"But I expected more."
Adams rose from his seat, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the scene before him. In the blink of an eye, he was in the arena, standing directly in front of the master, Gale. The atmosphere grew tense as the disciples watched with bated breath, wondering what their sect master would do next.
"Gale," Adams began, his voice low and edged with disappointnt. "You and your apprentice have truly let down. I know that fighting isn't exactly your strong suit, but I expected more—much more. To be honest, what I witnessed was barely worth my ti. You're not even bleeding, not even showing the slightest sign that you've just been in a fight. It was as if you were rely playing around.
I wouldn't even call it a spar, to be frank."
Adams' tone was calm, almost bored, as if the fight had failed to provide him with the entertainnt he sought. He turned away slightly, as if losing interest, his gaze sweeping over the arena with a hint of disdain.
The disciples who had been watching the battle intently exchanged bewildered glances. They had just witnessed an intense clash of power and technique, the ground torn apart by the sheer force of the blows exchanged. The air had been thick with tension, the kind that makes even seasoned warriors hold their breath. And yet, here was Adams, dismissing it all as if it were nothing.
"Did we just imagine that whole thing?" one disciple muttered to another, disbelief etched on his face.
"No way," the other replied, shaking his head slowly. "I an, the ground is still cracked from their attacks. But if the Sect Master says it wasn't much of a fight… then what kind of battles has he seen?"
"That was intense," a third disciple whispered, her eyes wide. "But the Sect Master… he's treating it like it was nothing."
"It's not just that he's disappointed," another chid in, voice tinged with awe. "He's bored. Can you imagine being so powerful that even sothing like this doesn't impress you?"
The murmurs spread throughout the crowd, a mix of confusion and admiration. They had witnessed a battle that, to them, was a spectacle of skill and strength. But Adams' words made it clear that their understanding of true power was still far from his level.
Gale, standing before Adams, felt a deep sense of sha wash over him. He had fought with everything he had, or so he thought. But to hear those words from Adams… it was as if all his efforts had been for naught. The disappointnt in Adams' voice cut deeper than any wound he could have sustained in battle.
Alan, still on the ground and barely conscious, could hardly believe what he was hearing. He had given it his all, poured every ounce of strength into the fight, yet it wasn't enough. Not even close.
The arena was silent now, the weight of Adams' words settling heavily on everyone present. The disciples, Gale, and Alan all realized that they were in the presence of a power so vast, so overwhelming, that even their best efforts seed insignificant. The reality of the gap between them and Adams, between them and the true strength of the Primordial Sect, was stark and undeniable.
Adams turned back to Gale, his expression softening just a fraction. "You've disappointed , Gale. But perhaps you can still redeem yourself. Prove to that you're more than this… that you're worthy of the title you hold."
The challenge was clear, but it was also a lifeline. Gale's heart pounded in his chest as he tried to muster the courage to respond. He could feel the weight of the mont pressing down on him, the eyes of the entire sect on his back.
"Yes, Sect Master," Gale finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll prove myself."
The disciples watched in silence, their respect for Adams deepening as they realized just how far they still had to go to reach his level or so they thought. Adams' words had turned what they thought was a grand display of power into a reminder of their own limitations, and the gap they had yet to close.
"Defeat him," Adams commanded, pointing directly at Elanor, who sat calmly among the Valley Masters alongside his sister, Erren.
The Arena erupted in shock. The onlookers who had only recently arrived at the sect exchanged confused glances, unable to comprehend what they were seeing. A murmur of disbelief spread through the crowd, the newcors struggling to grasp the situation.
"Is he serious?" one of them whispered. "That kid looks like he hasn't even started cultivating."
"What's Adams thinking? Sending soone after a boy who's just sitting there?" another scoffed. "This has to be a joke. How can that child pose any kind of threat?"
But the disciples of the Primordial Chaos Sect remained silent, knowing better than to doubt Adams' words when Elanor was involved. Despite his unassuming appearance, Elanor was a figure both respected and feared within the sect.
His raw strength alone could shatter the entire Divine Plane, and his defense was so impenetrable that even the most powerful weapons would fail to pierce his skin—assuming anyone could even manage to land a blow.
This was Elanor, the Warchild of the Primordial Chaos Sect. The only one who could possibly match him was his sister, Erren, known as the Mischievous One of the Primordial Chaos Sect. But for those unfamiliar with his power, the command seed utterly absurd, a challenge they believed would end as quickly as it began.
As the murmurs of disbelief and confusion spread through the crowd, Adams remained composed, his eyes never leaving Elanor. The tension in the arena was palpable, with the silence from the disciples of the Primordial Chaos Sect only adding to the newcors' unease.
Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a burst of laughter. Jas, who had been watching the scene unfold with keen interest, couldn't hold it in any longer. His laughter was loud and hearty, reverberating throughout the arena, causing heads to turn in his direction. The laughter wasn't mocking; it was full of genuine amusent, as if he had just heard the punchline to a great joke.
"Ha! You've done it now, boss," Jas exclaid, his eyes twinkling with mirth. He looked over at Elanor, who had begun to rise from his seat with a calm and composed deanor. "You're really going to make that old fool face him?"
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