Yuliana’s expression darkened. She understood Rylan’s pride—being tenth on the martial roll made him nearly untouchable and gave him the authority to look down on other cultivators with lower cultivation levels.

However, she also knew Jared’s true depth.

“Commander Drake, King Aurelius’ order is clear. If dueling Jared stains your pride, send one of your men instead,” she said, voice cold enough to frost steel.

Rylan’s jaw flexed. A compromise surfaced. He lifted a hand and barked across the martial arts arena, “Martin—front and center!” The named captain of Imperial Guard—a mountain of sinew with a scarred face—dropped to one knee. “I’m here, Commander Drake!” Martin Stone, Earthly Immortal Realm Level Seven, was famed for raw ferocity; Earthly Immortal Realm Level Eight cultivators sometimes avoided his path.

“You have a task,” Rylan said, pointing his spear at Jared as though indicating a training dummy. “Exchange a few friendly moves with our guest.

light blows only. After all, he’s at Earthly Immortal Realm Level One. Should anything happen, King Aurelius’ wrath will fall on you, not me.” “Understood!” Martin rose. Scorn flickered in his eyes, the kind reserved for insects beneath boots. He rolled his wrists; bones cracked like snapping pine.

“Best surrender now, brat,” he growled, lips peeling into a wolfish grin. “It’ll spare you the shame of eating dirt in front of everyone.” Jared offered the briefest flick of his eyes toward Martin, a look so mild it bordered on boredom, then strolled to the center of the martial arts arena. He then turned and extended one open palm toward his opponent, inviting the first move.