SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS

“Nyara.” Kent called with a serious look.

Nyara turned, surprised by the sudden weight behind his tone.

“When will you make arrangements for my meeting with Muni Naga?”

Her brow raised slightly, but her lips curled into a knowing smile.

“So you’ve begun to think about it? Are you ready to face him?” she asked, walking toward him slowly.

He gave a silent nod.

Nyara took a deep breath, her voice turning serious. “Tomorrow. We move at dawn. The Patriarch has given permission for you to enter Muni Naga’s secluded grove. But you’ll be going alone—with me.”

Neela blinked. “Alone?”

Nyara met her sister’s gaze. “Yes. The place is sealed to outsiders. Not even the royal family enters unless invited. I will escort Kent to the edge of Muni Naga’s territory. From there, he must convince the weapon-maker himself. Muni Naga only crafts for those whose intent he deems worthy.”

“Are you not coming with me?” Kent asked with a questioning look.

“Muni Naga does not care about race or lineage. Only resolve, spirit, and fate. You must show him your heart… and your will to wield a bow that can shake the heavens.”

Kent stared out the window toward the sea cliffs. The ancient token given by ancestor Naga played on his fingers.

Neela watched quietly. Her fingers gripped the sheet, her heart softly stirred. For some reason, the thought of Kent leaving to face an ancient being alone made her uneasy. She opened her mouth as if to say something… but remained silent.

Nyara gently touched her sister’s shoulder. “Rest well, Sister Neela.”

Kent, still staring at the horizon, clenched his fist.

Tomorrow, he would face the legendary Muni Naga.

And carve his fate into the world.

–

Next Day…

A storm was brewing across the realms, not in the skies, but in the hearts of cultivators.

The announcement had arrived like thunder crashing through silent valleys—

The Golden Hair Tournament was returning.

Its name alone shook ancestral clans, ancient sects, and hidden dynasties. Every world, from the Spirit Wombs of the Shadow Realm to the fire lakes of the Burning Sun Peak, buzzed with a singular phrase:

Six months left.

Only cultivators below the Peak Immortal Earth Magus level were allowed entry. No rules. No retreat. Every match was a death match.

To win meant to rise to unmatched fame, gain a scroll of wish from the Law Keepers, and have the power to change fate. To lose… meant eternal silence.

–

Inside a quiet chamber, carved from red jade and layered with protective formations, Kent stood tall in his storm-gray armor.

Polished like celestial steel, the armor pulsed faintly with the essence of the Storm God Tyrant Physique, reacting to Kent’s breath, heart, and wrath.

His hair was tied behind in a warrior’s knot, his eyes calm yet blazing with the cold intensity of the heavens. Today, he was to leave for Muni Naga, the hidden weapon crafter of the Naga Race. His mind was steady—but his fate was now at a crossroad.

The door creaked gently.

Neela entered.

She walked with quiet grace, her steps light as a feather yet never submissive. Her emerald eyes held depth and uncertainty. In her hand, folded with reverence, was a square of white silk.

She didn’t speak. Instead, she extended the cloth with both hands.

Kent took it without a word and slowly unfolded the silk. The moment his eyes scanned the first few lines, his pupils narrowed.

Golden ink shimmered across the fabric, forming letters through spiritual calligraphy.

GOLDEN HAIR TOURNAMENT ANNOUNCED

Entry closes in 6 months.

Location: The Lawless Plains of the Eternal Middle World.

Eligibility: Below Peak Immortal Earth Magus.

Rules: Death Battle Format. No exceptions.

Reward: Golden Heir Mark. One Absolute Wish.

“Only one shall ascend. All others shall vanish.”

Kent stood silent, the wind outside the window rushing in as if it, too, waited for his reaction.

Neela finally broke the silence. “This… was just released in the Realm Pavilion. I thought you should see it before leaving.”

Kent didn’t reply at first. He folded the silk cloth and placed it gently on the nearby table.

His eyes looked distant—but within, storms were raging.

Then he spoke.

“This is the key.”

Neela blinked. “Key?”

Kent’s voice turned firm. “This is the path I must walk.”

He began pacing slowly, his thoughts moved like that of a god pronouncing judgment.

“Win the Golden Hair Tournament. Then return to Kulu Nation. I’ll rebuild what was shattered. I’ll save Slave village and take back my wife.”

“Then, the Han Family—for what they did. What they destroyed. I will burn their name into ash.”

His eyes turned darker, the storm of lightning in his soul flickering.

“After that… Red Sword City.”

Neela’s lips parted slightly. She did not understand what Kent thinking so deeply while ignoring her presence.

“I will protect the King Family, who suffered for me. I’ll cut down Emperor Kai, limb by limb, and make him kneel before the ashes of the palace he dared to rule.”

“Then, I will gather every one of my wives and bring them back to the Kulu Nation. I’ll bring back Fatty Ben, too. Alive, safe, and laughing.”

He clenched his fists.

“This path…” he whispered. “This path demands only one thing—victory in the Golden Hair Tournament. It’s do or die.”

Neela didn’t speak and waited for him to speak. The silk cloth rustled slightly as a gust of wind passed. The moment felt sacred.

“I can’t afford to lose,” Kent said.

She stepped forward and bowed deeply. “If you want to win, we should move now. Muni Naga awaits. And I—” her voice trembled only slightly, “—will walk behind you, no-matter how dark this path.”

Kent walked forward and rested his hand gently on her shoulder. “Thank you.”

Neela lowered her head. “I will take you to the cave of Muni-Naga… It all depends on your luck.”

Kent turned to the horizon, where lightning was already painting the sky in flashes.

“Let’s go… I am eager to see my new-weapon.”

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