NOVEL NEXT Chapter 433: The Storm Before the Trial
Hurricane City.
To call it a city was misleading—there were no walls, no streets, no bustling squares. It was a solitary mountain peak, rising like a spearhead into the clouds, right at the center of the Eye of the Hurricane.
The mountain was barren and forbidding, nothing but jagged stone and a gray, weather-beaten surface that swallowed every trace of green. A winding road spiraled around its face, leading up toward a gate carved directly into the rock.
The gate was massive, its heavy wooden beams reinforced with black iron. Above it, two large words had been carved into a stone plaque: Hurricane City. Just beneath them, two even larger words were etched—Windspirit Faction.
The path eventually reached the summit, where the peak flattened into a wide platform. The surface wasn't paved, yet it was unnaturally smooth, like a polished mirror reflecting the bleak sky. On either side, sheer cliffs dropped into clouds, as narrow and precarious as the famed "One-Line Sky" in Rumination Gorge.
At this moment, the platform was occupied by four distinct groups.
To the south, the Windspirit Faction stood assembled—roughly a thousand strong. The front ranks were composed of about two hundred core disciples, their robes clean and uniform, while the rest, standing in loose formation behind them, were clearly the menial disciples—servants and outer ranks, their clothes plain and worn.
To the north gathered the delegation from Forgotten City. Their clothes were a patchwork of styles, many carrying the rough, utilitarian look of mercenaries. They had come to witness and participate in the Sacred Assembly trials, their presence sharp and hostile.
To the east stood the representatives of Clearspring City, clad in water-blue uniforms. Though fewer in number—just under a thousand—they carried themselves with the confidence of trained soldiers and merchants.
And to the west…
There was only a single table with three chairs.
Three old men sat there, leisurely pouring wine and laughing as though the tense atmosphere around them did not exist. They were Regis, Quinn Noalan, and Hank.
---
"Regis, the time limit for opening the sanctum is nearly up. Are you going to bring out the Sigil of the Wild Legion, or do you plan to waste everyone's time?"
The voice came cold and sharp from the southern ranks.
Regis didn't so much as glance at the speaker. He lifted his cup, savoring the wine as though he hadn't heard a thing.
"Old man Regis, there's only an hour left before the deadline," another voice called from the north, this one openly hostile. "You're not thinking of sending us all home empty-handed, are you?"
Still, Regis, Quinn, and Hank ignored them, drinking as if the world itself wasn't on the verge of breaking apart.
The Forgotten City leader slammed his hand against the table, his patience snapping. "Regis! What's the meaning of this?"
Regis chuckled, his laughter low and mocking. Without turning to face them, he said to Hank, "Tell me, Hank—did you hear a dog barking?"
Hank blinked innocently. "Dog barking? Can't say I did. Maybe just the sound of mutts fighting over scraps."
"No, no," Quinn joined in with a grin. "Hank, you've got it wrong. They're probably fighting with their master for the scraps."
The three of them burst into unrestrained laughter. The man from Forgotten City went pale, his fists trembling with fury. If he replied, he'd be calling himself a dog. But swallowing the insult felt just as unbearable.
---
From the east, a more measured voice cut through the tension. "Brother Regis, whatever grievance lies between us, let's resolve it after the trials. City Lord Auren mentioned that Deputy City Lord White Werox is still in isolation, hasn't he?
Perhaps we can wait for him to emerge and speak face-to-face. Why don't we open the trials first?"
The speaker was Baelor Wane, City Lord of Clearspring City. He stood in the front row, bowing politely toward Regis, his words careful and diplomatic.
Regis rolled his eyes. Baelor Wane—always the peacemaker, always trying to smooth things over. Typical merchant behavior.
But Wane was, after all, a city lord, and he had shown proper courtesy. Regis stood and returned the gesture. "Brother Wane speaks well, but… I'm no longer the City Lord of Beastfall City. I'm only here to observe. Our City Lord is still on the road. We'll have to wait for his arrival to settle these matters."
---
Time was almost up. Ethan hadn't arrived, and Regis doubted he would. That left them with nothing—no Sigil, no opening of the sanctum.
White Werox was still nowhere to be seen. Hunting him down in this mountain stronghold would be impossible before the deadline. And once the trial opening window closed, chaos would erupt. The fury of three rival cities wasn't something even Regis, Quinn, and Hank could withstand.
Better to lay their cards on the table now. If a fight broke out, so be it. And if they couldn't take White Werox himself, they'd kill his son and make him taste the agony of loss.
---
"What?"
BOOM—
The man standing at the forefront of the Windspirit Faction suddenly surged with power. Violent soul energy mixed with cutting wind burst across the mountaintop. The air howled. Robes snapped in the gusts.
Even Baelor Wane, the composed merchant, looked shaken. Regis's words had thrown the entire gathering off balance. He was declaring, in no uncertain terms, that he no longer held the Sigil—and the trial's entrance could not be opened.
There was less than an hour left before the chance was gone.
Baelor's face twisted into something far less amiable.
"You're asking for death!" Shaw Zilo, City Lord of Forgotten City, slammed his own table, veins bulging in his temples. "Kill him!"
Three of Shaw's men immediately broke formation and charged toward Regis and his companions.
---
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
From the southwest, three deep explosions echoed through the air.
Everyone froze.
Through the veil of hurricane winds, three massive, glowing beast heads flickered into view, followed by the silhouette of a shadow rising into the sky. It was too far to make out clearly.
Regis, Quinn, and Hank exchanged looks. Their eyes lit up. Could it be…?
---
"Stop!"
Baelor Wane's roar cut through the noise like a whip crack. The Forgotten City warriors had nearly reached Regis when the shout halted them mid-stride.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Three brief clashes sounded as Regis, Quinn, and Hank deflected the oncoming blows, each meeting an attacker head-on before separating again. All eyes turned to Baelor Wane.
Regis raised a brow. Baelor Wane was not the kind of man to act without profit. Was he… helping them?
"Baelor Wane," Shaw Zilo growled, "what's the meaning of this?"
"The meaning?" Baelor shot him a glare. "We've waited a thousand years for this Sacred Assembly. Do you want to ruin it now?
Tell me, Shaw Zilo—are you planning to live another thousand years? I'm already three hundred and four. I don't have time to wait!"
Shaw gritted his teeth but backed down, muttering, "So what? Without our help, this sanctum won't open itself."
"Look," Baelor snapped, pointing skyward.
---
Everyone followed his finger.
Three seals hovered in the air—one gray, one white, one blue. The emblems of Hurricane City, Forgotten City, and Clearspring City. They spun in slow, deliberate circles, glowing with a strange, synchronized light.
This wasn't what had happened before. When they had sent the seals skyward earlier, there had been no reaction. Now, all three were alive with energy.
Confusion spread across the crowd. Something was happening—something none of them understood.
---
BOOM!
A thunderous crash shook the mountain from the southwest.
"Enemy attack!" a Windspirit disciple screamed. "Someone's breaking through the mountain!"
"Stop him!"
"Don't let him pass!"
"Activate the Anti-Flight Array—NOW!"
The platform erupted into chaos. Shouts and the clang of weapons filled the air as everyone scrambled to react.