The morning in Aetheleon did not arrive with the harsh glare of a city sun reflecting off smog and glass. Instead, it grew with a majestic, slow-burning grace. As the twin suns ascended, the High Palace of the Human Kingdom transformed into a cathedral of light. The white marble tiles, infused with crushed diamond-dust, caught the rays and scattered them in a thousand directions, making the very ground beneath one's feet seem to glow with an inner fire.
On the manicured terraces below, the legendary Aetheleon Star-Flowers began their daily ritual. As the first touch of golden and violet light brushed their petals, they didn't just bloom; they unbent with a fluid, rhythmic motion that resembled a synchronized dance. It was a landscape of impossible serenity, a stark contrast to the violence that had occurred in the arena just days prior.
In a high chamber adjacent to Rena's quarters, Rayn stirred. He lay still for a moment, the cryptic words of his mother from the night before—spoken in flawless English—looping in his mind like a corrupted data file. "The rebellion cannot start without the King and his Queen."
He pushed the thoughts aside with the practiced discipline of a CEO facing a hostile takeover. He got out of bed, his bare feet meeting the cool, silk-soft stone. As he took two steps toward the floor-to-ceiling window, the direct rays of the rising suns hit his face. His eyes—deep, predatory red—seemed to ignite, reflecting the light with an intensity that would have terrified a lesser man.
He looked down at the palace gardens. Below, he saw a sight he hadn't expected. Jai, the "Golden Scourge" and leader of the elite team, was kneeling in the dirt. He wasn't training or meditating; he was gardening. With meticulous care, Jai was watering the delicate flowers, pruning the rotten leaves, and ensuring the spirit-soil was perfectly balanced. It was a display of patience and humility that Rayn found fascinating.
A soft footfall behind him broke his concentration. He didn't need to turn to know it was Rena. The scent of jasmine and dragon-blood incense followed her like a shadow. She held a steaming cup of dark, rich liquid—coffee, brewed exactly as he liked it back in Shanghai.
For a fleeting, agonizing second, a "glimpse" of his life on Earth flashed before his eyes. He saw Valerie, the woman who had raised him, handing him a cup of coffee before a multi-billion-dollar merger. The parallel was so striking it made his breath hitch.
"Don't think about unnecessary things right now," Rena said, her voice soft but carrying a strange, resonant authority. She handed him the cup. "When the time comes, you will understand everything. For now, just breathe."
Rayn took the cup, the heat seeping into his palms. He opened his mouth to ask the question that had been burning in his throat—How do you know English? Who taught you the language of a world light-years away?—but Rena held up a hand, silencing him before a single word could escape.
"Don't worry, my son," she said, her eyes turning toward the horizon where the clouds were tinged with a bloody red. "Every question will find its answer when the time is right. For now, enjoy this peace. Enjoy the quiet before the whole planet turns into chaos."
She turned and left the room without another word, leaving Rayn in a state of profound shock. Chaos? Rebellion? Destroying Aetheleon? He had come here to protect his mother from the disrespect of the ministers, but she was talking about dismantling a world. He realized with a jolt of cold fear that if he told anyone what she had said, she would be executed for high treason. He was now a co-conspirator in a game he didn't understand.
Needing to clear his mind, Rayn dressed in simple, dark training tunics and made his way down to the central courtyard. The "Company of Heroes" was already there.
It was a sight of raw, disciplined power. Jai had finished his gardening and was now watching over the others. James, the Wind-Walker, was sparring with Brokk and Winston, their movements so fast they were mere blurs of steel and motion. They were also overseeing the training of Maksood Chenwongo, James' younger brother, who had recently awakened his triple-elemental powers.
Rayn watched them for a moment, his analytical mind breaking down their forms. "Can any of you give me any training?" he asked, his voice cutting through the sounds of clashing wood and heavy breathing.
The team stopped. They looked at Rayn—the man who had awakened the "Void-King" power but had spent twenty years in a world without Qi.
"Training?" James asked, wiping sweat from his brow. "Man, you're from that 'Earth' place. I don't think you even know how to hold a sword. We're elite warriors; we don't want to accidentally break you before the ceremony of announcing of you as Beatrice Grandson to the entire world".
Jai, leaning against a pillar, let out a short laugh, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. "He's the grandson of Beatrice, James. Don't underestimate the 'Cold King' just yet."
Winston, the Dwarf Minister, stepped forward and drew a large, ten-foot circle in the dust with the butt of his axe. "Traditional rules," he grunted. "This is the 'Circle of Sovereignty.' No magic. No essence. No powers. Pure physical combat. If you step outside the circle, you lose. If you fall and can't get up, you lose."
James looked at his younger brother, Maksood. "Hey, Maksood. Go and give our cousin a warm welcome. Show him what a real Chenwongo warrior looks like."
Maksood, arrogant and flush with the success of his recent awakening, sneered. He adjusted his silk training vest and looked at Rayn with disdain. "I don't want to fight a weakling. Just because he awakened the King DD power—which is supposedly superior to everything—doesn't mean he knows how to use his hands. He's a scholar, a 'businessman.' This is an embarrassment."
James cuffed the boy across the back of the head. "Shut up and spar. Experience is the best teacher."
Maksood drew a practice sword, the polished wood gleaming like bone. "Give him a sword, Brokk," Winston called out. "It's bad form to fight an armed man with bare hands."
"No," Rayn said, stepping into the circle. He didn't take a stance. He just stood there, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. "I don't want a weapon. I'll fight with what I brought."
The courtyard went silent. Maksood laughed, a sharp, mocking sound. "Even with a sword, you couldn't touch me. Bare-handed? You're guaranteeing your own humiliation. Are you trying to save face by having an excuse for when you lose?"
Rayn tilted his head, his red eyes narrowing. "Only losers talk before the fight. Come."
Infuriated, Maksood lunged. He was fast—his training in the Human Palace was top-tier. He swung the wooden blade in a vertical arc meant to bruise Rayn's shoulder and end the fight instantly.
But Rayn wasn't there.
On Earth, Rayn hadn't just sat in boardrooms. He had spent years training in Systema and Krav Maga—martial arts designed for maximum efficiency and lethal speed. He didn't "fight" like the warriors of Aetheleon, who relied on flourish and style. Rayn fought like a machine.
As the sword descended, Rayn pivoted a mere inch. The blade whistled past his ear. In one fluid motion, Rayn's hand shot out like a viper. He struck Maksood's brachial plexus (the nerve bundle in the neck), then immediately hammered two fingers into the boy's bicep, deadening the arm.
Before Maksood could even scream, Rayn swept his leg, kicking the boy's left knee and then his toe, destroying his balance. To finish, Rayn delivered a precise palm strike to Maksood's forehead.
It happened in less than a second.
Maksood stood frozen for a heartbeat, his eyes wide and vacant. Then, his nervous system buckled. His sword clattered to the dust, and he collapsed, rolling helplessly out of the circle.
Rayn walked over, picked up the discarded wooden sword, and placed the tip against Maksood's throat. "Yeah," Rayn said coldly. "It is pretty embarrassing. And I didn't even use a weapon."
The silence was deafening. James, Brokk, and Winston looked at each other, their jaws dropped. They hadn't seen a single spark of Qi. It was pure, raw, biological physics.
"My turn," James said, his playful attitude replaced by a sharp, hunter-like focus. He stepped into the circle, opting to discard his spear. "Bare hands it is. I won't let you catch me off guard like that kid."
James was a "Wind-Walker." Even without using his essence, his natural speed was incredible. The fight began, and for the first few seconds, it was a dance of shadows. James threw a flurry of punches, each one aimed at Rayn's vitals.
Rayn didn't retreat. He moved into the attacks, parrying with his elbows and forearms. James laughed. "You're fast, cousin, but you're moving exactly where I want you!"
James feinted a high punch and launched a devastating roundhouse kick aimed at Rayn's temple. It was a perfect move.
Rayn didn't block. He bent his body with the elasticity of a snake, the kick passing harmlessly over his head. While James was mid-air, Rayn seized the supporting leg. With a grunt of effort, he delivered a crushing strike to James' ribs. A sickening crack echoed through the courtyard—not a break, but a severe displacement of the cartilage.
Rayn then grabbed James by his tunic and, using the man's own momentum, threw him bodily out of the circle. James landed hard, gasping for air, clutching his side.
"How...?" James wheezed. "You attack like an eagle... no, like a ghost."
Zayn, the Dwarf Prince, had been watching from the sidelines. His grief for his mother was still there, but it was being replaced by a warrior's curiosity. He stepped into the circle, his massive broadsword strapped to his back.
"Zayn, remember," Winston cautioned. "No essence. If you use your dwarf-blood power, you'll have an unfair advantage of physical density. Fight him with your real body."
Zayn nodded, his face grim. "I choose to use my sword. Is that allowed?"
"It is," Rayn said, his breath finally hitching as the exertion began to catch up with him. "But it won't help you."
Zayn roared and charged. Unlike the others, Zayn was a powerhouse. Every swing of his sword carried the weight of a falling mountain. Rayn couldn't parry these blows; the sheer kinetic energy would break his arms.
For ten minutes, the two battled in a stalemate. Rayn used the "science of the circle," constantly moving, forcing Zayn to turn, making the larger man tire himself out.
At the final minute, Zayn saw an opening. He lunged with a desperate thrust. Rayn caught the flat of the blade between his palms—a move of suicidal precision—and twisted. The torque forced Zayn to lose his balance.
Rayn saw the opening. He stepped in and delivered a full-force uppercut. The impact was so great that Zayn's upper and lower teeth slammed together with a sound like a hammer hitting an anvil. Two of the Prince's teeth flew into the dirt.
Dazed and bloodied, Zayn tried to charge again, but Rayn was a blur. He delivered a sequence of twenty rapid-fire strikes to Zayn's chest and shoulders, hitting every pressure point he knew.
Zayn dropped his sword, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides. "I... I lost," he muttered, shaking his head to clear the stars.
The "Company of Heroes" stood in shock. Rayn, the man from a world without "power," had just systematically dismantled three of the strongest young warriors in Aetheleon using nothing but his own body.
Rayn stood in the center of the circle, sweat dripping from his chin, his red eyes burning with a fierce, competitive fire. He turned his gaze toward the one man who hadn't moved.
"Jai," Rayn said, his voice raspy but steady. "I'm exhausted. My muscles are screaming. But I want to see the gap between us. Get in the circle."
Jai let out a long, slow whistle. He pushed off the pillar, a wide, dangerous grin spreading across his face. "You've got guts, Rayn. I'll give you that."
The Golden Scourge stepped into the small battlefield. The air itself seemed to grow heavy.