Volume 1: Bo'an Awakening & The Calamity Storm
Chapter 60
Key to the Sacred Brook, Brewing Storms
Lin Feng’s roar detonated like sudden thunder beneath a clear sky, rolling across the four granite precipices of the central colosseum before reverberating throughout the entirety of Bo’an City.
Upon the dueling stage paved with colossal granite slabs now fractured into jagged ruins, plumes of black smoke and pulverized rock dust billowed skyward, thick with the acrid stench of scorched stone. Less than thirty paces away, Han Yi lay crumpled and motionless within a sunken impact crater. His ostentatious Defensive Magic Armor, forged at the astronomical cost of millions of magic coins, was reduced to shattered scraps of twisted scrap metal strewn across the debris. Faint tongues of deep crimson flame still licked hungrily at the charred tatters of his robes.
Lin Feng stood ramrod straight, his spine rigid as an iron spear plunged into the bedrock. His right arm remained thrust outward, index finger leveled directly at the Ling Clan’s VIP pavilion on the honorary rostrum. His voice rang out with steely, unwavering resonance:
“Ling Zhuofeng! Three years ago, you leaned upon your noble lineage to force my father to his knees, trampling human dignity into the dirt like worthless weeds! Today, I, Lin Feng, stand on this very stage, using this very flame to grind every shred of your Ling Clan’s arrogance beneath my heel! The debt you forced upon my father has been repaid in full today!”
The moment the words left his lips, the vast amphitheater—packed to the brim with over five thousand spectators—plunged into a suffocating, breathless silence.
Not a cheer arose. Not a single whisper stirred the air. Even the winds howling overhead seemed to freeze in place. Thousands upon thousands of eyes stared transfixed at the black-clad youth standing defiant amidst the scorched rubble.
In the seating section for the first-year students of Feng Lan Magic High School, the crowd sat petrified. Li Peng’s face was drained of every drop of color; his knees trembled so violently that he scrambled backward behind the nearest classmate just to find something to cling to. Seated in the contestants’ row of honor, Ling Bai’s normally handsome countenance had twisted into an unrecognizable, hideous grimace. His lips twitched erratically, yet he could not force out a single syllable. His eyes were glued to the shattered remnants of Han Yi’s Defensive Magic Armor, an abyss of terror welling up from the depths of his soul. The wretch battered half to death before him was Han Yi—a third-tier Novice Ice Mage shielded by comprehensive defensive magic equipment. Yet before Lin Feng’s freakish crimson flames, he had failed to endure even a single strike!
In an unassuming corner of the public grandstands, Homeroom Teacher Kang Mu clenched his fists so tightly that his fingernails bit deep into his palms. The middle-aged educator, who had spent decades bowing his head under the overbearing oppression of the city’s wealthy patricians, felt a sudden burning ache in his nose. His eyes rimmed red with overwhelming emotion.
Crack——!
A dull, heavy detonation violently shattered the deathly stillness.
Up in the VIP viewing pavilion, the pure white marble tea table before Ling Zhuofeng split cleanly into three jagged fragments under the terrifying grip of his bare hand. Ling Zhuofeng surged to his feet, his entire frame shuddering with incandescent fury. Thick blue veins bulged across his forehead and neck, pulsing violently like venomous centipedes writhing beneath his flesh.
Humiliation!
An unprecedented, gut-wrenching humiliation, greater than any he had endured throughout half a lifetime of reigning supreme over Bo’an City!
As the patriarch of the city’s foremost indigenous magic clan, he had intended to transform this Graduation Duel into an unassailable showcase of the Ling Clan’s absolute dominion. He had sought to trample the son of a wretched freight driver into the dirt as an object lesson to cow every commoner in the territory. Yet now, the adopted prodigy into whom he had poured limitless cultivation resources lay sprawled at his opponent’s feet like a slaughtered cur—while he himself had been pointed at and openly challenged by an unweaned brat before the assembled ranks of city officials, military commanders, and regional media!
“Insolent beast! You court death!”
Ling Zhuofeng’s roar tore through the air, deafening as a thunderclap.
Boom——!
The suffocating magical aura of a peak Intermediate Mage erupted from the elder’s body like a tidal bore. The temperature around the VIP box plummeted instantly. A thick, milky-white frost fog surged forth like a winter tempest, instantly encrusting the timber floorboards, silk curtains, and bronze balustrades with razor-sharp ice crystals that crackled with chilling menace.
Ling Zhuofeng’s eyes were bloodshot with crimson veins, a murderous pall of slaughter locking squarely onto Lin Feng’s figure in the arena below. He lifted his foot, the surrounding cold coalescing into jagged ice blades beneath the soles of his boots. He intended to step down in person and crush this ignorant wretch into scattered ashes, washing away the indelible stain branded upon his family crest!
Yet, the instant the tip of Ling Zhuofeng’s boot touched the outer lip of the balustrade, an extraordinarily massive figure stepped directly into his path, blocking him like an impassable fortress of cold steel.
Thud!
A calloused, vein-corded palm came crashing down heavily upon Ling Zhuofeng’s shoulder.
The blow landed with the weight of a falling mountain, releasing a deep, resonant clang reminiscent of an ancient bronze bell tolling through a silent night. The surging kinetic force, coupled with a scorching influx of Fire elemental mana channeled through the grip, instantly pulverized the freezing mist shrouding Ling Zhuofeng’s body, violently slamming his frigid aura right back down into his chest.
“Bwahaha! Hahahahaha!”
A booming, hearty laugh, rumbling like rolling thunder, swept across the entire ceremonial dais.
The one who had stepped in was none other than Commander Lei Zhen of the Cang Lei Ridge frontier garrison.
Lei Zhen wore his faded, olive-green military field cloak with ragged shoulders, his stubbled jaw tilted up with insolent ease. He planted his feet like twin pillars, his eyes blazing like twin torches. A mocking grin hung at the corners of his mouth, yet his presence possessed an overbearing weight that commanded the entire pavilion.
“Brother Ling! Cool your temper, cool that blazing temper!” Lei Zhen slapped Ling Zhuofeng’s shoulder once more, the force so jarring that the old patriarch’s tall frame sank half an inch. “To the victor go the spoils; the loser must swallow the dust! The rules of this Graduation Duel Tournament were drafted by your very own Ling Clan before the eyes of the municipal government and the border garrison. On the battlefield of a dueling platform, magic has no eyes, and victory or defeat is only natural. Surely the prestigious Ling Clan, with a century of pedigree behind its name, wouldn’t swallow its own words and bully the young before the eyes of all Bo’an City?”
Though Lei Zhen spoke in a joking, irreverent cadence, every single syllable weighed as heavy as Mount Tai, nailing Ling Zhuofeng directly against the unyielding framework of tournament regulations.
Ling Zhuofeng’s entire body went rigid, the muscles of his jaw twitching violently. Glaring at Lei Zhen, his voice hissed between clenched teeth:
“Lei Zhen! Since when does the frontier garrison have the authority to meddle in the internal affairs of my Ling Clan?”
“I don’t give a damn about your family’s petty squabbles,” Lei Zhen sneered, his gaze turning razor-sharp as a honed blade. “But this tournament is the official talent selection for the whole of Bo’an City, and our Cang Lei Ridge garrison serves as its accredited protector and proctor. Breaking the rules under my watch? Ling Zhuofeng, you don’t have the teeth for it!”
The unseen spiritual pressure of two peak Intermediate Mages clashed silently in midair, whipping up localized air currents that made the cloaks and robes of the surrounding dignitaries flutter wildly.
Just as the deadlock grew suffocatingly tense, a measured, resonant clearing of a throat diffused the confrontation.
“Haha, the Commander makes a fair point.”
Mayor Yan Zheng rose smoothly from his plush velvet armchair at the center of the pavilion. The city’s chief executive wore a polished, genial smile, yet the gaze he directed toward Ling Zhuofeng carried the quiet, formidable weight of high governance.
“Old Master Ling, that battle was truly an exhilarating display. The young student Lin Feng surpassed all expectations, demonstrating peerless courage and decisive tactical brilliance—a shining paradigm for the youth of our city. The Ling Clan’s generous sponsorship of this tournament, fostering an arena for emerging talents to distinguish themselves, is already an act of immense civic merit. If the grand occasion were now tarnished over the minor squabbles of juniors, would that not fail the earnest hopes of every citizen in Bo’an?”
Following immediately on the Mayor’s heels, Principal Xiao Minzhi of Feng Lan Magic High School cupped his hands and stepped forward, his voice ringing out clear and loud:
“Congratulations to Lin Feng! A resounding, undeniable victory won in the broad light of day! Our academy takes immense pride in nurturing such an exceptional talent. Patriarch Ling possesses towering prestige and a word worth ten thousand gold; he will undoubtedly distribute the rewards with absolute equity as promised. Would everyone not agree?”
The instant Principal Xiao Minzhi finished speaking, he turned toward the grandstands and began applauding vigorously.
Guided by the lead of the Mayor and the Principal, the stupor that gripped the five-thousand-strong crowd shattered in an instant.
“Lin Feng won!”
“Brilliant! He pulverized that Defensive Magic Armor in a single blow!”
“The hero of Feng Lan! Long live the commoners!”
The cheering and clapping began in scattered pockets before spreading like wildfire through a parched prairie, erupting into a roaring storm of sound that shook every quadrant of the arena. Thousands of working-class citizens and impoverished students, who had long suffered the quiet disdain of the aristocratic elite, rose to their feet as one, howling until their throats were raw. The thunderous chant of “Lin Feng!” surged like an unstoppable tidal wave, shaking the very heavens above the city.
Wave after wave of ecstatic roars crashed against the rostrum, striking Ling Zhuofeng’s face like a barrage of invisible slaps.
The old patriarch stood nailed to the floor. His complexion morphed from flushed crimson to a ghostly white, before darkening to a bruised, livid purple.
He was trapped, pinioned by three insurmountable forces: the iron wall of Lei Zhen’s garrison troops, the political authority of the municipal government, and the watchful eyes of thousands of onlookers. If Ling Zhuofeng dared to lash out against Lin Feng under the midday sun, the reputation his clan had cultivated over decades would crumble into ruin, reducing him to a petty, despicable tyrant reviled by the entire territory.
Guh...
A mouthful of bitter blood surged up Ling Zhuofeng’s throat. The suffocating humiliation and rage felt volatile enough to tear his internal organs apart. Yet, he could only grind his molars together until they creaked with sickening friction, forcing the crimson bile back down his esophagus.
His hands, buried within his wide sleeves, trembled uncontrollably.
“Good... Very good!”
Ling Zhuofeng forced every syllable through clenched teeth, his voice hoarse and rattling under the strain of suppressed madness. Reaching into the breast of his embroidered silk robe, he drew forth an ornate sandalwood box of deep violet hue, its polished surface carved with intricate, classical archaic scrollwork.
The moment the wooden container emerged, a soothing, cooling arcane aura washed into the air, bearing the faint, refreshing fragrance of thousand-year spirit wood.
Ling Zhuofeng did not deign to cast even half a glance toward the dueling stage below. With a violent jerk of his arm, he hurled the sandalwood box toward Lei Zhen as if tossing away a scorching coal.
“Take it! My Ling Clan has never gone back on its word—I have no need for your petty hypocrisies!”
Spitting out that final declaration, Ling Zhuofeng did not linger for another breath. Sweeping his long sleeves back, he pivoted on his heel and stalked toward the private VIP exit. His retainers and bodyguards scrambled frantically after him, hoisting the stretcher bearing the unconscious Han Yi and scurrying from the arena in utter, ignominious disgrace.
Lei Zhen’s hand shot out, snatching the sandalwood box cleanly from midair. A wide, triumphant grin stretched across his face, curling right up to his ears. He turned and nodded briefly to Mayor Yan Zheng and Principal Xiao Minzhi before descending the stone steps toward the dueling floor with long, leisurely strides.
Every step taken by the frontier commander carried the heavy, unhurried gravitas of a general forged amidst the blood and carnage of the wild frontiers. The soot, scorched debris, and lingering sparks on the granite floor parted obediently before his boots.
Lei Zhen halted before Lin Feng, his keen eyes scrutinizing the youth from head to toe. Seeing the coarse, dust-caked cloth uniform and those pitch-black eyes—as deep and unruffled as a bottomless abyss—Lei Zhen could not suppress the fierce surge of admiration rising within his chest.
Click.
Lei Zhen flipped open the antique brass clasp of the sandalwood box.
Nestled within a cushion of lustrous golden silk, an ancient jade relic rested quietly at the center.
It was an archaic key roughly half a span in length, carved from a flawless block of translucent cyan-emerald mysterious jade. The surface of the stone was densely inscribed with delicate, flowing arcane runes resembling the subterranean currents of hidden springs, radiating a pure, misty vapor that was refreshing enough to soothe the deepest marrow.
The instant the object entered Lin Feng’s sight, the Primordial Dragon Pendant resting against his bare chest pulsed with a subtle, rhythmic vibration. A warm, surging heat welled up from the pendant, as if an ancient primordial dragon had caught scent of a wondrous divine nectar, giving rise to an unprecedented, ravenous longing.
The Key to the Tower of the Sacred Brook!
The premier cultivation sanctuary condensing thousands of years of Bo’an City’s subterranean ley lines—a holy domain every mage dreamed of entering at least once in their mortal life!
Lei Zhen lifted the jade key from its silk cradle and pressed it directly into Lin Feng’s palm.
The soothing chill of the jade instantly permeated Lin Feng’s flesh, sweeping away the bone-deep fatigue and arid heat lingering from the fierce battle.
“Take it. This is the reward you earned with your own hands,” Lei Zhen murmured in a low, rumbling voice.
Lin Feng curled his fingers around the artifact, feeling the dense weight and boundless, pure energy contained within the stone. He looked up at the military commander and spoke with earnest sincerity:
“My thanks to the Commander for intervening.”
Lei Zhen suddenly leaned in, his mouth drawing close to Lin Feng’s ear. The careless smirk vanished completely from his weathered face, replaced by a severe, razor-edged whisper audible only to the two of them:
“Brat, damn fine work! That slap planted right across old Ling Zhuofeng’s face was the most satisfying sight I’ve seen all year. But... you’d better watch your neck from here on out!”
Lin Feng’s brow twitched slightly, his eyes narrowing.
Lei Zhen continued to transmit his voice, the timbre heavy with warning:
“Ling Zhuofeng wears a mask of noble propriety on the outside, but inside, he’s a ruthless, venomous viper who never forgives a slight. Three years ago, he forced your father to his knees. Today, you trampled his clan’s dignity before the entire city; he will never let this matter rest. The moment you step outside these colosseum gates, the shadow of the Ling Clan will dog your every step.”
The commander paused, his gaze boring into the youth’s unwavering eyes.
“Your only salvation lies in this very key. At dawn tomorrow, the gates of the Tower of the Sacred Brook will swing open for you, granting seven days of cultivation. The pure magical spring accumulated beneath Bo’an City over a thousand years is a hundred times denser than the mana of the outside world. Do not squander a single second! While inside that tower, burn through every ounce of your vitality and latent potential. At all costs, you must break through to the Intermediate Tier!”
Lei Zhen brought his heavy palm down upon Lin Feng’s shoulder with fierce, battle-hungry intensity:
“Engrave this into your bones: in this world of magic, clan backgrounds and the patronage of others are nothing more than drifting smoke. Only the absolute strength forged within your own two fists can keep your head on your shoulders—and protect your family from the jaws of the wolves! Do you understand?”
Every word Lei Zhen spoke struck Lin Feng’s mind like the heavy clang of a blacksmith’s hammer.
Break through to the Intermediate Tier!
Indeed. Only by stepping into the Intermediate realm, awakening his second element’s Stardust and unlocking true magical Nebulas, would he earn the right to stand as an equal against the rulers of this city. Only then would he no longer have to live in perpetual dread of underhanded schemes aimed at his aging father and frail little sister.
Lin Feng’s grip tightened around the jade key, his knuckles turning pale. His eyes burned with an icy, unshakeable resolve.
“This student shall remember your words.”
Seeing the resolute flame burning deep within Lin Feng’s gaze, Lei Zhen’s lips twitched upward into a satisfied smirk. He gave an approving nod, then spun on his heel and strode away, leaving the entire arena stage to its rightful champion.
Rumble——!
The roar of the five-thousand spectators erupted once more, booming like thunder crashing through the nine heavens. Streamers and confetti exploded into the sky, fluttering through the air like a vibrant blizzard.
At the foot of the stage, Zhang Hu was leaping up and down like an ecstatic bear, wiping away tears of joy while bear-hugging his classmates, bellowing at the top of his lungs: “That’s Lin Feng! That’s my best brother! He’s the champion! Hahaha, Lin Feng took the championship!”
Amidst the radiant sea of ecstatic revelers, Lin Feng stood solitary at the heart of the ring. He slowly slid the cool jade key deep into the inner lining of his tunic, resting his hand over his chest where the Primordial Dragon Pendant thudded with deep, steady beats.
He cast his gaze toward the northern horizon of Bo’an City.
There, rising behind the rolling green hills and veiled beneath a shroud of azure mist, the ancient stone Tower of the Sacred Brook loomed toward the sky. The hexagonal monolith, constructed from pitch-black megaliths, resembled a thousand-year-old beacon tower standing silent sentinel over this treacherous frontier. That very tower would be the stage for his next life-or-death turning point.
Yet...
Just as Lin Feng began to withdraw his gaze, an ominous, skin-crawling dread seized his chest, tightening like a vice around his lungs.
The atmosphere over the colosseum grew unnaturally, stiflingly sultry.
The familiar mountain winds blowing down from the heights of Mount Cang Lei no longer carried the crisp, pristine chill of alpine snows. Instead, the gusts eddying around the base of the platform were tainted with a nauseating, foul stench... the rancid stench of stagnant swamp mud, laced with the copper stench of rotting, putrid flesh!
Lin Feng’s expression shifted, and he snapped his head toward the heavens.
Within the span of a few brief minutes, the azure sky above Bo’an City—which had been clear and cloudless moments before—had undergone a terrifying transformation. Rolling in from the distant, northwest peaks of Mount Cang Lei, heavy, slate-gray clouds suffocating with necrotic pall swept across the horizon like a horde of ravenous beasts, devouring the sunlight slice by slice.
These were no ordinary storm clouds heralding a summer tempest. They churned with a turbid, ash-gray hue like the cremated remains of the dead, swirling violently above the city, pressing down upon every rooftop with an unseen pressure that made breathing difficult.
Drip.
A drop of icy moisture fell from the overcast sky, striking the back of Lin Feng’s right hand.
He looked down.
His pupils violently contracted!
The droplet resting on his skin was not the clear, crystalline water of natural rain.
It was a turbid, pale crimson—viscous and murky as watered-down blood!
The moment it touched his flesh, the droplet melted, leaving behind a grotesque scarlet stain that pulsed with a bizarre, violent, and utterly evil fluctuation. Against his chest, the Primordial Dragon Pendant emitted a low, bone-chilling growl of warning!
Gales howled through the city streets, carrying a murky veil of blood rain that began to drizzle down upon the earth.
Over Bo’an City, a gathering storm had arrived!