SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS - Chapter 954 - 954: 2 Months Passed!

Elsewhere…

A shadow courier from the Hall of Whispering Blades disappeared into the night with a rolled parchment sealed in blood—Kent’s name etched in crimson.

The bounty was placed.

The hunt had begun.

And across the realm, blades began to stir.

–

Divine Herb Mountain… [The place here Kent healed the ancestral naga]

The moon hung low over the gentle slopes surrounding Divine Herb Mountain. Just before the ascending trail forked into the mountain paths, a quiet wooden house stood nestled beside a calm stream, its chimney puffing out slow breaths of smoke into the night.

Elder Jill of the Immortal Living Pool Academy had chosen to halt her journey here, far from the grand towers of cultivation and the shrieking blades of sect politics. The Lova household was humble, but serene—an old home maintained by an even older bond.

She sat by the campfire now, a thick woolen shawl over her shoulders, her hands stretched toward the flames. The scent of roasted fish and the hiss of oil-filled pans filled the air.

Not far from her, Lord Teron Lova, a broad-shouldered man with a weathered face and wise eyes, stood barefoot in the stream with a spear in hand. His movements were slow but precise, as if every thrust of his spear was both a hunt and a meditation.

“Still using the Moon-Cleaving Spear Arts to catch fish?” Elder Jill called with a dry chuckle.

Lord Teron laughed, the sound deep and warm. “Some skills don’t dull with age, Jill. And some waters still remember the rhythm of old warriors.”

She smiled faintly. “You always had a way with words. How’s Rina’s progress with the whip technique?”

A proud spark glinted in his eyes. “She’s now mastering the third form of the Heavenly Echo Whip. Her whip can strike twice in one motion, the second hit riding the sound of the first. Grandmaster rank at her age? I’d say she has a strong shot at the Golden Heir Tournament.”

Jill nodded, her expression unreadable under the firelight. “A fine candidate. The one who wins… gets resources to ascend to Immortal Heaven Magus. That title alone can move the balance of power in three regions.”

Just then, the sound of soft footsteps on dry leaves stirred the air.

A young woman stepped into the fire’s light, holding a carved bottle of mountain-brewed wine.

Rina Lova.

Her hair was tied casually over her shoulder, and her robes swayed gently with the breeze. She held the bottle with one hand, and in the other—a pair of silver cups. Her beauty was sharp, but her eyes carried a mischievous gleam.

“I thought I heard you both gossiping without me,” she said playfully.

Lord Teron chuckled and gestured for her to sit. “Come join the gossip, Rina.”

She poured two cups—one for her father and one for Elder Jill—and kept the bottle for herself.

Then, after a few sips and a few moments of silence, her tone shifted.

“Elder,” she said slowly, her gaze flickering with an unusual seriousness, “I heard that the Dreamer of Eternity clashed with Lee Dong months ago.”

Elder Jill raised her eyebrows slightly.

“‘Dreamer of Eternity’? Is that what they call him now?” she said with an amused smirk.

Rina’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t avert her eyes. “Kent. He said his dream is to become an eternal being.”

Lord Teron’s brow furrowed. “That boy again? Hmph. Rina always remembered him, because he said, Rina depended too much on her weapon.”

“I never forgot,” Rina whispered.

Jill exhaled, placing her cup down. The flame crackled louder between them, as if urging her to speak the truth.

“Yes… there was a fight,” she said softly. “Lee Dong challenged Kent before the prime disciple selection… under the Immortal Pool’s full authority.”

“Was it a fair fight?” Lord Teron asked immediately, his voice sharp.

Jill looked into the fire. “No.”

The air tensed.

“There are two minor realms difference between fighters and opponent Lee Dong has a Grand master rank weapon like your daughter Rina.”

Lord Teron’s knuckles tightened around the wine cup.

“And the boy fought anyway?”

“He did,” Jill said, her voice lowering. “He fought… and for a moment, he shone like a divine flame. But in the end, the spells overwhelmed him. He got severely injured and taken away by his dragon pet.”

Rina bit her lip. “Then… is he dead?”

Jill shook her head. “No one knows. He vanished. Not even the soul lanterns flickered. He simply disappeared—without a trace.”

Lord Teron scowled. “That’s no way to treat a cultivator, no matter his origin. The Immortal Pool disgraced itself.”

Jill didn’t deny it. “And that’s why Master Bu Dong has placed a bounty. He fears Kent’s return.”

Rina’s fingers trembled slightly as she poured herself more wine. “But… will he come back?”

The question hung in the air like an arrow waiting to fall.

Jill stared at her. And then, with a strange smile, she said, “If I were a betting woman… I’d say he’ll walk straight into the Golden Heir Tournament. Not as a simple candidate. But as a storm bringer.”

Rina’s eyes lit up.

“But why would he—”

“Because the boy has something no realm can measure,” Jill interrupted. “He has pain. Purpose. And a promise buried in his heart.”

Lord Teron rose from his seat, stepping away from the fire.

“Then let the heavens prepare themselves,” he said. “Because the one who walks back from death… is never the same man.”

As the wind whistled through the pines and the stream shimmered under moonlight, none of them spoke again.

But in Rina’s eyes, a spark had lit.

And in the distance, the flames of destiny flickered once more.

–

Two months had passed in near silence.

Inside the heart of the secluded volcanic cavern, Kent sat unmoving atop a stone dais, his figure as still as a sculpture carved by the gods. Cross-legged in a lotus position, eyes shut, palms resting on his knees, he had not uttered a single word or taken even a sip of water since the day Muni Naga began the sacred forging of the Immortal Quivers.

The divine bow—yet unfinished—stood upright on a slab of shimmering ore beside him, veiled by a silken black cloth embedded with runes. Its presence alone distorted the temperature of the room, as if the air respected its impending divinity.

Kent remained there in prayer—prayer not with words, but with soul.

He was calling it. Inviting it. Pleading, commanding, and surrendering all at once.

The weapon spirit of the ancestral divine bow had not responded. Yet.

Even the flickering light of the spiritual lamps around him dimmed in reverence of his silent meditation. His back straight, chest calm, he looked like a war deity awaiting resurrection.

And as the third month neared, his aura had grown deeper, calmer—less like a man, and more like a part of the mountain itself.