I felt the weight of the old man's gaze as he studied from across the courtyard. Sothing in his eyes sent a chill down my spine—recognition, but not of . Of soone else.
"The King of Eldoria is indeed overbearing," he repeated, taking a asured step forward.
Conrad's body tensed beside . "Elder Whitlock," he whispered, voice tight with alarm. "Adrian Whitlock."
The na ant nothing to , but Conrad's reaction told everything I needed to know. This man was dangerous—exceptionally so.
"You know ," Adrian acknowledged with a slight nod toward Conrad. "But I doubt your new master does."
I kept my expression neutral. "Should I?"
A thin smile ford on Adrian's weathered face. "No. But I know of you, Liam Knight. Your reputation has spread... interesting whispers."
The courtyard seed to shrink as Adrian took another step forward. Though he appeared to be in his seventies, his movents were fluid and precise. There was power in every gesture—restrained, but unmistakable.
"The resemblance is uncanny," Adrian murmured, more to himself than to .
"What resemblance?" I asked sharply.
Instead of answering, Adrian raised his hand in a casual gesture. Beside , Conrad suddenly gasped and froze in place, as if invisible chains had wrapped around his body. Your support on * keeps this series going.
"Conrad!" I turned to see him struggling against nothing, his face contorted with effort.
"He's fine," Adrian said dismissively. "I rely wish to speak with you privately."
I stared at the immobilized Conrad. With a re gesture, this old man had neutralized one of the strongest cultivators I knew. What level of power was I facing?
"Release him," I demanded.
"In due ti." Adrian circled slowly, his eyes never leaving my face. "Tell , young man, what do you know of your father?"
The question caught off guard. "My father died when I was an infant. I never knew him."
"And yet his blood runs strong in you." Adrian's eyes narrowed. "You've awakened to cultivation quite recently, yes? A late bloor with extraordinary talent."
I remained silent, unwilling to reveal anything to this stranger.
Adrian chuckled. "Your caution is wise. Let be direct, then. I am Adrian Whitlock, Elder of the Western Range. I've co to test you."
"Test ?" I echoed.
"Yes. In combat." Adrian's tone was matter-of-fact. "Three days from now. I wish to see your abilities firsthand."
My mind raced. This man's power was clearly vast—far beyond my current level. "You want to fight ?"
"Don't worry. I'll suppress my cultivation to match yours—Foundation Building Stage Peak, yes?" Adrian smiled. "A fair contest of skill, not raw power."
I studied his face, searching for deception. "Why would soone of your standing challenge ?"
"Let's call it... curiosity." Adrian waved his hand again, and Conrad suddenly gasped as he was released from the invisible binding. "Three days. The northern clearing beyond the city limits. Dawn."
With that, he turned to leave, then paused. "One more thing, young Knight. My disciples will be watching. Do try to impress them."
After Adrian disappeared from sight, Conrad staggered toward , his face pale. "Sir Liam, do you understand who that was?"
"Tell ."
"Adrian Whitlock—one of the most powerful elders in River North. He's rumored to be at the Martial Grandmaster realm, possibly even approaching Martial Saint." Conrad's voice trembled slightly. "And he's vowed to kill you."
I frowned. "Kill ? Why?"
"I don't know, but his arrival here isn't coincidence. He ntioned a resemblance..." Conrad shook his head. "This is dangerous. Even if he suppresses his cultivation, he has decades more experience than you."
I nodded slowly. "Then I'll need to prepare."
---
The next two days passed in intensive preparation. I secluded myself in ditation, refining my techniques and sorting through the combat experience I'd gained in recent battles.
On the evening before the duel, as I prepared my equipnt, a ssenger arrived with a small wooden box.
"From Elder Adrian Whitlock," the young man stamred before hurrying away.
Inside the box lay a single leaf—vibrant green with faint gold veins running through it.
"Enlightennt Tea," I murmured, recognizing the legendary herb from ancient texts. One leaf was said to enhance a cultivator's ntal clarity and spiritual sensitivity for a full day. Three leaves together could potentially trigger a breakthrough in cultivation.
A note accompanied the herb: "To sharpen your mind for tomorrow's exchange. Use it wisely. —AW"
Was this a gesture of goodwill? Or sothing else? I carefully placed the leaf in a small pouch, deciding to save it for the morning.
Unknown to , miles away in an elegant mountain retreat, another scene was unfolding.
---
Preston Ironwood, Adrian Whitlock's eldest disciple, had spent years watching younger talents surpass him. Despite his heritage and connections, his cultivation had stagnated at Grandmaster Fourth Rank for nearly a decade.
When his master returned from visiting Liam Knight, Preston noted the small wooden box Adrian had brought back. His curiosity piqued when Adrian removed three leaves of Enlightennt Tea—one to be sent to Liam Knight, the other two safely stored in Adrian's private chamber.
That night, as Adrian ditated in seclusion, Preston made his move. Slipping past the outer wards with practiced ease, he located the remaining tea leaves in a jade container.
"Just one," he whispered to himself, "Master will never notice if I take just one."
But as he held the precious leaf between his fingers, feeling its energy pulse against his skin, greed overca caution. In one swift motion, he consud all three leaves at once.
The effect was imdiate and overwhelming. Preston collapsed to his knees as raging energy surged through his ridians, expanding his spiritual sea beyond its natural limits. His body convulsed as power flooded every channel, breaking through barriers that had resisted him for years.
When dawn broke the next day, Preston Ironwood stood at Grandmaster Eighth Rank—surpassing even his master.
---
I arrived at the northern clearing exactly at dawn, the single leaf of Enlightennt Tea already working its magic in my system. My senses felt sharper, my spiritual energy more responsive.
The clearing was empty save for a smooth stone placed in the center—a makeshift arena marker.
Adrian Whitlock appeared from the treeline precisely as the sun crested the horizon. He wore the sa simple gray robes, but now carried an aged wooden staff.
"You ca," he observed. "Good."
I nodded, studying him carefully. "Before we begin, I have a question."
"Speak."
I t his gaze directly. "You keep saying I am his descendant. Who is the 'he' you're talking about in your words?"
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