SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS

Beast Lair of Naga clan…

The entrance at the mouth of the beast lair shimmered like moonlight on turbulent water.

Kent stepped forward.

The moment the tips of his boots touched the steps, he got sucked down. A force unlike anything he had ever felt surged into his body. There was no warning. No rumble. No light. Just an overwhelming, soundless pull—as if the very laws of space had been rewritten and gravity had chosen a new master.

Before he could take a second step, the space around him twisted violently. The sky folded inward like a dying star. The ground beneath his feet vanished.

Wind stopped. Time bent.

His body was suspended midair, limbs flailing against nothing. He was falling—no, sinking—into something deeper than the sea and older than the stars. The pressure around him multiplied every second, like invisible chains dragging him into a deeper abyss.

He shut his eyes.

Darkness welcomed him like an old friend.

The terrifying turbulence continued for what felt like a lifetime. Kent had faced death. He had survived wars. But nothing prepared him for this kind of cosmic dislocation, where even the heartbeat seemed erased from existence.

And then—

Silence.

Stillness.

The crushing force dissipated.

When he finally opened his eyes, there was nothing.

Not simply an absence of light, but a void so complete it felt like reality had been peeled away. There was no scent, no sound, not even the echo of his own breath. His body floated in a weightless realm of pitch black.

Is this the abyss of the beast lair?

Why is there nothing here…?

Then—

A sliver of golden light sliced through the black like a blade.

Then another.

Two narrow lines… shimmering softly… blinking.

Kent’s breath caught in his throat.

Eyes.

A pair of ancient, enormous golden eyes appeared before him. Their irises were vertical slits, radiating silent power and authority. They hovered in the darkness like twin suns of an alien sky—watching, waiting.

He stared into them. They stared back.

A presence filled the void. Not with words, not with power—but existence. It was not warm. Nor was it cold. It was like standing before a glacier that had learned to burn.

And then a voice.

It was not heard, but felt—a vibration that shook the foundation of Kent’s soul.

“You… are not of the Naga bloodline.”

Each syllable dropped like divine decree, branding itself into the airless blackness.

Kent did not shrink away. He straightened his posture, his eyes steady, tone respectful.

“That is true. I do not carry your blood… but I was sent here to test my ability by the Naga clan. They seek my help… for I bear a scaled body.”

For a moment, the golden eyes remained still.

And then, Kent’s voice echoed—this one clearer, more dignified, but still bearing the same soul-shaking weight.

“You are… the Spirit of the Sacred Naga?” Kent asked, his voice cutting through the stillness.

“That is correct,” the voice replied, calm and resonant. “I am the Sky Naga, an immortal soul left here by the last Divine Naga. Yet I am also an existence independent of her. I preserve this trial ground, untouched by time. I receive all challengers. Sky Naga—that is the name you shall remember.”

Kent remained silent, watching the glowing golden orbs before him, their gaze bottomless.

“Why would the Sacred Naga leave a trial ground here?” he asked. The question was casual, almost rhetorical—he hadn’t expected an answer.

But to his surprise, the Sky Naga responded.

“Long ago, the heavens tremble. The three great fire-born divine beasts—the Sacred Naga, Divine Dragon, and the demonic bull—waged war for the Flame Progenitor’s throne in the Divine Realm. The war raged for thirty-three days, scorching the skies, boiling oceans, and crumbling ancient continents. When the flames of battle extinguished, all three collapsed in defeat, wounded beyond recovery.”

“The Sacred Naga descended to this realm… wounded, alone, and fading.”

The golden eyes dimmed slightly as if recalling ancient sorrow.

“For thirteen years, she slumbered in the Immortal Heavenly Realm. During that time, she came to admire the resilience of those she once called lesser. The Naga clan here was weak, but their hearts were untainted. So she left behind two trial grounds—one in the sky, one in the sea.”

“This… is the second. It was sealed, hidden from even the highest heavens.”

Kent exhaled slowly. The history of a Divine God burned into his mind.

“So that’s how it was,” he murmured.

The Sky Naga’s eyes flared slightly.

“Then… are you ready?”

Kent’s eyes narrowed. He placed a hand over his chest.

The Nirvanic Flame pulsed within his core—a primordial ember capable of incinerating impurities, guarding his soul, and anchoring his sanity.

“Yes,” he said, his voice clear. “I can start anytime.”

In terms of cultivation, he was still far from the peak. But he had walked paths others feared, challenged bloodlines older than empires, and stood amidst gods without kneeling. He was not here to die.

He was here to claim destiny.

“Very well,” the Sky Naga said. “The trial has three stages:

First stage: Beast Demon’s Storm.

Second stage: Beast Surge.

Third stage: Naga Heart.”

“These trials are not bound by time. You may experience days, months, or mere seconds. If you wish to surrender, speak aloud—I shall release you. But if you press forward recklessly, death will be inevitable.”

“The soul fragment of Sheshu, Divine Godly Warrior of the Naga race, lies within this abyss. It will accept only one who survives.”

Kent nodded slowly, face serene.

“Then I’ll survive.”

The Sky Naga’s eyes began to fade, retreating into the void like a sun dipping beneath an eternal horizon.

As the last shimmer disappeared, the darkness collapsed into itself.

A pulse erupted.

Kent stood alone once more—but the void around him had changed. Heat rose from the depths. The air shimmered faintly. The scent of salt and ash intertwined.

He looked ahead.

In the distance, barely visible, was a colossal stone gate shaped like a serpent swallowing the ocean. Beyond it—he could hear it.

The roar of beasts.

The rumble of tide.

The calling of fate.

He rolled his shoulders and waited for the attack.

–

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