Weapon seller in the world of magic

Later in the dining hall;

The warmth of the evening meal had barely settled when the quiet rhythm of the palace was disturbed.

Laughter still lingered in the dining hall as dishes were being replaced, the children animatedly talking over one another, when a faint commotion echoed from outside.

Footsteps halted abruptly, followed by restrained voices.

Though the doors to the hall were open, the two guards stationed there crossed their spears firmly, blocking an approaching figure.

”I request an audience with Patriarch Lan.”

The voice carried clearly into the hall.

Mark paused mid-motion, his chopsticks hovering for a heartbeat before he gently set them down. He exchanged a brief glance with Song Yue and Shen Ling, both of whom had already sensed something amiss. Without a word, he stood and walked out of the dining hall.

Standing just beyond the threshold was Lei Zetian, dressed neatly in court attire, his posture respectful despite being stopped. The guards remained alert, but their expressions softened slightly when Mark appeared.

”What is it, Prince Zetian?” Mark asked calmly.

Lei Zetian inclined his head. ”I heard that the Patriarch has returned to the sect. I came to pay my respects and to inquire about the matter you mentioned earlier. My uncle kept on asking me to confirm it.”

Mark studied him for a moment, his gaze measured rather than cold. ”Tonight isn’t a good time. I’ve just reunited with my family. I’ll speak with them first. After that, we can talk properly.”

Zetian nodded without protest. ”Understood. Then I will come tomorrow to greet the Patriarch’s family, if that is acceptable.”

Mark gave a short nod, and the guards stepped aside as Zetian retreated quietly into the palace corridors.

When Mark returned inside, Shang Jiao tilted her head. ”Who was it??”

”It’s the Prince....” Mark replied lightly, resuming his seat. ”But it can wait.”

The conversation gradually flowed back to lighter matters.

*

At dawn the following morning, the sect was already awake.

Mist drifted lazily across the training grounds as Shang Jiao stood barefoot on the frost-polished stone, her breathing steady, eyes sharp. Her robe was tied back, sleeves secured, revealing toned arms that contrasted with the image most had of her as a pure mage.

She moved forward, fists cutting through the air in a series of quick strikes. Her footwork was fast, almost instinctive, but the moment she committed to a kick, her balance wavered slightly. The trainer opposite her, a Saint-realm expert and the Security Chief of the Ice Palace, stepped aside easily.

”Again, Lady Shang,” the trainer said patiently.

Shang Jiao exhaled, frustration flickering across her face, and launched another combination. Speed and reaction were there, undeniably so, but her blows lacked weight, her movements hesitant at the final moment.

From a short distance away, a figure watched silently.

Lei Zetian stood near a stone pillar, hands clasped behind his back, eyes following her movements with quiet focus. He made no attempt to hide his presence.

Eventually, Shang Jiao noticed him.

She halted mid-stance and turned toward him, brows knitting. ”What?”

Zetian shook his head lightly. ”Nothing in particular. I was just observing. You have good agility and fast reflexes. Your sense of timing is also sharp.”

Shang Jiao crossed her arms. ”And?”

”And yet,” he continued evenly, ”you hesitate when you strike. Your punches and kicks stop just short of commitment. It’s as if you’re afraid of fully following through.”

Her frown deepened. ”I’m a mage,” she said flatly. ”Not a warrior.”

”I guessed as much,” Zetian replied with a nod. ”Have you ever trained in close combat before?”

She shook her head. ”There was never a reason to. No peer around me is strong enough to spar seriously.”

Zetian blinked, a faint crease forming between his brows as he absorbed her words. ”Is that so?” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

In the next breath, his figure blurred.

He landed lightly on the training platform, frost cracking under his boots as he straightened.

With a casual stretch of his fingers, translucent energy gathered in his palm, condensing and sharpening until an elegant blade of pale blue light formed, humming softly with restrained power. The air around it warped faintly, heat and cold folding into one another.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. ”Then let’s see how much you can back those words up with. Whether you’re truly strong for your age… or whether you only feel strong because everyone you met before was weaker than you.”

Shang Jiao snorted, irritation flashing through her eyes. She lifted a hand and gestured sharply toward the guards stationed nearby. ”Get down.”

The guards didn’t hesitate. They retreated from the platform at once, expressions tightening as the atmosphere shifted. This was no longer casual training. This was a real test.

Shang Jiao stepped forward, frost swirling around her ankles as she summoned her divine staff. Blue runes ignited along its length, pulsing like a heartbeat as the cold temperature around her dropped several degrees even further. The staff felt familiar in her hands, grounding, an extension of her will.

Zetian shook his head slowly, almost regretfully. ”You rely on a weapon to channel your power. That kind of dependence causes stagnation eventually.”

Shang Jiao’s eyes narrowed. ”You can save the lecture for after you win,” she shot back. ”If you win, that is.”

Zetian’s smirk widened. ”Go ahead.”

She didn’t waste another second.

Raising the staff, she pointed its tip directly at him, her voice dropping into a focused murmur. ”Ice Needle Shower.”

A sharp drain tugged at her core as nearly a tenth of her mana reserves vanished in an instant. The air above her shimmered violently, and dozens of razor-thin icicles formed in tight formation, their edges gleaming with lethal precision. Each one hummed with compressed frost energy, capable of piercing steel.

She met his gaze, eyes bright and unflinching. ”Are you ready?”

Zetian tilted his head slightly. ”Starting big from the beginning?”

Shang Jiao snorted. ”Please. This isn’t even a big one. Now stop talking.”

With a sharp downward motion of her staff, she sent the icicles screaming toward him.

The needles tore through the air like a storm of glass, converging from multiple angles, leaving streaks of white mist in their wake. Any ordinary cultivator would have been overwhelmed instantly.

Zetian didn’t move from his spot.

Instead, his free hand rose, fingers blurring into motion. His wrist rotated with effortless precision, the energy sword tracing tight arcs through the air.

Each ice needle that screamed toward him was either sliced cleanly in half or flicked aside with precise motions. Shards of ice scattered across the platform, clinking and evaporating into mist before they even hit the ground.

Shang Jiao’s eyes narrowed.

She had expected him to dodge, maybe retreat, perhaps counterattack immediately. Instead, he stood there, dismantling her spell as if he were calmly tidying up a mess she had made.

”Tch.”

When everything settled, Zetian lowered his hand and looked at her calmly. ”One to zero,” he said in an even tone. ”The first round is mine. Now it’s my turn to attack. Try to defend this, Lady Shang.”

Before Shang Jiao could reply, Zetian shifted his stance.

His feet moved lightly across the platform, and for the next ten seconds, he began what looked like a sword dance. His movements were smooth and flowing, the energy blade in his hand tracing elegant arcs in the air. Every swing felt deliberate, as if he were painting invisible lines rather than attacking. The air vibrated softly, and faint trails of light lingered behind each motion.

Shang Jiao stared, momentarily stunned. The sword dance was beautiful, almost mesmerizing, and for a brief moment, she forgot she was in the middle of a spar.

Then the dance ended.

The lingering energy gathered in front of Zetian, twisting and compressing until it formed a wingless, limbless dragon made entirely of condensed energy. With a sharp hiss, the dragon shot forward, flying straight at Shang Jiao.

She snapped out of her daze at once.

Slamming the bottom of her staff into the platform, she poured mana into it. Ice surged upward in front of her, forming a thick wall just in time.

The energy dragon crashed into the ice with a thunderous impact.

Cracks spread instantly across the wall before it shattered into fragments. At the same time, the dragon itself dispersed, breaking apart into scattered light.

Shang Jiao barely had time to breathe.

Zetian’s sword vanished from his hand, dissolving into particles of light. In its place, an energy bow formed smoothly, its string already drawn back. Before she could react, he released the arrow.

The arrow flew like a streak of lightning.