit his teeth, frustration boiling inside as he resigned himself to watch the final moments play out, silently vowing:

"Next time, I’ll face him in the arena myself."

And so, the announcement came, echoing across the pyramid and throughout the viewing platforms, marking the end of the first stage of the Tournament of Kingdoms.

Results:

Recruit Class Winner: Amunar Kingdom

Soldier Class Winner: India Kingdom

Specialist Class Winner: Jerusalem Kingdom

Spectators roared their approval, the air alive with cheers, gasps, and tears. Even the rulers of the kingdoms—those accustomed to hiding their thoughts behind placid smiles—nodded in agreement.

The results were clear, undeniable.

They had witnessed strength, cunning, strategy, and the raw, unstoppable will of those who would shape the future.

And they were content with the results.

All but one.

Having finished the first stage, Kei Y simply walked away toward Amunar Kingdom’s resting area.

The world roared around him, a flood of sound he barely registered.

His teammates felt it—a strange stillness around him as he walked, his steps quiet, ignoring the chaos, ignoring the whispers, ignoring the cheers.

Until—

“BOY!!!”

The shout wasn’t just sound; it was force, vibrating through the air like a sonic shockwave.

A hand crashed into his shoulder, fingers tearing effortlessly through skin, muscle, ligaments, and bone, embedding themselves inside his shoulder like claws.

The pain should have been unbearable.

But Kei Y didn’t even flinch.

The only reason he stopped was because the hand in his shoulder physically prevented him from moving forward.

Slowly, mechanically, he turned his head to look at the hand buried in his flesh, then followed it up to meet the twisted, rage-consumed face of Queen Thalia of Greece.

Her eyes were bloodshot, her breathing ragged, her entire aura bristling with power and fury.

“Did you not hear me when I was speaking to you?!” she screamed, spit flying from her lips.

Kei Y blinked behind his mask.

“No.”

His voice was chillingly calm.

“Let me go.”

There was no anger, no fear, no hate. His tone was so empty, so calm, it felt less like a demand and more like an observation.

It unsettled her.

For a brief moment, Queen Thalia felt the back of her neck prickle, a deep, primal fear whispering that she had made a mistake.

But rage smothered it, fueling her pride.

Before his teammates could react, before the world could process what was happening—

She tore his arm off.

With a brutal, twisting yank, Kei Y’s arm was severed at the shoulder, spinning through the air in a gruesome arc before landing with a wet slap on the stone.

“What?!” Mia gasped, eyes wide, her breath catching.

Kei M couldn’t even comprehend what he had just witnessed, frozen in place, while Inpu’s mouth opened and closed, searching for words.

Silvie simply watched.

Her eyes narrowed, breath calm.

And then—

A soft, dismissive chuckle.

“Hehehe...”

Emory calmly adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, brushing away an invisible speck of dust.

“Seems I’ve been too quiet all these years,” he said softly, almost conversationally, even as the world seemed to darken around him.

“A mere Commander of Realms dares to act however she pleases in my presence...”

He took a step forward, then another, each step light but echoing like a drum in the silence that followed.

The air shifted. The winds themselves seemed to pause, leaning in.

“Seems the world has forgotten who I am.”

And with that, Emory’s eyes opened—calm, unblinking.

A breeze rolled off him, subtle yet profound, and in that instant—

The world stilled.

Queen Thalia, who stood an entire cultivation realm above Emory, suddenly found her words caught in her throat, her lungs frozen, her heart slamming against her ribs as if trying to flee from her chest.

Every instinct she had, every sense that had kept her alive for decades, screamed at her:

You have made a mistake.

She had been foolish enough to enrage him.

And now, she had to find a way to survive it.

Alone.

And this situation forced every powerhouse present to rush to intervene.

They all knew exactly who Emory was—and what he was truly capable of.

Despite being only a General Class, when Emory spoke as if looking down on Commander of Realms cultivators, he was truly in the position to do so.

They could only hope to make it in time.

After all, a few seconds for people of their level was nothing—yet in combat, it was a lifetime.

“Emory, you should be careful of who you’re speaking to,” Queen Thalia hissed, trying to keep her voice steady even as sweat beaded and dripped down her temple.

“I am the Queen of Greece, and I will not be threatened.”

Her aura blazed, trying to ignite, trying to assert itself.

“Mother—!” Dione called out, fear leaking into her tone.

“Queen!” Greece’s participants shouted, preparing to move.

But Emory ignored them all.

Taken from NovelFire, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Because by the time they spoke, it was already too late.

Queen Thalia found herself on the ground, her back pressing into cold stone, a dagger radiating crimson destructive energy at her throat.

The blade hummed, threads of crackling force biting into the air, devouring the aether Thalia was trying to gather to defend herself.

It was so quiet, so sudden, that the silence itself screamed.

And the other person directly involved in the middle of this chaos?

Kei Y simply sat down.

Calmly.

Quietly.

Blood pooled around him, his HP bar steadily ticking downward, but he didn’t flinch.

Holding a pair of needles like tweezers, he picked out the bone fragments from his severed shoulder, each shard too crushed to salvage, methodically placing them in a neat pile beside him.

The pain was irrelevant. The noise around him was irrelevant. His mask reflected the world in distorted ripples, but he saw none of it.

Once the wound was clean enough, Kei Y picked up his severed arm.

He pressed it against the stump.

Aether rippled. Healing Force surged.

Slowly, methodically, he began reattaching his own arm, weaving tendons and nerves back together, ignoring the trembling Queen and the suffocating silence around Emory’s presence.

What was happening with the Queen and Emory wasn’t his problem.

And so he continued, quietly mending himself, while the world held its breath.

Being quick to save his wife, the King of Greece, placed a steady hand on Emory’s shoulder.

“Emory, let’s leave it here,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “You’ve taught her a reasonable lesson.”

Emory didn’t even glance at the hand on his shoulder.

“Reasonable?” he repeated softly. “Is that what you’re planning to tell my participant? A representative of my Amunar Kingdom, a Recruit Class child, had his arm severed by your Queen because your participants lacked talent. And this was a child under my protection, no less.”

His voice stayed level, but the air tightened, winds subtly coiling around him.

“So answer me, King Cronus. How do you plan to make that right?”

All around them, the nobility of the kingdoms could only watch in silence. None could deny the truth: a Commander of Realms cultivator had attacked and mangled a mere Recruit Class participant.

Cronus’ jaw tightened, but before he could speak—

“Emory.”

A calm, deep voice cut through the tension.

It was the King of Amunar, his eyes half-closed, arms folded behind him.

“Sir?” Emory asked, turning slightly.

“It’s alright, Emory,” his King said. “You did well. No one can blame you for this happening—it was unforeseen.”

Then, with a faint, unreadable smile, the King of Amunar spoke to Emory through a private mental transmission:

“She asked for you to stand down.”

The “she” was Auserre.

Emory clicked his tongue quietly but sheathed his blade, stepping back to stand beside his King.

“Tch.”

Queen Thalia wiped the blood at her throat, glaring at the King of Amunar with undisguised venom.

“King Pharaoh,” she spat, “how do you plan on answering for this insult?”

Pharaoh tilted his head, regarding her with calm eyes.

“You’re bold, aren’t you?” he said, voice low. “Don’t think for a moment I’m letting you live out of kindness. It’s simply that someone else has plans for your death.”

Thalia’s eyes narrowed, but she managed to force a mocking laugh.

“And who,” she demanded, “would be so bold as to take my life?”

A voice answered before Pharaoh could.

“Me.”

It was Kei Y. His voice was quiet, almost detached, but it cut through the air like a blade.

He was seated on the ground, blood pooling beneath him, as he calmly reattached his severed arm using needles and Healing Force. His mask was tilted downward, but his presence was razor-sharp.

“It’s a shame I’m not strong enough to do it myself,” Kei Y continued. “So I’ll have to borrow another’s hand to make it happen.”

His fingers twitched, regaining movement as the nerves reconnected.

“But you will die before I leave,” he finished, voice utterly calm.

A hush fell over the courtyard.

Cronus exhaled slowly, his eyes flickering between his wife, Pharaoh, Emory, and the boy before him.

This was dangerous ground.

But Cronus was not a fool; he knew his wife was in the wrong, and Pharaoh and Emory were not opponents he could afford to provoke further.

“You’re a bold child,” Cronus said finally, forcing a smile that did not reach his eyes.

He reached into his inventory and retrieved a vial of Mystic Grade Healing Potion, flicking it through the air toward Kei Y.

“I know it’s not enough to make amends,” Cronus said, “but accept this as a small branch of apology while I figure out a proper way to compensate you.”

Kei Y did not move to catch it.

Instead, Silvie caught the vial mid-air without looking, tucking it under her arm as she kept watch on Kei Y’s progress.

Kei Y simply continued to reconnect tendons and nerves, his fingers flexing and curling as sensation returned, drop by drop.

He didn’t acknowledge Cronus.

And the silence that followed said everything.

Despite her husband’s attempts to mend the situation, Queen Thalia just couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

“That’s the best joke I’ve heard today,” she sneered, wiping the last smear of blood from her throat. “You expect me to believe you’ll be the one to bring about my end?”

She leaned forward, eyes glittering with cold arrogance.

“If you’re so desperate to throw your life away, how about this—” she said, raising her voice so all could hear, “—for the next portion of the tournament, we’ll let the system designate a death match between Greece’s Recruit Class and Amunar’s Recruit Class. Let’s see if your big mouth will dictate the fate of your friends.”

She smiled, cruel and bright, as the system recognized her words and issued the challenge.

[System Alert]

[A challenge has been issued for a Death Match between Greece Kingdom Recruit Class and Amunar Kingdom Recruit Class.]

[[Warning: Accepting may result in permanent death. Foreign interference will be restricted.]

[Do you accept?]

Before either kingdom’s Recruit Class could even process the prompt, before fear or uncertainty could cloud their thoughts, Kei Y spoke, his voice calm.

“No need for my friends to be involved,” he said quietly. “I alone will be enough.”

“Tsk, words of a fool,” Queen Thalia spat.

But before anyone could respond, before her husband could intervene, before King Pharaoh could shut it down—

[System Update]

[Challenge Accepted.]

[Khenu of Amunar will face Greece Kingdom’s entire Recruit Class alone.]

[Death Match scheduled. Prepare accordingly.]

Silence fell.

“Don’t know who that is…” Crown Prince of Amunar muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “…but he’s really insane.”

Before the tension could settle, a sudden thoom split the air as a massive fist streaked toward Kei Y’s masked head, aiming to crush it instantly.

Kei Y barely glanced up, muttering,

“I can never catch a break.”

In a blink, the Crown Prince appeared, lightning crackling around him as he caught the descending fist with one hand, thunder snapping around his grip.

“I guess that’s what happens when you’re strong and talented,” Inpu laughed weakly, barely holding himself together as the reality of the moment threatened to overwhelm him.

The Crown Prince turned, eyes glinting with electric blue.

“You’re a brave one, aren’t you, you muscle-brained buffoon,” he said, staring down the Soldier Class challenger from Greece.

The man bared his teeth, his arm trembling in the Crown Prince’s grip as gravity bent around him, the pressure threatening to flatten Kei Y.

"That brat has been insulting our Queen and kingdom every chance he got. Since he accepted a death match, I'm here to end it." The Soldier Class from Greece clenched his fist, force radiating so intensely that the gravity around Kei Y warped, the air bending as if ready to crush him.

"Your brain must really be all muscle if you think I'm going to let you do whatever you want, Heracles," the Crown Prince said calmly, lightning dancing across his hand. The arcs snapped against Heracles’ skin, searing him, forcing a sharp hiss through his teeth.

"Crown Prince Zeus, you'd be wise to let me go," Heracles warned, his glare steady despite the pain.

"Or what?" Zeus asked, a field of lightning materializing around him, bolts forming and weaving through the air, ready to strike.

Heracles felt the crackling power on his skin, recognized the truth in it. Even with all his strength, he wasn’t going to win against the Crown Prince of Amunar.

He clicked his tongue, pulling his fist back, the oppressive gravity around Kei Y fading.

"Tch. That brat got lucky," Heracles muttered before turning away, heading back toward the Greece group without another word.

Kei M watched the exchange silently, his gaze lingering on Zeus.

“What?” Zeus asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kei M shook his head and looked away.

Dione stepped forward, her eyes cold and sharp.

“If it’s just you alone, without your little bodyguard, killing you will be easy,” she taunted.

Kei Y ignored her, turning to King Pharaoh.

“Can we get this started?”

Pharaoh nodded once.

“We’re ready.”

As Amunar’s participants moved toward their resting area, Mia hurried to Kei Y’s side, worry etched across her small face.

“How’s your arm, Khenu?” she asked softly.

Kei Y pulled off his mask, the potion from King Cronus placed in his mouth, the other hand holding the reattached limb steady. His Healing Force had done well enough for him to curl his fingers slightly, though the movement was slow and pained.

He took a sip of the potion and managed a small smile for Mia.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you, Mia.”

He patted her head gently, smearing a bit of blood into her hair, which she ignored with a proud, relieved grin.

Kei M stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“Are you sure about this?” Kei M asked, concern clear in his eyes. “I know you’re not one for killing, Khenu. You always look for mercy, even when you shouldn’t. I can handle this for you if you’d like.”

Kei Y’s fingers flexed again, aether crackling softly as the nerves settled into place.

He looked up, eyes calm and empty, yet burning quietly.

“No,” Kei Y said simply.“

"This one… is mine.”

And so, the second phase of the Tournament of Kingdoms began.

What was meant to be a randomized bracket, pitting kingdoms of equal cultivation realms against one another, instead opened with a death match:

One recruit class from Amunar against the entire remaining recruit class of Greece.

A hand in jaded attire reached out, ruffling the hair of the Crown Prince of China.

“And I thought you were trouble,” the King of China chuckled, his jade robes shifting softly as he glanced down at the Crown Prince of China—one of the Recruit class Kei Y and Silvie had quietly marked as worth watching.

Hearing the joke, the Crown Prince’s eyes flickered toward Kei Y, who stood calmly in the arena.

“Hmmm.”

Kei Y stood alone as the first Greek participant appeared before him, eyes cold.

“Your death could’ve been avoided if only you knew how to behave,” the Greek Recruit class spat, a shadowy green force swirling around him as a chained weapon appeared in his grip.

Kei Y said nothing.

The match began.

The chain shot forward, faster than a whip crack, its barbed links writhing with a shadowy green force that reeked of decay. It wasn’t just poison—it was Draining Force, a curse of the underworld that devoured vitality and aether alike.

Kei Y didn’t move.

The chain speared cleanly through his side, exiting in a spray of darkened blood. The moment it pierced him, the shadow force flooded the wound, its tendrils coiling inside like hungry leeches, draining his life with a sickly hiss.

The Greek participant grinned, eyes glinting. With a flick of his wrist, the chain rattled, jagged barbs tearing the wound wider, pulling at flesh, at muscle, trying to rip Kei Y apart from the inside.

“Stupid!” The Greek participant snarled. “That’s what you get for disrespecting her!”

Each yank of the chain made Kei Y’s body jerk, blood splattering onto the white stone of the arena, painting a dark trail behind his quiet steps. His robes clung wetly to him, the scent of blood and burned flesh mixing in the cold air.

But Kei Y kept walking forward.

Step by step.

Unbothered.

A faint glow of Healing Force shimmered around the wound, not enough to close it, but enough to keep the bleeding slow, the flesh from fully tearing under the chain’s pull.

“Fight back!” His opponent roared, his free hand raised as a sphere of shadow green force began to swirl above his palm. Spectral hands reached out of the orb, screaming silently as they clawed at the air, an aura of fear pressing down on the spectators as they watched.

“Die already!” The Greek opponent shouted, slamming the orb into the ground.

[Skill: Underworld Grasp]

Spectral arms erupted from the arena floor beneath Kei Y, clawing at his legs, tearing at his robes, draining heat and color from the world around him. The ground beneath Kei Y turned black, the aura of death creeping along the cracks, rushing toward his core.

Kei Y continued walking, dragging the spectral arms with him, ignoring the way his skin grayed beneath their grip, ignoring the cold leeching into his bones.

His opponent's eyes widened.

The chain whipped again, this time wrapping around Kei Y’s other arm, barbs biting deep, the shadow force pulsing like a second heartbeat.

The Greek opponent lifted his other hand, and the shadows converged, forming a long, jagged spear of condensed Draining Force. It crackled with dark lightning, each pulse drawing a scream from the spectral faces within.

“Rot in the underworld!” The Greek opponent screamed, hurling the spear with a roar.

The spear flew, trailing a spiral of green-black mist, aimed directly at Kei Y’s chest.

Kei Y raised his head.

His gaze—still locked on Queen Thalia.

The spear struck.

It pierced through his chest, bursting out the other side in an explosion of shadow lightning, the shockwave kicking up shards of stone, a cyclone of blood spraying into the air.

The Greek opponent laughed, the shadows swirling around him in triumph.

But Kei Y took another step forward.

And another.

The spear, still impaled through him, cracked, splintering against the faint glow of Healing Force spreading from within. The shadows hissed, trying to maintain their hold, but Kei Y’s aether pushed back, forcing the Draining Force to recede, inch by inch.

“W-What are you—?” The Greek opponent stammered, staggering back.

Kei Y’s steps continued.

The Greek opponent panicked, pulling the chain, trying to regain distance, but Kei Y’s hand shot out, gripping the chain, stopping it dead with a single flex of his fingers.

With a flick of his wrist, Kei Y yanked his opponent toward him.

The Greek opponent stumbled forward, eyes wide with fear as he tried to conjure another spear, shadows spiraling wildly around him.

Kei Y walked past him in that moment, his robes dragging blood across the floor.

As he passed, Kei Y raised an arm, Healing Force glowing faintly along his fingertips.

A single, clean swipe.

The air cracked.

The Greek opponent’s body convulsed as a large, heavy force slammed into his chest, the shadows around him scattering like torn smoke as he was lifted off his feet and hurled backward across the arena.

He hit the wall with a thunderous crash, the stone cracking and cratering around him before he slumped, unconscious, the last wisps of Draining Force bleeding off his body in smoky trails.

Kei Y lowered his hand, the glow fading.

For the first time, his gaze left Queen Thalia.

[Khenu vs Hades]

[Winner: Khenu]

The system’s announcement rang out over the hushed, trembling arena.

Kei Y turned, blood still dripping from the wounds knitting slowly under Healing Force, and began walking back to his starting position, the severed chain links clattering to the ground behind him.

Another figure appeared on the opposite side of the arena, stepping forward, daggers glinting under the light, a buzzing golden force coiling around him like a nest of angry hornets.

A familiar presence.

“I don’t remember much from the first phase,” the opponent said coldly, “but I know I failed to kill you twice. This time, I’ll finish the job.”

Kei Y glanced at him.

“You’re chatty for a sled.”

[Second Match: Khenu vs Hermes]

[Begin]