WHAT! I Have To Kill Heaven's Son To Live!

All eyes turned as one—some brimming with curiosity, others laced with disdain.

Everyone still remembered the old Xue Taiyang—the arrogant fool, a disgrace to the sect, a laughingstock who had once dragged his own name through the mud.

But now…

He was no longer that man.

Just two months ago, he had defeated a girl hailed as a Monstrous Saber Genius—one who would later become known as the Deceptive Saber Demoness.

That wasn't something an ordinary person could even dream of accomplishing.

And so, it was clear—

He was anything but ordinary.

Reon rose quietly from the waiting area, his expression unreadable, eyes calm and distant like still water.

Without a single glance to the crowd, he walked steadily toward the arena floor.

As his foot touched the arena floor, the silence fractured—whispers and gossip stirred like ripples in a stormy pond.

"So... that's Xue Taiyang?"

"Y-Yeah… it's him."

"H-He's… the Mimic Lord, right? The one who beat Yi Ran during the Monthly Dueling Event?!"

"That's what everyone in the Outer Sect's saying… though I can't believe something that freaking absurd!"

"Exactly! How could he defeat Goddess Yi Ran when he got beaten bloody by Yang Lie—who she defeated like it was nothing?"

"B-But... but my junior sister swore she saw it with her own eyes! Now she's obsessed with him—calls herself his '#1 Fan'! Damn it!"

"Same here! My junior sister won't even talk to me anymore… just because I called Xue Taiyang a fake!"'

"Tch. I was there too. He pulled off some dirty trick to win. If not for that, he wouldn't have stood a chance against Yi Ran."

"Yeah! It had to be some gimmick. There's no other explanation. No way he could overpower our Goddess Yi Ran!"

"Mimic Lord?! Ha! More like Copycat Cheater!"

"Cheater!!"

"BOOO!! What a fraud!"

"TRASH!"

"BOOOOOO—TRAAAASH!!"

"TRASH! GET OFF THE STAGE!!!"

The insults and scorn rained down from the stands like venom-tipped arrows, yet Reon didn't even blink.

He continued his slow, steady pace across the arena floor, unbothered.

'Those pathetic losers... don't they have anything better to do?'

'They're not even qualified to participate in the Inner Disciple Selection Ceremony, and yet they have the audacity to mock me?'

'Shameless fools.'

'They should worry about their own worthlessness instead of barking at someone leagues above them.'

His eyes narrowed slightly, but his steps remained smooth.

'Let them bark. As if I'd care about the worthless opinions of failures like them.'

"Anyway... what should I do about the Minor Elder? Should I just endure for one minute… or defeat him?"

Just as the jeers began to swell again—

"WOOOOOHOOO!! BROTHER TAIYANG IS THE BEST!!"

A high-pitched, enthusiastic shout rang out like a spark of sunlight breaking through gray clouds.

Reon's gaze turned toward the direction of the voice.

There—among the crowd—stood Mei Lin, waving both hands with flushed cheeks and eyes full of admiration.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of Reon's lips.

'Heh… I guess I have a supporter too.'

He glanced away from the stands, a bit of warmth flickering in his chest.

'Thank you, Xiao Lin.'

But then—

"Brother Taiyang, crush that Minor Elder!"

"Show them who's truly the best!"

"Who cares about Yang Lie or Yi Ran?! Brother Taiyang is number one!"

"Kyaa~ Brother Taiyang is soooo handsome!"

"He's the most handsome cultivator in the entire sect!"

"Brother Taiyang, put those ignorant fools in their place! Show them your power!"

A wave of enthusiastic cheers erupted from another section of the seats—this time, from a growing group of young female disciples.

Their voices rose like spring wind through blooming cherry blossoms, loud, bright, and fiercely devoted.

Reon blinked in surprise.

'Wait… I have this many fans now?'

'Did I… just become a celebrity?'

A smug little grin crept onto his lips.

'Well then… I can't afford to disappoint my adoring audience, now can I?'

'Let's give them a show. I'll take down the Minor Elder… but make it look like I struggled a little. Can't have too much spotlight!'

He stepped forward with practiced composure, ascending Platform Six, where his opponent—an aging Minor Elder—was already standing with arms crossed, an impatient scowl plastered across his face.

The elder narrowed his eyes and scoffed.

"Hmph. So... you're Xue Taiyang, huh?"

Reon studied him quietly.

Despite the man being only in his sixties, his hair had long turned grey, and deep lines carved through his face—not the lines of wisdom, but of frustration.

'He doesn't seem thrilled to see me,' Reon mused.

The Minor Elder glanced around at the cheering crowd, brows twitching at the noise.

"You've become quite the sensation lately," he said, voice laced with contempt.

"I just found that out," Reon replied dryly, voice calm but edged with confidence.

The Elder's eyes sharpened.

"I've heard rumors about you—how you wield some high-grade artifact and used it to defeat Yi Ran, the Outer Sect's pride. But don't let it get to your head."

He sneered.

"If you try to use that here, I'll disqualify you on the spot. This stage is meant for skill—not tricks."

A vein pulsed on Reon's forehead.

His eyes darkened.

'Who does this crusty old man think he is?'

'He really thinks I need my Core Void Eye's Arts to beat someone like him? Please.'

'I was planning to go easy on him, act like I struggled a little—but if he wants to test me, fine. Let him witness the gulf between us.'

Reon took a step forward, his presence subtly shifting. The arena floor seemed to hold its breath.

He stared the Elder down with a calm, razor-sharp gaze.

"Why don't you go all out instead?" he said coolly.

"Use your combat techniques, your spiritual arts—whatever you've got. I'm giving you permission as the participant. Let's see if you're even worth the effort it would take to use my 'little tricks'."

The Elder's eye twitched. Anger flared across his face.

"You arrogant little bastard…" he growled.

"You were humiliated before the entire sect just months ago, and now you dare to challenge me like that?"

"You think you're worthy of witnessing my techniques without even activating your precious artifact?!"

Reon chuckled, eyes gleaming with disdain.

"Really?"

"You're just another small-time gatekeeper trying to lecture someone who's already left the gate far behind."

'Time to teach a lesson… to someone who thinks respect should be demanded just because they're older—when they can't even earn it.'

"I'll show the entire sect what trash you truly are without your precious artifact!"

"Get ready to be humiliated—again—in front of everyone!"

The Minor Elder spat those words with venom, his voice echoing across the platform like a declaration of certain victory.

Reon didn't respond.

He simply stood there—expression unreadable, gaze calm.

Then—

"Begin!"

A signal rang out from another Minor Elder at the side of the platform.

"Hold your ground for one minute starting now, or defeat the Minor Elder to advance to the next round!"

Swoosh!

Step!

Reon shifted forward—just one quiet step with his right leg.

And then—

WHOOOOOSH!

A monstrous Spiritual Pressure erupted from his body like a storm-wracked tempest, crashing across the platform like a tidal wave of raw force.

The air trembled.

Dust kicked up violently in every direction.

It wasn't just powerful—it was suffocating.

Pressure on par with a High-Stage Golden Core Realm cultivator.

"...HUH?!"

The Minor Elder standing before him stiffened in place, eyes widening in pure horror.

He alone could feel the crushing, suffocating weight of that pressure—a force not just powerful, but overwhelming.

"Wh-What is this... pressure?!"

His voice cracked with pure terror.

The youth in front of him hadn't even raised a finger. Yet his presence alone felt like a mountain pressing against his chest.

He could feel it—this wasn't the aura of a mere Foundation Realm cultivator.

No...

It was the Spiritual Pressure of someone who had touched the terrifying heights of the Golden Core Realm.

"H-How... how is this... even possible?!"

His knees buckled.

The blood drained from his face.

He had spent decades clawing his way to the peak of the Foundation Realm—and yet, what now loomed before him was a gulf so vast he couldn't even comprehend crossing it.

It was like standing before a mountain that reached the heavens—unclimbable, immovable, absolute.

Reon took another step.

Step!

Boom!

The Spiritual Pressure surged again, heavier, darker—

"You really thought I'd need tricks to handle a featherweight like you?"

Reon's voice was cold, detached—like a judge passing sentence.

"You don't even deserve to see my techniques."

The Minor Elder stumbled back, now five meters away—but it was already too late.

His vision blurred. His ears rang. His knees trembled violently.

Blood began to drip from his nose.

"Ugh—!"

He tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked grunt of agony.

"St-Stop!"

Blood burst from his mouth and ears.

"P-P-Please... I... I can't... take... this... anymore..."

Another step.

The platform cracked beneath Reon's foot.

"And you think you are qualified to judge my strength?"

His voice cut through the air like a blade of ice.

The Minor Elder's mouth opened, quivering.

"I—I... su... surren...der..."

Before he could finish, his eyes rolled back, and his body gave out.

Thud!

He collapsed onto the platform like a broken puppet—foaming at the mouth, blood leaking from his ears, nose, and eyes.

His body twitched once… and then went still.

Silence fell across the arena.