SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS - Chapter 1028 - 1028: Show Off!

The golden sun reached its zenith over the Heavenly Phoenix Range, bathing the world in an otherworldly glow. As if awakened from slumber, the earth itself buzzed with anticipation.

Hundreds of cultivators swarmed around the towering mountain’s base, where a colossal camp had been erected—banners from ancient sects fluttered alongside those of rising clans and newly formed alliances.

The Golden Heir Tournament, a battle held once every fifty years, was more than a mere contest. It was a coronation ground. The summit had buried legends, crowned tyrants, and forged gods.

This time, the shadows of the past watched in silence as new blood gathered.

Among the crowd, a figure in black walked without sound. His cloak barely rustled, his mask hid a calm gaze that cut sharper than a soul-severing blade. Kent King moved as if time itself bent around him—always calm, always a step ahead.

From a distance, followed his core members: Lily, Amelia, Nyara, Fatty Ben, and a few beastmen elites in concealing robes. They blended with the crowd, yet they carried the scent of war and wilderness—like wolves in a sea of peacocks.

“Such a crowd,” Lily murmured, adjusting her phoenix feather pendant.

“They look young, but the pressure… some of them are monsters,” Amelia noted, brushing her hair aside.

Fatty Ben chuckled nervously, “If one of these monsters even sneezes mana, half the normal crowd could vaporize.”

Mona, ever the cold observer, smirked. “Which makes them the perfect bait. Kent here to make history, not to fear it.”

Kent’s eyes flicked toward the far end of the camp, where a massive stone boulder rested in a glowing pit, surrounded by disciples forming a long serpentine queue. It wasn’t just any rock—it was the Boulder of Assessment, carved from Judgment stone and imbued with runes by the Rune Wizards.

To qualify, one had to move it—with a spell or technique—within three attempts. Fail, and you’re disqualified.

“That’s their test?” Kent asked, amused.

“Not as easy as it looks,” Fatty Ben replied. “I read about these Judgment stones. It judges impact precision, mana purity, and your stage control. That stone has swallowed the pride of hundreds.”

“Let’s see,” Kent said lightly, stepping into the line.

Whispers surged.

“Who’s that masked guy?”

“He doesn’t even have a faction emblem!”

“Probably a stray rogue from the wilds.”

Kent raised his head and watched the ongoing test.

A girl from the Azure Soul Temple unleashed a sword-shaped flame from her palm. It struck the boulder and made it tremble.

“Passed!”

A blue-robed boy from the Ice Thread Sect chanted a long spell and pushed the boulder two feet. Thunderous applause followed.

“Passed!”

The line moved fast and finally Kent came to the forward batch.

Then came Kent’s turn.

“Next! Name and affiliation?” the elder barked, sitting on a jade chair inscribed with appraisal arrays.

“Kent King. Royal Academy of Kulu nation,” he replied, his voice calm, almost disinterested.

That alone caused murmurs.

“Sorry, the Royal Academy already reported their 3 participating names. You are not one of them.” The elder said while checking thick ledger in his hands.

“Then mark me as Independent.” Kent replied with a smile.

“Independent? At this stage?”

“Who enters a tournament of dragons without a clan to back them?”

Even the elder hesitated. “No sponsor? No sect?”

Kent just nodded and walked toward the boulder.

The registrar sighed and rolled his eyes. “Three attempts. Begin.”

But Kent didn’t raise his hand.

Didn’t chant a spell.

Didn’t glow with mana.

Instead, he knelt down in front of the enormous stone, placed both hands firmly at its base—and lifted.

Silence fell.

The ground groaned. A ripple spread through the array circle as mana was not released, but consumed—the kind of force that breaks bones, bends metals, and laughs at rules.

And then—

With a grunt that barely escaped his lips, Kent raised the Judging boulder over his head, veins lighting up faintly with golden sparks.

For a heartbeat, the world froze.

Then he tossed it aside, and the boulder flew several feet, crashing into the side of the hill like a meteor. Dust exploded. A cloud of cracked runes burst into the sky.

“WHAT?!”

The crowd erupted.

“Is he insane?!”

“He… he lifted the boulder! With his bare hands!”

“A body Magus? No, wait—did you see the runes break? Even the array cracked!”

“No… No body Magus could lift that without essence reinforcement… What in the heavens is he?”

A disciple from the Thunder Crane sect muttered in awe, “That’s not brute strength. That’s just some fancy trick.”

The registrar’s jaw dropped. “Y-you qualify… please take this token.”

He handed Kent the Black Qualification Stone, his fingers trembling.

Kent took it with a nod and turned silently.

A group of elite warriors from the Southern Flame Empire stood to the side, their leader narrowing his eyes. “We need to watch that one.”

As Kent returned, Fatty Ben burst into a grin. “Brother! That was the most beautiful scene I’ve ever seen. You tossed a sacred boulder like a cabbage at a vegetable market!”

Mona smirked. “You didn’t even break a sweat.”

Lily, half-impressed and half-anxious, whispered, “You could’ve used a small spell… why that much drama?”

Kent looked at her. “Because drama draws attention. And I want everyone to know— I want to win this with a great action to spread my name.”

They began ascending the Phoenix Range, each step taking them closer to the floating platforms above, where the true battle would soon begin.

Halfway up, Kent turned to Fatty Ben. “Now it’s your turn.”

Ben straightened. “My turn?”

“Find the names of the top contenders. Find out the odds. Collect details about their styles, strengths, weaknesses… and establish a betting den near the Fighting ring.”

Fatty Ben’s grin widened like a rising moon. “You mean… like old times.”

Kent nodded. “Exactly. Like old times.”

Ben’s eyes twinkled. “Brother Kent… I thought you’d never ask! By the time the first duel begins, we’ll be richer than a small nation.”

“Just don’t bet a losing one,” Kent chuckled.

Ben bowed, hands clasped in mock reverence. “Even a pig knows not to challenge the dragon in his own den.”

And like a piglet smelling fortune, Ben waddled down the path, already muttering numbers and odds.

Kent stood tall, gazing toward the glowing summit high above. Clouds coiled around it like divine serpents. Trumpets blared in the distance, and flags waved like declarations of war.

The tournament had not even begun, but already… the mountain was watching.

And it saw the one who lifted the boulder.

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Tq for your support guys!