Chapter 36: Darcy’s Bastard
’There is no competition. The victory belongs to Evan,’ Hannah said sarcastically, her voice dripping with an exaggerated, dramatic gravity as she perfectly mimicked Santiago’s intense, fanatical posture.
She even crossed her arms and stared blankly into the distance, tilting her chin up just like he did.
Santiago didn’t even blink at the mockery. His gaze remained locked onto the sand below, his expression entirely serious or rather too serious.
’You think you are being funny, Hannah, but you are not.’
Down in the ring, the mockery and the whispers of the crowd faded into a distant, muted background hum.
The veteran referee stepped back, his hand cutting through the heavy air.
’Let the match begin!’ he said.
Yet, as the words echoed across the stone rafters, neither combatant moved.
Evan and Bruce stood completely frozen, separated by barely ten feet of land.
They looked directly into each other’s eyes, their bodies locked in an absolute, rigid paralysis.
Not a single muscle twitched.
Not a single fold of their robes shifted in the wind.
The sheer volume of killing intent radiating from them was so dense that people could feel it from a long distance.
’Look at that absolute stillness!’ the commentator’s voice boomed through the amplified arrays, a tone of genuine awe gripping the stadium.
’We have never seen an opening quite like this! Neither boy is willing to give up an inch of momentum! The fierce, unyielding look in their eyes is enough to choke a low ranked cultivator! They are sizing each other up like two apex predators waiting for the slightest tremor in the wind!"
Up in the pavilion, the heavy, static tension of the ring reflected in the sharp gazes of the elders.
Elder Levi leaned over the polished wooden armrest of his jade chair, his eyes narrowed as he analyzed Bruce.
He cast a sideways glance at Darcy, who was still wearing that faint, admiring smile from the previous bout.
’Bruce is one of those bastards of yours... isn’t he, Darcy?’ Levi asked, his voice low but carrying a sharp, probing edge.
Darcy didn’t turn his head. He merely took a slow sip from his porcelain teacup, his charcoal-gray robes shifting slightly.
’Yes,’ he replied smoothly, his voice entirely indifferent.
’He is.’
Harry, sitting nearby with his haunting ivory porcelain mask secured to his waist, felt a momentary jolt of genuine shock pass through his system.
His fingers tightened slightly against his midnight-black robes.
To openly admit to harboring a bastard of such raw, violent potential within the academy ranks was a dangerous political play, even for someone of Darcy’s status.
Before the silence could stretch into something uncomfortable, Lord Elder Xuan let out a deep, booming laugh that rattled the teacups on the pavilion table. He waved his hand dismissively, his mountain-like presence crushing the rising tension instantly.
’Bah! Why does it matter anyway, Levi? We are cultivators, not some monks. We all have some bastards running around the lower rings... and if we are being completely honest with ourselves, some of the people sitting in this very pavilion are bastards themselves. Talent is the only bloodline that matters in life.’
Down in the arena, the absolute standstill finally broke.
Bruce took a single, heavy step forward.
The sand crunched beneath his boot, his massive frame shifting fluidly.
But instead of launching a brutal, bone-shattering iron-body strike, a wide, remarkably warm smile spread across his scarred face.
He extended his right hand forward, leaving his palm completely open in a universal gesture of peace.
He was offering a handshake.
Evan’s eyes narrowed into slivers.
A dark, amused smirk touched his lips.
He didn’t hesitate.
Stepping forward, he reached out and firmly grasped Bruce’s hand, their palms locking in the center of the ring.
’What great etiquettes!’ the commentator shouted, completely taken aback by the sudden display of sportsmanship.
’A display of absolute class amidst such overwhelming killing intent! Truly, the future cultivators of our sect know the value of respect before the storm!’
Breaking the grip, both of them simultaneously took three calculated steps backward.
But they did so for completely different reasons.
Bruce moved with explicit intent, precisely measuring the exact distance and angling his feet to establish a perfect perimeter.
Evan, on the other hand, did it without any grand strategy at all --- he simply did it because he saw Bruce do it, adapting to his opponent’s rhythm with a cold, reactionary indifference.
Back in the dim shadows of the competitor tunnel, Santiago was completely shocked beyond his wits.
His noble, calculated composure shattered instantly.
He gripped the stone railing so hard the rock began to crack beneath his fingers, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head.
’How can this bastard be kind?’ Santiago muttered, his voice shaking with a mixture of rage and utter bewilderment.
’Was my source of information completely wrong? No... it can’t be. My intelligence networks are flawless. Bruce is a ruthless, bloodthirsty maniac who kills people... students --- for fun. How is he smiling? How is he shaking hands? Maybe... maybe something is wrong with my eyes.’
Standing right beside him, Hannah sighed, her sarcastic demeanor fading into genuine concern as she stared at the bizarre display.
’Your eyes are not wrong in any sort of way, Santiago,’ she said softly, her face pale.
’Because I am seeing the exact same terrifying thing. I do not think that is some fucking kindness. That’s something way worse.’
Santiago twisted his mouth in shock.
’It is not everyday you see her cursing.’
Out on the sand, Evan was fully alert, every single nerve in his body coiled like a high-tension spring.
He was actively expecting a hidden knife to slide from Bruce’s sleeve, or perhaps a sudden, supreme physical assault.
But Bruce did something else entirely.
Bruce’s warm smile twisted into something deeply eerie, his chest expanding as he took a deep, resonant breath.
And then... he started to talk. No. No, he hadn’t started to talk at all.
A haunting, melodic frequency vibrated from his throat.
He had started to sing a low, rhythmic tune.
The melody was sweet yet profoundly unnatural, weaving through the air.
Evan’s eyes widened as a sudden, dizzying wave of spiritual pressure slammed into his brain.
He realized it too late.
Bruce wasn’t an iron-body brawler at all.
He had started to attack with a specialized array of Musical Path blood worms, weaponizing sound itself in a way that regular physical defenses could never hope to block.
