The light above him blazed like a descending sun as Zion, clad in a fresh combat robe with his family's sigil stitched across the back, walked forward with a casual, proud gait.

Some people screamed like fans at a rock concert. Others stood in solemn respect.

Even the camera drones kept a respectful distance, creating an almost cinematic framing as Zion climbed the stairs, his eyes flicking across the crowd briefly.

He stopped before Reva, who handed him the microphone.

She smiled, voice softer now. "You've fought many battles, Zion. Won many international tournaments. Even world championships. But this one was… personal, wasn't it?" Zion stiffened for a second, thinking that she was referring to the kiss, but then Reva added. "After all, your mother herself is the tournament organizer."

Zion nodded once. "Yes, that's true."

Reva smiled wider. "Still… the prize isn't small. No tournament ever offered such a prize in the entire history of mankind. 10 million credits, One Rank=10 Skill card, and a Knowledge Transfer card of your choice. How do you feel about it?"

At that moment, the audience—up to that point jubilant—fell silent.

Because the words Rank-10 Skill Card meant something entirely different.

Even those in the lower realms of cultivation, even those unfamiliar with card systems or clan politics, knew the rumors:

Rank-10 cards cannot be made by science, it cannot be made by any guild or even the World Arcana Masters Organization.

They can only be made by Demigods.

It also means that the existence of demigods is not just a myth either. Of course, those with a high background were aware that an unknown demigod used to guard the Level-5 region in the Arcana world. There were rumors that Leah was also a demigod. And those with extremely powerful backgrounds who were aware of the power of hidden clans knew the existence of Azzy, the lone demigod ruler of a hidden clan.

But for the commoners, it was indeed a myth. So, yeah, it was kind of a surprise. But then again, those who already knew about the rewarding system came to that conclusion long ago.

In the front row, a prestigious academy elder dropped their monocle. In another section, a man in a professor's robe was openly weeping.

"I hope it is a single-target one."

"Yeah, if it's AOE, it could wipe an entire city… It was like detonating 100 nuclear bombs at once."

"Isn't that too much power for an eighteen-year-old?"

"I don't think anyone would be daring enough to try fighting him in the real world."

Reva took the Rank-10 card off the tray herself. It looked nothing like the others.

This card didn't shimmer. It didn't glow.

It was translucent, like it was made of glass, and Zion saw the image of what seemed like a stone Golem.

He calmly accepted it and walked back to the participants' box, still carrying it instead of storing it in his pockets or storage card.

He seemed quite calm on the surface. But inside… His heartbeat was loud.

That thing… inside the card… it wasn't a skill. It was alive.

As he lowered his gaze, his senses entered the card. He could feel its presence. Its name: Knull.

"I thought Father killed it when he wiped out the Forest of Death. But it looks like he imprisoned it instead. And he gave it to me now."

His eyes gleamed faintly.

This is reusable. It's not a skill—it's more of a summon.

His skin prickled slightly as he passed by the shimmering illusion barrier. The card felt like it was watching him from inside its confines.

The rest of the closing ceremony unfolded with celebration and applause.

Reva returned to host the final group photograph. All sixteen finalists stood in a grand formation, with the President of Freyles standing in the center, flanked by Leah Pendragon, and on the other side, the Tournament Council Chairperson.

The President, a stately man with a thick white beard and robes of crimson and gold, stood beside Zion with a firm hand on his shoulder, talking to him for the first time. "The country is proud of you, young man," he said warmly. Then, a pause later, he leaned a bit and almost whispered. "By the way, I am all for the Great Merge, Prince, as long as your mother will deliver the promise."

"Hmm?" Zion cast a sidelong glance at the President of the country, wondering what his mother had promised him. But then again, since they all sat in the VIP Box, he could guess they just don't sit around and have casual conversations.

In the end, he nodded in silence, going along.

Meanwhile, the camera drones snapped photos rapidly. Floating media panels displayed the images in real-time above the arena for all to see:

"Top 16—Year 2043 Edition-Official Photo | Tournament of Power

Once the pictures were over, an announcement rang out, echoing across the intercoms.

"All Top 16 participants, please proceed to the parking docks. Vehicles have been arranged for transfer to the Grand Banquet Hall at Royal Group Hotels."

The elite parking area buzzed with luxury hover cars and sleek black SUVs lined with flags of various academies and noble houses.

Orion, Selene, and Zion naturally drifted toward one another.

Selene turned, half-yawning. "Please tell me they will have chicken wings."

Zion rolled his eyes. "You and your obsession with the chicken wings. Whoever ends up with you, foodie, will have a tough job."

"I should say you must really have a great metabolism, Selene," Orion blinked.

"That's a nice way of putting it." Selene smiled but then took a pause and added. "I must say, I find you more likable than that flirty boy.

"Anyways, we should get going. Come, let's…" Zion was about to urge them to get moving but a shadow loomed over his shoulder instead, stopping him.

"You're coming with me, young man."

Zion blinked and turned around. "Mother?"

"We have a conversation at due," Leah said sharply. "Let's go."

Before he could object, her hand gripped his wrist with talon-like precision and tugged him toward her personal vehicle. He looked back helplessly at Orion and Selene.

"Help," he mouthed.

Selene just waved cheerfully. "Good luck!"

Orion shook his head with a sigh. Fiona averted her gaze instead.

A while later, the door slammed.

The roads outside the Grand Arena trailed off into a distant blur as Leah's black vehicle glided past the back gates.

The stadium cheers had faded. The press swarmed the front exit, shouting for photos, interviews, and reactions from the other finalists.

But none of that touched Zion.

He sat in the passenger seat, arms folded, jaw tight, his eyes fixated on the blur of the city through the tinted window.

Leah didn't speak at first. Her grip on the steering wheel was steady, knuckles pale against the dark leather. The only sound inside the car was the gentle hum of the hover-engine and the occasional faint beat of the vehicle's blinker.

It wasn't until they hit the freeway that she spoke.

Her tone was deceptively casual. "Do you love Fiona?"

Zion blinked, gaze still locked on the window.

"Or was it just the heat of the moment? Maybe you panicked. Or maybe you didn't know what else to do." Leah continued.

Zion didn't answer.

His jaw twitched. His fingers tightened.

Leah's voice sharpened. "Answer me, Zion."