CHAPTER 140: THE SLAP THAT LIT THE FLAME!

As soon as Edwin’s and Elysia’s match came to an end, the crowd’s cheers were still echoing across the arena.

Both fighters were catching their breath, sweat dripping down their foreheads, their swords lowered but still trembling from the strain of the fight.

Edwin glanced up toward the VIP seats, where the Celestial Royal—draped in lavish golden robes—sat in a position of dominance.

His father, a man of humble but proud bearing, was walking up the steps toward that section.

His steps were cautious, respectful.

When he finally reached the edge of the Celestial’s dais, Edwin’s father went down on one knee, bowing his head deeply.

"Respected sir," he began in a steady voice, "I would like to know... why my son and his opponent had to fight two matches in a row?"

For a moment, silence lingered. Then the heavy-set man in the royal seat—round-faced, with beady eyes that carried arrogance in every blink—slowly stood up.

He was Celestial, and the aura he carried seemed to press down on everyone around him.

His eyes narrowed.

"Who the hell are you," he said, his tone dripping with disdain, "to question me?"

Edwin’s father lowered his head even further. "I... I am sorry, Your—"

SLAP!

The sound cracked through the arena like a whip. The fat Celestial’s hand had lashed out with such force that Edwin’s father was sent sprawling backward, tumbling down several marble steps before landing hard on his side.

Gasps erupted from the audience. Some turned their heads away; others watched in horrified fascination.

From the arena floor, Edwin saw everything.

"Father!" he said, his voice breaking. His eyes widened in disbelief as he watched his father struggle to get up, his cheek already swelling, blood at the corner of his mouth.

A flood of anger and sorrow crashed into Edwin’s chest. His vision blurred as tears began to form—not from weakness, but from the helpless rage building inside him.

He gripped his sword tighter. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to rush up those steps and drive his blade into that arrogant man’s throat.

He took one step forward.

"Edwin!"

Elysia’s hand shot out, grabbing his arm before he could take another step. Her eyes locked onto his, calm but firm.

"If you go now," she said in a low, unyielding tone, "you’ll only throw your life away. And if you die here... you’ll never be able to take revenge."

Her words hit him harder than the roar of the crowd. He froze, trembling, his sword quivering in his grip.

Edwin looked back at his father—now being pulled away by guards, still coughing from the blow—and his teeth clenched so hard it hurt.

Tears spilled freely down his face, each one a promise.

He could do nothing but stand there, forced to watch from a distance, the fire in his heart growing hotter with every passing second.

The day finally drew to a close after the seventh match had ended. The cheers from the crowd still echoed faintly in the air, but the fighting grounds were now quiet.

The sun had long dipped below the horizon, leaving only the warm glow of lanterns scattered around the courtyard.

Inside the great banquet hall, the atmosphere was far from quiet. Tonight, the grand dinner was prepared for the visiting families, nobles, and dignitaries who had come to witness the tournament.

The hall was vast, its high ceilings painted with constellations of gold, while silk banners of each clan hung proudly along the walls.

The aroma of roasted meats, spiced wine, and freshly baked bread filled the room, creating an air of celebration.

All the families had gathered together at the long tables, their members exchanging polite greetings and subtle glances of rivalry.

But one group was missing—the participants themselves. The young warriors, still weary from their battles, had been given a separate room to dine in.

There, they could rest and recover without the pressure of the nobles’ watchful eyes.

At the center of the main hall sat the Celestial Royal family, elevated slightly above the rest of the guests on a platform draped in deep crimson cloth.

Their table was carved from black jade, shining under the golden light of the chandeliers. The royal insignia, a phoenix rising from flames, was etched into the surface.

To the left and right of them sat the Council of Clans, an assembly of elders from the most powerful families in the realm.

Their faces were calm, but their eyes carried the weight of countless political games. Tonight, however, they spoke little—because at the royal table, one voice rose above all others.

The Celestial Royal himself, a tall figure with an aura that commanded absolute attention, placed his goblet down.

The sound was sharp enough to draw every gaze toward him. His golden robes shimmered as he leaned forward, his dark eyes scanning the room like a hawk surveying its prey.

"No one," he said slowly, his voice deep and cold, "speaks against me."

The hall fell utterly silent. Even the soft clinking of cutlery stopped.

"I create the world... and I rule it."

His tone carried not arrogance, but certainty—an unshakable belief in his divine right to command.

None dared to challenge those words. The council members kept their eyes lowered, and the families in attendance remained still, as if any movement might be taken as defiance.

Then, the royal continued, his voice steady but filled with authority.

"This tournament will last for three days. By the end, the one who holds first place will bring not only honor to their name, but also power to their bloodline.

Their family," he paused, letting the weight of his words settle, "will be appointed as the Elder of the Council of Clans... for one year."

The hall stirred with murmurs, though no one spoke loudly. Such a position meant influence over the laws, decisions, and direction of the entire realm.

It was a prize worth more than gold or land—it was the power to shape the future.

The Celestial Royal leaned back in his seat, satisfied. The rules had been declared. The game had begun.

Tomorrow, the matches would resume. And every clan in the room knew—victory was no longer just about pride. It was about control over the realm itself.