(Final Polished Edition — Story Unchanged)

  At the heart of Cinderfall City stood a colossal ring of ancient stone.

  The Crimson Arena.

  It was not merely a battlefield.

  It was judgment made manifest.

  Here, status meant nothing.

  Here, mercy rarely existed.

  Here, strength alone rewrote destiny.

  Merchants wagered fortunes.

  Mercenaries pursued reputation.

  Cultivators fought to prove their existence to a world that respected only power.

  Above the arena, fractured stones floated in silent suspension, held aloft by unseen forces. Pale streams of blue energy drifted between them like slow-moving lightning, illuminating the gray sky that hung overhead—cold, distant, and emotionless, as though the heavens themselves watched without interference.

  This world was called—

  Aetherion.

  A realm sustained by an invisible force known as Aether Flux.

  Most beings lived and died without ever sensing it.

  Only the rare felt its presence.

  Long Chen felt it clearly.

  Not as energy.

  But as recognition.

  As if the world itself acknowledged his arrival.

  The crowd erupted as a massive figure stepped into the arena.

  Brakk of the Iron Jaw.

  His body bore countless scars, each one a surviving memory of brutality. Iron-reinforced teeth flashed as he grinned, trophies earned through years of underground combat.

  Encasing his fist rested the artifact—

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Graveknuckle.

  Forged by the merciless Black Furnace Guild of the Varkun Empire, the weapon amplified raw kinetic force with terrifying efficiency.

  One strike shattered bone.

  Two strikes ended careers.

  Three strikes ended lives.

  Brakk slammed his fist into his palm.

  The arena floor cracked beneath the impact.

  “Another child sent to entertain me?” he laughed.

  The crowd joined him—

  Until Long Chen entered.

  He walked forward calmly.

  No dramatic entrance.

  No arrogance.

  No visible aura.

  Yet the atmosphere shifted.

  Those sensitive to Aether Flux felt something subtle—

  The energy currents bent ever so slightly toward him.

  Long Chen raised his gaze.

  Floating stones.

  Energy streams.

  Hidden observation towers watching from above.

  He analyzed everything instantly.

  New world.

  Unknown hierarchy.

  Observe first. Survive second. Rise last.

  Within his chest, the Voidheart Mark pulsed faintly—the silent inheritance born from Fallen Star Gorge.

  Power Level

  Mortal Foundation Stage

  Iron Vein Layer — Level Two

  A beginner by Aetherion standards.

  But Long Chen had never followed ordinary measurements.

  “Last words, kid?” Brakk mocked.

  Long Chen met his gaze calmly.

  “I didn’t come to die,” he said.

  A brief silence followed.

  “I came to rise.”

  The bell rang.

  Brakk attacked immediately.

  No testing strike.

  Only overwhelming violence.

  His fist descended like a collapsing mountain, air exploding outward under the crushing pressure of Graveknuckle.

  Gasps rippled across the arena—

  But Long Chen vanished.

  A faint ripple crossed the stone floor.

  Whisper Drift.

  No afterimage remained—only displaced dust.

  Brakk’s punch shattered the ground where Long Chen had stood moments before.

  Before the giant recovered—

  Long Chen appeared at his flank.

  Two fingers extended.

  No wasted motion.

  Piercing Thread Strike.

  Precision over power.

  His strike landed precisely at the nerve junction beneath Brakk’s shoulder.

  The result was immediate.

  Brakk’s arm went numb.

  Graveknuckle slipped from his grasp and struck the arena floor with a heavy clang.

  Confidence shattered into shock.

  “What—”

  Long Chen moved again.

  One step.

  One breath.

  One decisive strike.

  Brakk collapsed.

  Silence consumed the arena.

  No explosion.

  No dramatic finish.

  Only absolute efficiency.

  The audience struggled to comprehend what they had witnessed.

  Victory without spectacle.

  Power without noise.

  High above, within the Obsidian Watchtower, a figure observed silently.

  Lord Sevren Draak, one of the Four Cinder Lords.

  His sharp eyes never left the boy.

  “This one does not fight like a novice,” he murmured.

  Archivists hurriedly searched records.

  “No clan.”

  “No lineage.”

  “No history.”

  Sevren’s smile deepened slightly.

  “Interesting…”

  “…He may shake Aetherion.”

  At arena level, Mira crossed her arms, watching Long Chen depart.

  “A monster was born today,” she said.

  Ragnar shook his head slowly.

  “Not a monster.”

  His gaze followed Long Chen as he left the arena gates.

  “A storm.”

  And quietly—

  Dangerously—

  For the first time since his arrival—

  Aetherion noticed Long Chen.

  ?? End of Chapter 13

  Thank you for walking this path with Long Chen.

  Each trial shapes his strength — the next

  gate is already opening.

  Continue to the next chapter.

  Author: R. Limitless

  ? 2026 Md Rahul Hossain

  All rights reserved