Volume 1: Bo'an Awakening & The Calamity Storm
Chapter 53
The Hidden Trump Card Han Yi
The sweltering heat radiating from Bo’an City’s central arena could not penetrate the thick, reinforced double-glazed magi-glass of the secluded VIP suite perched atop the highest tier behind the main grandstand.
Outside, tens of thousands of spectators still cheered in a deafening frenzy following Ling Zhuofeng’s grand proclamation that this year’s champion would be awarded a singular, unprecedented cultivation slot within the Nourishing Spirit Spring Tower. Thunderous applause, shrill whistles, and booming brass horns merged into rolling sonic waves that shook the suffocating summer air. Yet inside this chamber, the silence was chillingly absolute—as frigid and desolate as an isolated ice cavern buried amidst the perennial blizzards of Mount Cang Lei.
The polished black granite floor mirrored the intricate insignia of the Ling Clan’s ancestral tree, delicately inlaid with pure gold. Reclining against an opulent armchair upholstered in premium beast hide, Ling Zhuofeng leaned back, his slender fingers rhythmically spinning a prayer bead bracelet carved from top-tier ice crystals. Each rotation clicked with a dry, hollow clatter, trailing faint wisps of frosty mist that curled lazily around his fingertips.
The face of Bo’an City’s most powerful man betrayed not a single trace of emotion, completely shedding the impassioned, magnanimous facade he had displayed to the masses only moments before. His narrow, sunken eyes held only the cold, calculating detachment of someone long accustomed to looking down from the zenith of power, regarding everything beneath him as mere pawns on a chessboard.
Standing three paces away from the tea table, Ling Bai held his spine ramrod straight, clad in a bespoke school suit tailored from exorbitantly priced snow silk. His sleek, meticulously combed hair and handsome features radiated the haughty pride of a noble scion, yet a faint sheen of sweat dampened his palms. The invisible pressure exuded by the sitting clan patriarch never failed to make him feel suffocated, bordering on breathless.
“Patriarch, I have thoroughly consolidated my cultivation at Basic Tier Rank 2 Ice Magic.”
Ling Bai drew in a deep breath to calm the frantic thumping against his ribs, tilting his chin up as he delivered his report. Though he tried to suppress his conceit, undisguised arrogance seeped through every word:
“Over this summer break, thanks to the generous supply of Ice Magic Crystals provided by the clan, I have completely mastered all seven Stars. I can now unleash ‘Ice Spread: Stasis’ in under two and a half seconds. Across the entire graduating class of Feng Lan this year—excluding that wretched girl Ling Xue’er, who was transferred to the capital—absolutely no student can touch this threshold. In today’s tournament, victory is already securely within my grasp. I will preserve the Ling Clan’s prestige in full glory!”
Finishing his speech, Ling Bai curled his lips into a faint smirk, his gaze darting toward Ling Zhuofeng with desperate anticipation for overt praise. At eighteen years of age, reaching Basic Tier Rank 2 was an exceedingly rare feat for a high schooler—the kind of prodigy top-tier magical universities would roll out the red carpet to recruit. He was convinced that no one was more deserving than him to serve as the Ling Clan’s premier vanguard in this graduation ceremony.
Yet the only response to his triumphant boast was a dry, mocking snort from Ling Zhuofeng’s throat.
“Rank 2? Two and a half seconds?”
Ling Zhuofeng ceased turning his beads. His heavy eyelids lifted slightly, a dagger-sharp gaze raking across Ling Bai that made the youth involuntarily pull back his neck:
“Ling Bai, you are far too naive and self-absorbed. Do you truly believe your mediocre talent makes you invincible in this tiny corner of Bo’an? Do you have any inkling of what that cultivation slot in the Nourishing Spirit Spring Tower signifies for our Ling Clan? It is a once-in-a-millennium opportunity to groom an Intermediate Mage under the age of twenty, cementing our clan’s undisputed dominance against the covetous eyes of the military faction and the Mayor’s Office!”
His voice dropped abruptly, bearing a mountain-crushing gravity that bore down hard on Ling Bai’s shoulders:
“For a tournament of such existential significance, I will not tolerate even a single fraction of a percent of risk. With your half-baked parlor tricks, if you encounter an unforeseen variable or cross paths with some cornered desperate maniac, what guarantee do you have that you won’t bring utter disgrace upon our clan before tens of thousands of eyes from every major faction?”
Ling Bai froze, the color draining from his face. Biting his lower lip, he clenched his fists until the knuckles cracked:
“B-but... Patriarch, among all the graduating students today, there is virtually no one who—”
“Step aside.”
Ling Zhuofeng waved his hand coldly, cutting off the branch-family nephew’s excuses without bothering to spare him another glance. Turning his head toward the darkest corner at the far end of the sprawling chamber, the patriarch’s voice rumbled deep:
“Han Yi. Come out.”
The instant those words fell, the shadows in the corner rippled faintly. A figure emerged at an unhurried pace beneath the brilliance of the crystal chandeliers.
It was a tall, broad-shouldered youth clad in form-fitting combat leathers of ash gray. In stark contrast to Ling Bai’s pampered, scholarly elegance, this young man emanated the pungent stench of stagnant swamp mud and crusted dried blood—the distinct scent belonging solely to those who had crawled through life-and-death butchery along the wild frontiers. His angular face bore a ghastly pallor akin to a corpse buried deep under winter snow, yet his narrow eyes gleamed with a piercing ferocity, webbed with cruel, ruthless glints like a starving snow wolf sizing up prey.
Han Yi—an orphan secretly adopted by Ling Zhuofeng from the grim squalor of the slums a decade ago. A ghost who had never once appeared on any official roster of Feng Lan Magic High School, having instead been cast directly into the clan’s shadow death-squad training camps hidden at the desolate base of the mountain pass!
“Foster Father.”
Han Yi stepped forward, bowing low and deep before Ling Zhuofeng. His movements were sharp and rigid as a perfectly calibrated war machine, utterly devoid of hesitation or unease.
Watching Han Yi, a rare glint of genuine satisfaction finally flickered across Ling Zhuofeng’s eyes:
“Show this spoiled fop what true power looks like.”
“Understood.”
Han Yi raised his head. His mouth twitched into a lopsided, derisive sneer as he cast a sidelong glance at Ling Bai.
Without any warm-up stance or incantation chants, his pupils abruptly flared into an eerie, abyssal shade of frost blue.
Crack! Crackle—!
A bone-chilling gale violently erupted from beneath Han Yi’s boots! The ambient temperature plunged below zero in a split second, moisture in the air instantly condensing into thousands of microscopic ice crystals hovering in midair.
Standing five meters away, Ling Bai shuddered violently, his entire body stiffening as if he had been shoved into an ancient glacial abyss. His eyes bulged in sheer horror as he witnessed not a simple Star Path around Han Yi’s body, but seven deep-azure Ice Stars spinning at a terrifying velocity!
The seven celestial motes linked into a blinding ribbon of light, yet they did not settle into a conventional Basic-tier Star Path. Instead, they braided and twisted together, manifesting into frost-rimed chains glistening like brine frost, coiling like venomous serpents around Han Yi’s right arm!
Basic Tier Rank 3 Ice Magic—Frost Lock: Ice Chains!
In under two seconds, the polished granite floor beneath Han Yi’s feet was engulfed by a dense sheet of frost. Jagged icicles shot toward the ceiling, radiating marrow-chilling frigidity that instantly snuffed out the crackling embers in the distant hearth. Had Han Yi not deliberately reined in his magical energy, the frost would have flash-frozen the entire VIP suite in the blink of an eye!
“R-Rank... Rank 3?! How could this be possible?!”
Ling Bai trembled uncontrollably, his feet stumbling backward until his spine slammed hard against the soundproof glass partition. Clamping a hand over his chest, his eyes dilated in disbelief at the spectacle unfolding before him.
A peer his own age, an adopted dog dragged from the filthy gutter, had actually broken through to the peak realm of Basic Magic before him! Rank 3 Frost Lock—this was a threshold that countless adult mages failed to breach after five or ten years of bitter cultivation. Yet this monster held it effortlessly in the palm of his hand!
“Dispel it.”
Ling Zhuofeng spoke. Han Yi immediately gave a flick of his wrist. The dense glaze of ice and the crackling chains of mana dissipated into a vaporous mist, leaving behind not a speck of residue. His precision and mana control were chillingly refined!
Ling Zhuofeng clapped his hands softly, the crisp snaps echoing in the quiet chamber. Reaching forward, he flipped open an ebony brocade box trimmed in gold resting upon the tea table.
Nestled within the scarlet silk lining lay an exquisite ring gleaming with lustrous platinum brilliance. The signet was sculpted in the likeness of a coiling ice silkworm, crowned with a translucent jade gemstone that continuously pulsed with pure, refreshing, yet impregnably sturdy ripples of mana.
The moment his gaze landed on the artifact, Ling Bai’s pupils contracted violently, his throat choking up:
“Is... could this be... the Frost Silkworm Magic Armor Tool?!”
“Indeed. A top-grade Basic-tier Magic Armor Tool.”
Ling Zhuofeng lifted the ring, his eyes glinting with the haughty arrogance of a sovereign wielding boundless wealth:
“Forged over three arduous months by master artificers in the imperial capital, woven from the silk of a thousand-year Ice Silkworm harvested from the snowbound peaks of Mount Tianshan. Its open-market value is no less than one and a half million magic coins.”
One and a half million magic coins!
The astronomical figure struck Ling Bai’s mind like a falling anvil. An ordinary commoner family could toil for a century and never amass even a tenth of that fortune. Yet the clan patriarch was casually handing it over to an adopted stray!
“Han Yi, put it on.” Ling Zhuofeng extended the ring forward.
Han Yi could not conceal the ravenous hunger and zeal blazing in his eyes. Dropping to one knee onto the cold granite floor, he raised both hands reverently to receive the treasure:
“My deepest gratitude to Foster Father for bestowing this heirloom!”
“Commit its capabilities to memory,” Ling Zhuofeng instructed slowly, carving each word with deliberate gravity. “Once triggered by your thought, frost silk will instantly envelop your entire body in an impenetrable suit of battle armor. It does not merely maximize your physical defense; far more critically, it possesses absolute elemental warding: complete immunity against all Basic-tier Fire and Wind attacks! Ordinary flames touching it will be extinguished on the spot, and no gale can sever even a solitary thread of its silk!”
Having said this, Ling Zhuofeng rose to his feet, stepping leisurely toward the expansive floor-to-ceiling glass to look down at the panoramic vista of the central arena below.
From this soaring vantage point, the tens of thousands of spectators huddled like swarming ants. His gaze drifted across the shoddiest commoner bleachers, where impoverished laborers sat crammed together. In a shaded corner of those rundown stands, a weathered, middle-aged man dressed in a frayed mechanic’s jacket craned his neck, nervously watching the tournament stage below. It was Lin Hai.
And not far from the stage, within the waiting area reserved for Feng Lan High School’s contestants, Lin Feng stood with his hands clasped behind his back. His serene, nonchalant posture was an infuriating eyesore amidst the surrounding swarm of anxious, trembling students.
Ling Zhuofeng’s expression hardened, the scorn and frigidity in the depths of his pupils congealing into viscous killing intent.
Three years ago, that worthless driver Lin Hai had kowtowed and begged him for a single chance to let his bastard brat cross the threshold of Feng Lan Magic High School. At the time, he had tossed out that charity like throwing a bone to a starving stray by the roadside. He had intended for the servant’s whelp to live forever under the towering shadow of the Ling Clan, forever gazing up at his bloodline descendants as gods descending from the high heavens.
Yet that insolent whelp Lin Feng had dared to rebel openly! He had dared to reject the clan’s recruitment offer, dared to hold his chin high and challenge Ling Zhuofeng’s absolute authority in broad daylight, and had even wagered this graduation duel to reclaim some cheap, worthless dignity for his lowly father.
A stain! An unbearable insult to the patriarch of the Ling Clan!
“Today, before the entirety of Bo’an City’s nobility, military brass, and citizenry, I want everyone to witness firsthand the price of daring to besmirch the dignity of the Ling Clan.”
Ling Zhuofeng did not turn his head, yet his voice drifted like a venomous gale sweeping up from the underworld:
“Han Yi. If you draw that brat Lin Feng in the ring... show no mercy. Sever every single one of his magical meridians, shatter his stardust, and turn him into a crippled invalid for the rest of his miserable life. I want all of Bo’an City to understand: whoever dares oppose our Ling Clan meets only absolute ruin!”
Han Yi rose to his feet. He slipped the platinum ring onto the index finger of his right hand. The moment the Magic Armor Tool touched his flesh, an ethereal azure halo flared to life, seamlessly blending into the current of mana circulating through his veins.
A bloodthirsty, savage smirk broke across Han Yi’s bruised, purplish lips. He flicked the tip of his tongue across his parched lips, his eyes gleaming with beast-like feral brutality:
“Rest assured, Foster Father. I have thoroughly investigated him. That pathetic cur is nothing more than a beggar who got lucky by awakening Fire. At best, he might have reached Level 2 Scarlet Flame—and that is being generous. Before my Rank 3 Frost Lock and the Frost Silkworm Magic Armor, he is nothing more than an ant upon a butcher’s block! I won’t finish him off too quickly... I will snap every bone in his body, shred his magical conduits, and turn him into a broken-legged cur right before his father’s eyes!”
Standing off to the side, Ling Bai felt a cold shiver race down his spine as he bore witness to this blood-drenched exchange. Though a bitter wave of jealousy welled up in his chest seeing Han Yi monopolize the patriarch’s favor and premier treasures, the thought of that filthy pauper Lin Feng being crushed beneath their boots like a vile bug brought a vindictive, gloating sneer to his lips.
“Very well. Head outside and prepare. The opening match is about to commence.”
Ling Zhuofeng flicked his sleeve, regaining the serene composure of a sovereign with victory already sealed. Han Yi bowed in farewell and strode out of the VIP suite, his broad back radiating a towering aura of killing frost.
Outside in the central arena, the atmosphere had reached a boiling fever pitch.
“Welcome, distinguished guests, esteemed parents, and students, to the Graduation Duel Tournament of Feng Lan Magic High School!”
The booming, impassioned voice of the Chief Arbiter from the Magic Association resonated through the magi-amplification arrays, reverberating straight against the eardrums of every soul present:
“Today’s tournament convenes the thirty-two most exceptional young mages across our entire city! The ultimate victor will not only claim the prestigious title of Bo’an’s Most Outstanding Young Mage, but will also earn the singular, coveted cultivation slot within the Nourishing Spirit Spring Tower—generously sponsored by Clan Patriarch Ling Zhuofeng himself!”
Tens of thousands of spectators detonated into another round of deafening roars. Banners and colorful flags fluttered wildly, blotting out the sky.
In the VIP honor gallery, Commander Lei Zhen of the Cang Lei Ridge Border Defense Garrison sat with his legs crossed, resting his chin on one hand while tipping back a heavy bronze flagon with the other to take a hearty swig of wine. His dust-streaked field uniform was completely out of place amidst the rows of impeccably groomed officials in their pressed finery, yet not a single dignitary dared breathe a word of protest. The garrison commander’s eagle-sharp gaze swept across the ranks of contestants lined up below, the corners of his mouth tugging into an intrigued smirk:
“That masked hunter brat from the other day... is he actually here today as well? Now this is getting interesting.”
Not far away, in the staging area for the experimental classes, Lin Feng leaned casually against a carved stone pillar, his hands buried in his pockets and his expression so placid one might have thought he was taking a leisurely stroll through a public park.
Beside him, Zhang Hu panted heavily, rivers of sweat soaking through his snug t-shirt. The chubby youth trembled like a leaf, caught in a volatile cocktail of nervous excitement and sheer terror:
“Brother Feng! Look up at the VIP box—that old bastard Ling Zhuofeng is glaring straight down at us! His eyes look like he wants to swallow us whole! I... I heard rumors that the Ling Clan went all-in this time, dead set on making sure no one steals the slot at the Spirit Spring Tower from them!”
Lin Feng cast a fleeting glance toward the opulent glass suite perched above. Through the hazy reflections of the heavy glass, he could faintly make out the imposing silhouette of Ling Zhuofeng, along with the brooding figure who had just stepped onto the adjoining walkway.
A faint, strangely tranquil smile touched his lips:
“What does their staking everything have to do with us? The more they invest, the more agonizing their loss will be.”
“Y-You... you can still joke at a time like this?!” Fatty Hu’s face twisted as he swallowed a dry lump in his throat. “I heard that arrogant prick Ling Bai broke through to Rank 2! His Ice Spread can freeze an entire quadrant of the arena solid!”
“Rank 2?”
Lin Feng echoed softly with mild amusement. Beneath the fabric of his trousers, his fingers idly brushed against the smooth, unpolished stone of the Primordial Dragon Pendant resting against his chest. Deep within his sea of consciousness, a roaring crimson sea fueled by seven Tier 4 Stars surged with violent fury, while the abyss-violet Lightning nebula rumbled with untamed majesty. In his eyes, a so-called “Rank 2 high school genius” was nothing more than a pathetic joke.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM——!
Right at that moment, three dazzling magical signal flares shot into the high heavens, detonating into brilliant bursts of floral pyrotechnics that tore across the azure sky!
“The decisive hour has arrived! Commencing the bracket draw for the Single-Elimination Knockout Stage!”
The magical signaling horn blared like rolling thunder directly against everyone’s ears!
Suspended high above the arena floor, a colossal magical light array screen spanning over a hundred meters erupted into radiant bands of prismatic radiance. Thousands of glowing runes interwoven in a dizzying tempest of motion, spinning into a dazzling vortex of light that commanded the rapt attention of every single spectator.
Hum——!
A low, resonant hum echoed as the vortex abruptly ground to a halt. Chunks of luminescence splintered apart, locking into their designated coordinates and transforming into embossed golden glyphs suspended midair!
All thirty-two names for the opening elimination round were officially unveiled!
Across the entire colosseum, tens of thousands held their breath simultaneously, fixating on the first match brackets. Whispers and murmurs erupted like a disturbed hornet’s nest as grudge matches and long-awaited clashes materialized right from day one!
An uncompromising duel of life and death, drenched in the acrid scent of gunpowder and crackling mana, had officially begun!