SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS - Chapter 1039 - 1039: The Forest of Thousand Fangs

The afternoon sun dipped low, and the Phoenix Range was already alive with expectation. The announcement had gone out across the entire mountain range — “All qualified disciples, gather at the Grand Sky Plaza by sun set!”

By the time the shadows began to stretch, the Grand Sky Plaza was already a sea of color and noise. Tiered seating platforms floated in the air, carrying dignitaries and nobles in their jeweled robes. Below, the vast common stands were crammed with thousands of spectators, their voices merging into a living roar that made the air itself tremble.

The gamblers were the loudest. After the chaos at the Golden Rat Gambling House, the entire betting district had turned rabid. Cries of “Bet Against Kent King!” mixed with groans of “He’s a fox, hiding in the first round—he’ll die in the second!” as people threw mana crystals into the hands of eager golden rat servant ladies.

Several gambling houses had put up last-minute odds, though none could match the Golden Rat’s outrageous offers. Fatty Ben’s earlier challenge had shaken the betting world to its core, but the scent of profit kept them circling like vultures.

The elite spectators had taken their places in shimmering sky pavilions. Each pavilion floated higher than the last, their platforms connected by streams of glowing clouds. Clan heads, elders of great sects, and foreign envoys leaned on their railings, sipping herbal tea while discussing which disciples would survive the coming slaughter.

A ripple went through the crowd as a blinding golden streak shot up from the central plaza.

From within that brilliance emerged Syndicate 7th Elder Zong — a stern man with silver hair tied high and his eyes carrying the weight of authority. Floating above everyone, he raised his hand and the voices below fell into silence, the weight of his presence pressing on every living being present.

“Disciples, spectators, gamblers, and fools who risk their fortunes,” Elder Zong’s voice boomed, echoing across the plaza without need for amplification talismans. “The first round was a game of cunning and survival in confined space. The second…” — he paused, letting the silence bite — “…will be a test of savagery, endurance, and greed.”

A low murmur rolled through the spectators.

Elder Zong’s voice sharpened. “You will enter a place known to the Syndicate as the Thousand Fangs Forest — a living hive of beasts, a territory where even Heavenly Immortal mages cultivators step carefully. Within it dwell venomous serpents, swarms, and predators that hunt even from beneath the roots.”

Some disciples shifted uncomfortably, gripping their weapons tighter.

“You will have one goal,” Zong continued, his gaze like a blade slicing through the gathered crowd. “Return with one hundred beast cores within the time limit of three days. Each core must be from a living beast you have personally slain. No trickery, no trading. The forest itself will mark the cores with the aura of the killer.”

A few disciples exhaled in relief — beast hunting sounded better than endless duels. But then came the blade:

“Killing your fellow disciples is allowed.”

Gasps tore through the crowd. Some spectators cheered like madmen. Others looked grim.

“There are five thousand of you entering,” Elder Zong said coldly. “Only one thousand will return with the required number of cores. If you fail, your journey ends here… if you’re lucky enough to still be breathing.”

The gamblers in the audience roared with excitement, already recalculating odds.

“To ensure our honored spectators are… entertained,” Elder Zong added with a thin smile, “the Syndicate will provide viewing access to the entire trial.”

At his signal, attendants in white released a cloud of floating Aurora Glass — crystalline screen that hovered in mid-air before the pavilions and common stands. The massive glass screen flickered to life and displayed the forest area inside the portal. Even from here, the low, animal growls from beyond the portal could be heard, mixed with the hum of swarming insects.

The forest inside was a nightmare. The faint roars of unseen monsters shook the leaves.

Elder Zong descended slightly, his voice now aimed directly at the disciples.

“Gather your courage. Gather your killing intent. Once you step through, you will not see the sky again until your quota is complete… or until the beasts have eaten their fill.”

He raised his hand, and the chains binding the portal clattered and hissed, unlocking one by one.

“Enter!”

The order cracked like a whip.

The disciples surged forward — some running with fearless cries, others hesitating, looking at their rivals warily before stepping in. Those who had been enemies in the first round eyed each other with open killing intent, weapons already in hand.

From the Aurora glass, the audience watched as the first wave entered the forest, their boots sinking into damp, dark soil. Immediately, a pair of giant centipedes burst from the moss-covered ground, their arm-thick mandibles snapping. The disciples scattered, drawing blades and unleashing spells, the forest lighting up with streaks of qi and bursts of flame.

The Aurora Glass trembled slightly as the scenes inside shifted from one skirmish to another — the air was thick with the raw, predatory tension of a place where only one law mattered: kill, or be killed.

And still, more and more disciples stepped through the portal, vanishing into the hungry shadows of the Thousand Fangs Forest…

The moment Kent’s boot touched the damp soil of the Thousand Fangs Forest, the air changed.

It wasn’t just the smell — though the scent of wet earth, moss, and the faint metallic tang of beast blood was thick enough to taste. It was the pressure. The forest seemed alive, its colossal, gnarled trees leaning inward as if to listen, their roots coiled like sleeping serpents.

The cries of battle already echoed faintly from deeper within, where the first wave of disciples had scattered to hunt. But Kent did not rush forward.

He took one step… then stopped.

From behind him came the sound of many boots crunching the soil, the deliberate pace of people who were not rushing to hunt beasts — they were hunting him.

Kent turned his head slightly.

A dozen figures emerged from the portal’s faint afterglow, their gazes locked on him like wolves on cornered prey. Their weapons glimmered with fresh talismanic seals, and their armor still bore the crests of powerful sects.

–

Tq 🙂