Chapter 82 — Clash of Prodigies
Unknown Location
Two and a half years.
That was how long the trainees had been trapped inside the grinding wheel of Verina Hale's regime. Two and a half years of relentless drills, punishing regimens, and brutal lessons that broke their bodies only to rebuild them harder, sharper, and stronger.
Ruby, Minji, James, and the others had already grown more than anyone could have imagined. Their muscles had been tempered, their minds sharpened, and their foundations laid. Yet Verina knew that the method which had carried them this far had reached its limits. They would grow no further by mere repetition.
Now, their true advancement would come from elsewhere—farming essence, cultivating experience in live battle, honing their instincts until they became second nature. And so, she devised one last crucible.
A sparring exhibition.
Not the usual matches they had fought over the years, but a spectacle. A clash between the brightest of them, in full view of every trainee, to carve into their minds the truth that strength was not inherited—it was seized through struggle.
To make the event unforgettable, she called upon a name that carried weight in every hall and training yard.
A man whose presence alone would spark whispers.
Sam Lee.
The gladiatorial arena thundered with life. Thousands of trainees crowded the seats, a sea of uniforms and restless energy. The fighting pit stretched wide below, its sandy floor scored with old scars from battles past. Heat shimmered faintly in the air, and torches ringed the walls, their light dancing like restless spirits.
Above the pit, carved into stone, sat the overseer's dais. Four thrones overlooked the stage like silent judges. Verina Hale occupied the central seat, her posture severe, her piercing eyes sweeping over the gathering. Beside her sat several instructors—scarred veterans who had forged this new generation of fighters with blood and sweat.
But one throne remained empty.
That emptiness spoke louder than any words. The audience knew someone was coming, and the air itself seemed to hold its breath.
One of the instructors leaned closer to his peer, his voice low, lips barely moving.
"Tell me, why are we waiting for a planetary-tier hunter? We surpass him easily."
The other stiffened, his gaze darting about before whispering sharply, "Quiet. Do you want your tongue cut out? He isn't just another planetary hunter. His potential is boundless—and his father's shadow stretches further than you could imagine."
Before the first could scoff, a deep vibration rolled through the air.
A hum, then a roar.
The very sky split with descending engines as several sleek ships emerged from the void, their hulls gleaming like blades. They moved in perfect formation, surrounding the arena in a display of silent dominance.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
From the lead vessel, a line of figures in immaculate black suits descended first. They marched in flawless precision, their steps heavy with authority, their expressions blank masks. They positioned themselves around the arena like sentinels, each one radiating the cold pressure of trained killers.
Then, the doors of the central ship opened.
And he emerged.
A tall figure, his presence eclipsing all those who came before. His black coat hung like the mantle of a monarch, its fabric swaying with each deliberate step. Fashionable, mirrored glasses hid his eyes, yet the weight of his gaze could be felt like a blade pressed against the skin. A tattoo curved along the line of his neck, its ink dark and intricate, crawling upward toward his jaw.
His hair was wavy, falling in a balance of order and rebellion—neither fully straight nor wild. The wind teased at it as if daring to challenge him.
Six feet four, his frame was carved like steel. Not bulky, but sculpted—an apex predator's physique, built for dominance. His every stride was slow, unhurried, yet charged with a current that made hearts race. Calm. Controlled. Unstoppable.
At his arrival, every instructor rose to their feet. Their rigid posture was less respect more fear , like prey before a predator.
All except Verina Hale.
She remained seated, unflinching, her gaze as sharp as ever.
The man ignored the others entirely, his path straight and certain. When he reached her, his lips curved into the faintest smirk. He extended his hand with casual familiarity.
"Nice to meet you, teacher," Sam Lee said, his voice smooth, carrying a faint edge of amusement.
Verina did not move at first. Her eyes bored into him, measuring, dissecting, unyielding. At last, she clasped his hand briefly, though her expression remained a stone mask.
"You've learned nothing," she said coldly. "No discipline. No respect for order. You've forgotten every lesson I drilled into that arrogant skull of yours."
The smirk widened. "Yes, ma'am."
He released her hand and dropped into the empty seat as if the arena belonged to him. Unbothered. Untouchable.
The instructors slowly returned to their places, though none dared speak.
And beneath them, in the pit, the screen flickered to life.
Two names appeared.
Ruby Hale vs. Ken Xiao.
The arena erupted.
Many in the arena had heard whispers of Ruby Hale's talent. To most, she was not merely a trainee but a prodigy in the making, the kind of figure whose name carried a weight that promised greatness. She had risen through every test with brilliance and ferocity, each step sharpening the legend surrounding her.
But on this day, her opponent was no ordinary challenger.
Ken Xiao.
He was the quiet storm, a figure who had not sought fame but had earned it regardless. While others basked in recognition, Ken had carved his place through results—high rankings across every category of training, excelling in both mental discipline and combat readiness. He was not flashy. He did not crave the spotlight. Yet every time the scores were posted, his name appeared near the top, a reminder that talent could exist in silence.
And now, the clash was set.
Ruby Hale versus Ken Xiao.
The very thought of it sent a tremor of anticipation through the crowd.
---
A low murmur began to ripple across the seats, swelling into a restless sea of whispers. Trainees leaned into one another, some grinning with excitement, others hushed with unease.
"Ruby will crush him."
"Don't be so sure—Ken Xiao's no pushover."
"I've seen her spar. She's on another level."
"Yeah, but he's different. He's… unpredictable."
The voices tangled into a current of speculation, each opinion feeding the atmosphere of tension.
Among the crowd, Minji and James sat close to Ruby. They could feel the weight pressing against her shoulders, yet Ruby herself seemed untouched by it. Her expression was steady, her eyes locked on the arena below, not a single flicker of doubt showing.
James leaned in, his voice low but earnest. "Good luck, Ruby."
Minji echoed immediately, her tone softer but just as firm. "Good luck."
Ruby didn't look at either of them. She only gave a small, sharp nod, her jaw tightening, eyes unblinking. To her, the match had already begun in her mind.
---
Farther off, away from the restless mass of trainees, two figures sat together. Their presence drew glances—part curiosity, part unease.
They looked alike. Too alike for coincidence.
The first wore a traditional black Chinese robe, its fabric flowing with an understated elegance. His hair was long, pulled into a tight man bun, though several strands slipped free, trailing down his back like ink against pale skin. His features were carved sharp—high cheekbones, a narrow, defined jaw, and a nose that cut cleanly down the center of his face. His eyes, dark and unyielding, held no warmth. They were the eyes of someone who had measured the world and found it lacking.
This was Ken Xiao.
Beside him lounged another man who shared the same bone structure, the same natural symmetry of features. But where Ken was all edges and restraint, this one was charm and ease. His hair was cropped short, styled with casual precision, and a smile played at his lips as though life itself were a game he had already mastered. He wore a sleeveless shirt that revealed the toned shape of his arms, paired with modern hakama-style pants that blended tradition with defiance. His posture was relaxed, yet in his stillness there was a quiet readiness, as though he could rise and strike in an instant.
This was Shi Xiao.
Shi reached over, resting a hand on his brother's shoulder. His touch carried both affection and expectation, a bond deeper than words. His smile widened just slightly.
"Good luck, Ken. Show them what we can do. Shock them all."
Ken's lips curved upward in the faintest grin. His voice, low and steady, carried no arrogance—only certainty.
"Of course. Of course."
---
The arena began to shift.
Metal gears groaned and ancient hinges screamed as the heavy gates at opposite ends of the fighting pit stirred. The grinding sound cut through the noise of the crowd, silencing them instantly. The torches flickered against the walls as though the air itself held its breath.
From the shadows behind those gates, the challengers would emerge.
The sand in the pit shifted under a faint breeze, and the very floor seemed to wait, ready to drink in the struggle that was about to unfold.
All eyes turned to the opening gates.
The whispers died. The crowd leaned forward.
The match that could define legends was about to begin.
To be continued…