God-Tier Fishing System

The grand Azure Origin Dao Sect's main hall remained charged with tension and endless whispers even as Bram was carried away, defeated and wounded but still burning with fiery pride.

Eleven princes of the Vernal Dawn royal family roamed the dynasty, each a formidable force — yet none wielded the authority to ignite war alone. It was clear: Bram's bruised ego and body could not unleash calamity without the backing of the dynasty elders.

Lyralei's eyes sharpened, resolute with cool confidence. Respect for the prince's rank did not breed fear in her heart.

If battle came, she was ready to meet it head-on.

A little aside from the storm's eye, Ethan inclined his head slightly and whispered, voice honed to a knife's edge, "Sixth Prince, knowing you still breathe, you should admit defeat, kneel, call me master, and surrender the puppet."

The pointed edge in his tone cut through the heavy air like a whip, demanding acknowledgment that Bram had lost. Coughing blood but defiant to the last, Bram spat with guttural pride, his hoarse voice echoing, "How can I, the majestic prince, kneel to you?" His ill wound seemed to fuel his stubbornness rather than sap it.

Mr. Willow, ever the vigilant guard, rushed to his side, eyes dark and calculating as he assessed Bram's battered form.

"This boy is merciless. Such wounds will take months to mend, even with hundreds of pills. We ran headlong into a brick wall this time—who could have guessed such a monster hides within the Azure Origin Dao Sect? A physical cultivator, no less, capable of crushing the illustrious sixth prince…" His gaze fell upon Ethan, swirling with fierce calculation and suppressed killing intent. Still, reason dictated caution—killing Ethan outright with Lyralei's watchful eye over them would be folly. The shadows of the sect likely hid even greater masters ready to rise.

Swallowing hot bitterness and wounded pride, Bram finally conceded, "Ethan, today, I admit defeat." The words stung, held tight between silenced teeth. Still, with a final pang of dignity, he demanded, "I'll give you the puppet, but kneeling? Never." Pride was perhaps his last sacred relic.

With Mr. Willow's steady arm prepared to whisk Bram away at the first sign of danger, Bram coldly snorted, laying a subtle mark upon the puppet before flinging it with a furious glare toward Ethan. Rage and grim plotting darkened his eyes—this was far from over.

Ethan caught the puppet gracefully, his eyes shimmering as he quickly discerned the mental imprint embedded within.

A faint smile traced his lips — all things in time.

Motioning with a signal, Bram turned away, his parting growl a sharp weapon: "Lyralei, Ethan — remember this! The Vernal Dawn royal family will not forget!" His words weighed heavy in the air, a threat as much as a promise.

But Ethan's gaze only narrowed lightly after them, unshaken by the fading figures.

Even with Mr. Willow's forbidding presence, their stay in Azure Origin Dao Sect's jurisdiction was about to end.

Yet their purpose—their defeat—had been nailed down with brutal finality.

Turning, victorious spirit alight, Ethan met Althea's eyes. "Senior Sister Althea, I won," he murmured quietly, warmth threading his voice.

Althea rushed forward, worry momentarily displacing battlefield hardness. "Are you alright?" Her concern blossomed in those clear eyes, shimmering with pride hidden behind cautious gaze.

"It's nothing but minor exhaustion. One night of rest and I'll be fine," Ethan replied, wearing a mask of practiced modesty that belied his intense effort.

She smiled, the pride softening her features. "You've hidden yourself well, Ethan. At this strength, I doubt even I could match you now." The warmth between them flickered—a rare moment of tranquility amid endless strife.

Around them, elders and peak masters stirred back to presence, their thoughts racing to re-assess the boy they had once dismissed.

Respect, hard-earned in cultivation, shifted the balance—Ethan was counted among equals now. The sect's power structure only bowed to strength, and Ethan's strength was undeniable.

Back in the main hall, Lyralei reinstated her queenly composure, serene authority radiating from every pore. "Ethan, you have preserved the sect's honor and reputation. Name your reward," she invited with poised grace.

Ethan shook his head gently. "I need no reward, Empress. But I wish to enter the sect's inheritance place." His voice rang steady, as a man claiming what was rightfully earned.

Silence fell like a stone, thick and sudden as murmurs ripple through the hall.

The elders whispered uneasily, debates flaring. Many nodded in grudging agreement — Ethan had proven himself worthy.

Yet dissent brewed, most vocally from Voidshade Peak and Serpentwind Peak.

"My Lady Empress, this cannot be allowed!" thundered the second elder of Voidshade Peak.

"The inheritance place is sacred — reserved only for holders of the Holy Throne. Ethan may wield impressive power, but rules exist for a reason." His voice was cold, unwavering.

Ethan's gaze sharpened, eyes burning with underlying steel.

Stepping forward in a blink, he suddenly appeared beside the second elder, Moonflood Scythe glinting at his throat.

Terror wracked the elder instantly — sweat sprung, face paling. His cultivation was no shield here; the blade's edge kissed his skin before his mind could react.

Even Lyralei's expression flickered in surprise. There were secrets within Ethan's grasp that few could fathom.

The master of Voidshade Peak recovered quickly, voice lowering into a calculated coldness. "Ethan, notwithstanding your strength, you must follow the sacred laws of our sect." His tone retained respect, but the warning was unmistakable.

"Rules?" Ethan echoed, presenting a token high above the crowd.

The Purple Dragon Order shimmered, glowing with latent power born of ancient authority.

"Does the Purple Dragon Order suffices to qualify for entry?" he asked, quiet determination underpinning his words.

The hall was stunned.

All eyes fixed upon the token — two tokens the sect held supreme: the Red Phoenix Order, wielded by Empress Lyralei herself, and the Purple Dragon Order, guarded by the Supreme Elder and protector of the Demon Sealing Cave's deepest secrets.

This revelation reshaped their judgments. Ethan's ascent was no longer a mere rumor but an undeniable fact of power and destiny.

"Had you produced the Purple Dragon Order earlier, Ethan, it would have spared us much strife," Althea murmured, reflecting with quiet respect, though wary. The intrigues of the sect were inscrutable, yet clear strength was the final arbiter.

Ideas and rumors swirled like wind and leaves, but amidst the whispers, the truth endured: none could contest pure power.

Seraphina stood, lost in stunned disbelief, watching the convergence of fate and strength she once scorned.

Ethan sheathed the Moonflood Scythe gracefully, silence heavy around him.

"Am I qualified enough now?" his voice broke the stillness, soft yet unyielding.

A/N:

Extra chapters

100 power stones - 1 Extra chapters

200 power stones - 2 Extra chapters

Capsule - 1 Extra chapters

Massage Chair - 3 Extra chapters

Luxury Car - 5 Extra Chapters

Magic Castle - 15 Extra Chapters

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Thanks for the Inspiration capsule: @Orlando_whaanga