The child who leaped down from the Flood Dragon hailed from the Great Marsh of Luofu and was named Jiao Peng. Though small in stature, he was fierce and imperious. With a cold laugh, he declared, “I will have that willow branch. If any of you dare to challenge me, come forth!”
Zi Shan Kun, the young and composed son of Zi Shan Hou, spoke calmly, “Jiao Peng, cease your arrogance. Even if you possess some skill, do not overstep—lest you perish in this desolate land.” From the moment they met, Zi Shan Kun and Jiao Peng had been at odds, their clans long-standing rivals.
“Then let us fight—to the death. Do you dare?” Jiao Peng’s tone was aggressive, his cold gaze sharp as the talons of an ancient Roc.
“Enough bickering! Silence!” A slightly older boy from a marquis’s territory, Lei Mingyuan, glared at them, his eyes crackling with lightning, dark energy swirling above his head. He was the youngest son of Lei Hou, originally tasked with confronting Zi Shan Kun, but Jiao Peng’s audacity had provoked his fury.
Jiao Peng and Zi Shan Kun, both prodigies unaccustomed to submission, bristled at the interruption. “Lei Mingyuan, do you seek death?” Jiao Peng stepped forward, the ground trembling as if under the weight of a monstrous beast.
“Shut your mouth!” Zi Shan Kun snapped. Their clans bore old grudges, and even now, tensions simmered beneath the surface.
“Then let battle decide!” Lei Mingyuan roared. He lunged forward, covering over twenty meters in a single leap, his fists crackling with black lightning—a forbidden secret of his clan.
Zi Shan Kun countered, his palm emitting a radiant purple sun, a formidable treasure technique of the Zi Shan lineage. The two clashed, black lightning and violet brilliance exploding into runes that scorched the sky.
“Who claims to be the foremost genius? Do not forget me!” Jiao Peng intervened, summoning the phantom of an ancient Flood Dragon, its aura terrifying—a treasured inheritance from his ancestors.
The three clashed violently, their battle drawing stunned gazes from onlookers. Even their elders nodded in approval, though some younger observers scoffed.
“How boring. With those old men watching, we can’t truly fight to the death.”
“True genius is forged on grand battlefields between great clans. This is just child’s play.”
Enraged, the three combatants widened their battlefield, dragging the mockers into the fray. Though young, their prowess was undeniable, a spectacle that left the crowd awestruck.
Meanwhile, the children of Stone Village, drawn by the commotion, watched from the outskirts, whispering in awe.
“That’s a Flood Dragon up there—twenty meters long, with wings! It must be delicious!”
“You glutton, that’s a treasure for alchemy!”
The outsiders, overhearing, were dumbfounded. Did these villagers truly feast on such fearsome beasts?
“We ate a Suanni recently, so this Flood Dragon’s blood can’t compare,” another child added casually.
The foreign clans—Zi Shan, Lei, and Jiao—were near speechless. What kind of village was this?
“Wild brats! How dare you mock me?” Jiao Peng, infuriated, glared toward the village.
“Wow, his eyes glow like that malevolent wolf we killed last time,” one villager murmured.
Killed a Sacred Beast? The outsiders exchanged stunned glances. Such creatures were not to be trifled with—yet these children spoke of them as mere prey.
Before tensions escalated further, a tiny figure emerged from the village—Little Rascal, his cheeks still smeared with milk.
“Big brother, that’s not nice,” he chided Jiao Peng, effortlessly deflecting a strike that would have crushed a mountain.
Silence fell. The prodigy Jiao Peng had been overpowered—by a toddler still nursing?
The outsiders paled. What kind of monstrous village had they stumbled upon?
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