CHAPTER 179: ASHES OF ARROGANCE

He walked slowly toward her, each step unnervingly deliberate. She lunged again, voice cracking as she shouted, "Take this!" The second blow landed at his throat and clanged off like hitting an iron column. Her arms shook from the recoil. The white flames guttered and died.

"W What are you?" Celia whispered, half to herself.

A soft voice came inside Nolan’s head—clear, private, and calm. Master. May I try a little harder? I want to test my strength in human form. The thought was not spoken aloud. It slipped into Nolan’s mind like a warm hand.

Nolan blinked. You can speak telepathically? he replied in the same quiet channel. (Telepathy is the mind to mind communication he used to send the message.)

Yes, Damian answered instantly. I can. He paused as if measuring the moment. Do you want me to land a strike that will make her understand—something painful but not lethal? So she will know I am not someone to be trifled with, without you being blamed for ordering it.

Nolan closed his eyes for a heartbeat, weighing the risks. Then he nodded inwardly. Do it. Make it real enough to be a lesson but not to maim.

Damian inclined his head minutely. "Understood," he answered inside Nolan’s mind, then stepped forward.

Celia braced herself, chest heaving. This time when Damian moved, it was not to block. His palm flashed—precise, controlled—and landed on her shoulder with a power that folded through muscle and bone like a strong but gentle shove. Pain bloomed whitehot, sharp enough to force a stagger, but not to break anything.

Celia hit the ground on one knee, breathing hard, eyes wide with shock and humiliation. Tears of anger and embarrassment burned in her eyes.

Damian retreated a step and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper to the room. "Are you done now?"

The courtyard hung heavy with silence. Nolan stepped forward and placed a hand on Celia’s shoulder, his expression steady and softer than she felt. "Enough for tonight," he said aloud. "We train to grow stronger, not to exile one another."

Celia glared at Damian for a long, furious moment, then slowly spat out, "I’m not finished—" before her anger collapsed into something unmoving: stunned, humbled respect.

Celia’s grip tightened around her sword. Her phoenix flames flickered across the blade like living light. But when her strike met Damian’s skin—

clang!

The sound was metallic. Her sword stopped dead against his neck, not even scratching him.

Her eyes widened. "What... what is this? That was my strongest slash!"

Damian didn’t even flinch. He looked down calmly, golden eyes gleaming.

Nolan folded his arms, watching in silence. She still doesn’t know he’s a Divine Dragon King. That skin... it’s tougher than any metal forged by humans.

Celia leapt back, gritting her teeth. "Fine. If I can’t cut you with that, then I’ll burn you alive!"

Her sword ignited, white flames spiraling violently. She slashed the air—sending a wave of blazing energy straight toward Damian.

Damian raised one hand.

With a flick of his wrist, the white flame shattered apart, scattering harmlessly into glowing embers.

Celia froze. "He deflected it... with his hand?"

Then, in an instant, he vanished.

"Behind you," a calm voice said.

She spun around—no one there.

A light tap landed on her shoulder.

"Over here."

She turned again, swinging wildly. Nothing.

Before she could react again, a heavy thud struck her cheek.

"Guh!" Celia stumbled backward, eyes wide in disbelief.

He had punched her—without effort. Even holding back, the impact sent her sliding several meters.

"How dare he... how dare he punch me in the face!" she roared, fury blazing in her eyes. "You’ll pay for that!"

Flames erupted from her body, her white phoenix aura roaring to life as she charged again.

But Damian disappeared once more—then reappeared at her side, his foot already in motion.

WHAM!

The kick struck clean across her face, sending her crashing to the ground, dust flying up around her.

"Celia!" Nolan shouted.

She coughed, pushing herself up with trembling hands, eyes glowing with fury. "I’m not... done yet!"

Her sword slashed the air, releasing a massive flaming crescent that tore through the ground toward Damian.

He met it head-on. With a single uppercut, he split the attack apart.

"Sorry," he said calmly, his tone steady. "But you and I... are on different levels."

Before Celia could react, he stepped forward and drove his fist gently—but powerfully—into her stomach.

BOOM!

The impact sent her flying into the wall behind her, cracking the stone.

Nolan winced. "Oh dear... I think he hit a little too hard." He rubbed the side of his face. "I told him to hold back."

Damian raised his hand apologetically. "Master, I swear I was holding back. I didn’t think she’d fly that far."

Nolan sighed and walked toward Celia, kneeling beside her. "Hey, are you all right?" he said softly.

He placed a hand on her forehead.

A faint blue light pulsed from his palm—warm, gentle, divine.

The pain in her body vanished instantly. Her breathing steadied.

She blinked up at him, cheeks still flushed from the fight. "Master..."

Nolan sighed as he watched Celia struggle to her feet. "Damian, why did you hit her so hard?" he asked, voice calm but carrying a hint of reproach.

Damian lowered his gaze. "I didn’t mean to send her that far, Master. I was holding back. It just... exceeded my expectation."

Celia spat out a laugh, half-angry, half-defeated. "Fine. I admit it. You win. You’re stronger than I thought."

Nolan offered a small, approving nod. "Okay. Who wants to go next?"

Linda lifted a hand without hesitation. "I’ll go." She swung her bow and notched an arrow, stepping into the center of the garden. "Celia’s had her chance. Let me try."

Lyra watched from the side, eyes narrowed as she tuned into the air. "Make it fair," Nolan said, folding his hands. "No killing, just a test of skill."

"Understood," Linda replied, calm and focused.

Nolan raised both hands and then lowered them. "Begin."