The spiritual energy inside the cultivation chamber surged violently.
Keil Voss sat cross-legged at the center, The Sovereignty open before him. Ancient symbols glowed faintly across the pages as he recited low, rhythmic incantations from memory. The Red-Rooted Poison had already dissolved within his meridians, spreading like controlled fire through his body.
His core trembled.
Then began to evolve.
His Drieverend Heart skipped once—
Then twice—
Before stabilizing.
An immense aura erupted outward.
It was not wild.
It was not chaotic.
It was oppressive.
Dominating.
Ancient.
Like a ruler reclaiming lost territory.
Across the room, Elara Nightvale's cultivation shattered.
Her breathing became unstable. The spiritual energy she had gathered dispersed instantly, torn apart by Keil's overwhelming presence. Sweat formed on her forehead as she tried to stabilize herself.
"How…?" she whispered internally.
"How can a fifteen-year-old release such terrifying pressure?"
She clenched her teeth.
Instead of retreating, she made a risky decision.
She began to cultivate using his aura.
If she could align with its rhythm—even slightly—her foundation might leap forward.
For a few seconds—
It worked.
Her meridians expanded.
Her core brightened.
Then—
Blood spilled from her lips.
Her body trembled violently.
That aura was not something an ordinary cultivator could borrow.
It was sovereign-class pressure.
It required control.
Understanding.
Dominion.
Elara collapsed onto the floor.
At that exact moment—
Keil Voss's aura surged one final time.
Then condensed.
Then stabilized.
He opened his eyes.
A faint, controlled breath left his lips.
"As expected," he murmured calmly.
"With proper refinement, the Red-Rooted Poison accelerates absorption."
He stood slowly.
"I have reached the Soul Transcend Realm."
There was no pride in his tone.
Only confirmation.
He turned—
And saw Elara Nightvale lying unconscious on the floor.
Her silver hair spread across the ground, her breathing shallow.
Keil stared at her for a few seconds.
"Oh," he said calmly.
"You were here."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"You look familiar."
A memory surfaced from his previous life.
A woman standing on a sacred altar.
Cold.
Untouchable.
The Saintess.
"It has been a long time," he murmured quietly.
"Saintess."
---
The Unexpected Encounter
The next scene unfolded quietly.
Keil Voss carried Elara Nightvale in his arms, walking through the palace corridors toward the medical wing. His posture was steady, his expression unchanged.
"Is this how I meet her in this life?" he thought.
"What a coincidence."
Elara stirred.
Her eyelids fluttered open.
The first thing she saw was Keil's face—calm, composed, frighteningly emotionless.
"You're awake," he said flatly.
Realizing she was being carried, her cheeks flushed instantly.
"You—! Why am I—?"
"Your cultivation collapsed," he answered. "You fainted."
There was no teasing.
No softness.
No embarrassment.
Just facts.
"I apologize," he added coldly.
"I did not notice you when I entered."
Elara felt strangely unsettled.
This was not the Keil Voss she had heard about—the smiling genius of the Voss Family.
This man felt distant.
Ancient.
Before she could respond—
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
A young man froze mid-step upon seeing them.
The Second Crown Prince of the Voss lineage.
Adrian Voss.
His eyes widened.
Shock turned instantly into fury.
"What is the meaning of this?" Adrian demanded.
Keil turned slowly.
"You misunderstand—"
Before he could finish, Adrian's voice sharpened.
"How dare you touch the princess so casually?"
His aura flared aggressively.
Keil's eyes hardened.
"Watch your tone."
His voice was low—but suffocating.
"Is this how you address your elder brother, Adrian Voss?"
The corridor fell silent.
"Whether you misunderstand or not," Keil continued,
"your words have never mattered to me."
He lowered Elara gently to her feet.
His face remained expressionless.
Adrian felt something cold run through his spine.
There was no anger in Keil.
No argument.
Just dismissal.
Keil turned, lightly grasped Elara's wrist—not harshly, but firmly—and continued walking toward the medical chamber.
Adrian stood frozen.
For the first time, he felt… insignificant.
---
A Quiet Threat
Inside a private chamber, Keil stopped.
Elara pulled her hand free.
"You didn't need to do that," she said quietly.
Keil looked at her directly.
His gaze was steady.
"Forget what you saw today," he said.
"Forget that I met you."
"If you speak about my breakthrough—"
His eyes darkened slightly.
"I will eliminate the source."
The meaning was clear.
There was no threat in his tone.
Only certainty.
Elara felt her breath hitch.
This was not arrogance.
This was a declaration.
Keil turned and left without waiting for a response.
---
The Festival Begins
Hours later—
The grand arena of the Voss Family filled with spectators.
Clansmen.
Elders.
Prodigies.
The Chosen Enlightenment had officially begun.
Keil Voss stood within the crowd.
Calm.
Charming.
Refined.
Under the bright sunlight, he looked almost delicate.
No one would guess the sovereign pressure hidden beneath that exterior.
The first rounds had passed quickly.
Now—
Two contestants stepped onto the platform.
"Tyrant Kale."
"Lucien Veil."
Both were sons of powerful elders within the Voss Family.
Both carried strong reputations.
The formation around the arena activated instantly, creating a barrier so their attacks would not harm the audience.
The air grew tense.
Tyrant Kale cracked his knuckles.
He was tall, muscular, his aura fierce and heavy like a raging beast.
Lucien Veil stood opposite him—lean, composed, eyes sharp like a calculating strategist.
The signal was given.
The match began.
Kale exploded forward first.
His aura surged violently, red and brutal.
The ground beneath him cracked.
Lucien responded instantly, forming intricate hand seals. His spiritual energy flowed in controlled streams, weaving defensive patterns in midair.
The two auras collided.
The formation barrier trembled.
Spectators leaned forward.
Kale roared and unleashed a direct assault, his strikes overwhelming and straightforward.
Lucien retreated gracefully, redirecting force instead of clashing head-on.
Strength versus precision.
Brute force versus intellect.
Keil Voss watched silently.
His eyes evaluated every movement.
"Kale wastes stamina," he thought.
"Lucien conserves energy."
"A predictable opening."
The battle intensified.
Spiritual waves rippled outward.
Kale launched a devastating downward strike—
Lucien vanished from sight.
Reappearing behind Kale, he executed a sharp palm technique that struck directly at Kale's energy flow.
Kale staggered.
The crowd gasped.
Keil's expression remained unchanged.
"Interesting," he murmured faintly.
The real competition had only begun.
And this time—
He would not lose control of the board.