The stronghold was alive with the sound of exertion. Clashes of steel, grunts of effort, and the rhythmic thud of bodies hitting the ground echoed through the training grounds. For two months, Alaric had pushed his men to the limits, knowing that every day counted. Alex was gone, locked away in the inner chamber with the Demon Core and the 6-Star Essence Stone, and the team had to grow stronger in his absence.
Alaric's eyes swept across the training grounds, noting the discipline and resilience of each member. The air was thick with dust and sweat, but determination burned brighter than any fire. Soldiers and fighters sparred, honed their elemental abilities, and practiced formation maneuvers. Even the quieter members, the ones who preferred strategy over brute force, trained relentlessly, sharpening minds and reflexes alike.
Days blurred into weeks, and weeks into months. The team's strength increased, yes, but nothing could replace the raw, transformative energy that Alex was undergoing. Alaric often paused in the midst of training to meditate, sensing the faint stirrings of his brother's aura, though it was distant and muted—still unstable, still growing.
Then, one day, everything changed.
A sudden, almost imperceptible tremor coursed through the stronghold. The wind shifted. The very air seemed heavier, charged with a strange energy. Alaric's instincts screamed, and he froze mid-motion, eyes narrowing as his senses stretched. One by one, the men and women training stopped. Movements halted, weapons suspended in mid-air. Silence fell like a shroud.
Then came the aura—a ripple of pure power, resonating with the unmistakable intensity of the Sage Realm. It rolled outward from the inner chamber, a wave of authority and raw strength that made the ground itself seem to pulse beneath their feet. The soldiers instinctively took a step back, awed, hearts pounding.
Alaric's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of pride and anticipation crossing his otherwise stoic expression. "That… that's him," he whispered, almost to himself.
From the stronghold's inner chamber, Alex emerged. The doors creaked open, but it was not the sound of hinges that drew their attention—it was the figure stepping out. Calm, composed, yet radiating a force so immense it felt like the world had tilted slightly in response. His posture was relaxed, but every movement carried weight, elegance, and a subtle menace that reminded them all just how powerful he had become.
Alex's eyes swept across the training grounds, and a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He did not need to speak; the aura alone said it all. Months of grueling cultivation, months of bearing unbearable energy, had transformed him into someone entirely new—someone who could stand alongside Alaric, someone the Jin Clan would come to fear.
Alaric stepped forward slightly, meeting his brother's gaze. The pride in his eyes was tempered with something sharper—a silent acknowledgment of what Alex had endured and what he had become. The men around them instinctively bowed their heads, not in subservience, but in respect, feeling the overwhelming energy emanating from Alex.
For a long moment, the only sound was the wind rustling through the stronghold. Then Alex's smile widened slightly, and he began walking toward them, each step measured, deliberate, and impossibly commanding. The ground seemed to respond to his presence, the air shimmering subtly around him.
The prelude was set.
The calm before the storm, the moment before the world would truly witness the power Alex had earned.
And when he finally spoke, when the first strike of his newfound strength came… nothing would ever be the same again.