Shadow Over the Heavenly Throne-Chapter 67: Become my teacher

"Mom won! Mom won!" Sylphia couldn’t stop jumping with excitement, completely oblivious to the tense silence that had engulfed the stands. Her small hands clutched the railing, and her eyes sparkled with delight.

Aldrich raised the corner of his lips in a quiet smile. But something gnawed at him. He looked at the arena again—and his brows froze. Veynessa’s sword still stood lodged in the ground. And she herself—arm outstretched forward—hadn’t moved a single inch.

One by one, the Elders seated in the box began lowering their gazes. "It’s over," Fenthar sighed, his voice laced with resignation.

Yllara, kneeling in the center of the arena, was barely breathing. Her chest rose with effort, every breath sounding like a battle for survival. "I can’t remember..." she rasped, spitting blood, "...the last time I had such a damn hard fight."

At that same moment, the aura around Veynessa began to tremble, as if the world itself was losing its grip on her. The swords floating around her cracked one by one, turning into shimmering dust that danced through the air before vanishing. The crown on her head crumbled into luminous shards. Her body shuddered; her knees gave out. Blood oozed from the torn fragments of her robes. Her skin was cracked and torn, with bruised lines beneath—marks of gravitational vortices tearing her apart from the inside. Her left arm dangled limply at an odd angle, unnaturally twisted at the elbow. Her hair, usually neatly tied, now hung in disarray, with strands clinging to her bloodied cheeks. Her body, covered in wounds, trembled slightly before giving in completely. Wordless, soundless, she collapsed as if her very soul had been drained.

Her knees slammed against the stone floor, and a moment later, her entire body hit the ground like a lifeless mass. Her arms sprawled at unnatural angles, and her head struck the stone with a dull, heavy thud. The sound echoed through the arena, reverberating off the walls in absolute silence, as if the world itself had stopped breathing. No one moved. No one dared even to sigh. All eyes were fixed on the result of a battle that had shattered their imagination. Even the loudest hearts now beat quietly.

Kaen remained seated on his throne in chilling calm. His gaze lingered for a long while on the bodies of both warriors.

At last, he raised his voice: "The victor is Yllara."

After announcing the result, his eyes returned to Veynessa. The stillness of her body, her bloodied robes, and disheveled hair echoed in his pupils. He stayed silent for a long moment, as if evaluating the scene before him, and then simply scoffed, offering no further comment.

But then, something changed. A familiar, almost divine aura of Qi enveloped her body. In an instant, wounds began closing, torn muscles regenerated at a terrifying pace, and her breathing stabilized. Just like... when Calista had been healed.

The energy dome surrounding the arena vanished. Sylphia didn’t wait—she leapt from the stands, ignoring everything else, and ran as fast as her legs could carry her.

"Mom!" she dropped to her knees beside her mother and placed a hand on her chest.

Tears welled in her eyes.

Behind her, Aldrich arrived. He stopped in silence, his expression unreadable. He placed a hand on his daughter’s head.

"Don’t worry. She passed out from strain. Nothing more."

Sylphia swatted his hand away and looked at him with silent reproach. The king sighed and bent down to lift his wife.

Still carrying Kaelis’ limp body over one shoulder, he now lifted Veynessa with effort and cradled her in his arms. For a moment, he stared at them both. Then he sighed heavily and glanced at the rest of his royal family. A grim thought crossed his mind: "Today, we suffered a colossal defeat..."

He looked once more at Veynessa’s face. Her features were serene, almost too quiet. He saw in her the woman who always stood tall—now lying in his arms, lifeless, drained of strength and light. He knew how much this battle meant to her. He knew how high she set the bar for herself. And he feared that her heart—strong but proud—would not carry this blow as easily as her body endured pain.

Meanwhile, Yllara, barely managing to stand, joined the Elders and Calista. freeweɓnovel-cøm

"You were close," said Fenthar.

Yllara nodded, looking at Veynessa. "If she ever masters that form... she could defeat me even at the seventh stage."

"Her techniques... they can cut through the Laws of Time themselves," said Maerion. "That was her greatest advantage. But against us, she won’t have it so easy."

King Theron nodded in agreement.

Calista, overhearing their words, scoffed inwardly. "Seriously... arrogance must run in this family’s blood. Must be written deep in their bones."

Yllara took a few steps away from the Elders. Her hands clenched at her sides, and her eyes—though fixed on the distance—kept returning to the fallen warrior. This wasn’t a victory she wanted to remember. Instead of pride, she felt a strange tension in her chest, like something had gone wrong. In her ears still rang the metallic groan of Veynessa’s swords breaking, and the image of her dangling arm refused to fade.

She closed her eyes, trying to summon even a flicker of relief. But none came. Only the cold marble beneath her feet and the bitter taste of a victory that had come at too high a cost. Something in her had cracked. The fact that she had barely won against a lower-stage opponent struck her ego like a hammer. Every breath reminded her she was not invincible—that the boundary of her strength had been clearly drawn. Her pride, usually unyielding, now pulsed with a pain she dared not show.

Calista looked at her unconscious friend and sighed. Her gaze stopped at the disheveled hair and delicate facial features that still emanated strength despite the limp body. She felt sorry for Veynessa—she knew her too well, knew how high she set her standards and how proud she was of every victory. The thought of how she would feel upon waking clenched Calista’s heart. "I guess I’ll have to bathe and comfort you later," she thought bitterly, wondering if there were even words that could reach such a strong yet fragile soul.

Kaen raised his hand.

"I declare this little Tournament... concluded."

Bright light flared above the arena, forming a teleportation array.

"The slots go to: Calista, Yllara, Fenthar, Maerion, Theron, and Pharos."

In an instant, their silhouettes began to shimmer, wrapped in the glow of the formation. Light consumed the contours of their bodies until they dissolved entirely, leaving behind only a faint pulse of energy and the scent of ozone lingering in the air. Where the chosen ones had stood moments ago was now empty, as if they had never been there.

From the center of the arena, tendrils of light began to rise, winding like living ribbons of energy. The air trembled, forming an invisible vortex that thickened and burst into intense light. From its core came a soft sound of dimensional expansion until finally, an oval gate opened in space—a portal with edges pulsing in a calm, blue glow.

From within, a cool radiance flowed out, illuminating fragments of royal robes. One by one, without a word, the members of the royal family stepped into the shining gate, their figures vanishing into its flickering light, as if melting between dimensions. Aldrich looked toward the portal, sighed heavily, and turned to Sylphia:

"Sylphia. Time to go."

Without waiting for a response, he slowly walked toward the portal, carrying Veynessa and Kaelis. His steps were calm but burdened with more than just physical weight.

But the girl didn’t even look at him. Her gaze remained fixed on Kaen.

Aldrich paused. His eyes lingered on his daughter’s face, then shifted to the unmoving Kaen. His lips twitched as if to form words but couldn’t overcome the weight of silence. In the end, he merely exhaled through his nose, his expression hardening—and he continued forward without looking back.

Only Kaen, unmoving on his throne, and Sylphia remained in the arena.

For a long moment, neither spoke. At last, Kaen moved his head and looked down at her.

"Why are you still standing there?" he asked coldly, a hint of weary irritation in his voice. "You think staring like that will change anything?"

He paused, then smirked mockingly.

"Want to end up like your mother? Because she looked quite... dramatic when she hit the stone. In your case, it’d be far less impressive."

Sylphia clenched her fists, and her brow twitched slightly, as if she was about to explode. But after a moment, she took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay composed. She lifted her eyes and looked Kaen straight in the face. There was no childish anger left—only something else: maturity, determination.

Images from the past hours still swirled in her mind. Calista’s duel—elegant, wild, and filled with power beyond comprehension. Then her mother’s battle—a clash of two godlike forces descending to the mortal plane. One bent time and gravity like the fabric of the universe, the other sliced reality with her blade. Their clash was no ordinary fight—it was a storm of forces that should not coexist. Both women—dearest to her heart—had given their all. One had soared to victory, the other... now lay in her father’s arms, like a fallen titan.

She stood there motionless until her fingers slowly curled. Was she truly meant to just watch? To be only a bystander while those she loved fought, bled, and fell? Could she bear the thought of never measuring up?

Why did her heart race if she was doing nothing? Why was her throat burning, as if something within her was screaming to act?

Her gaze—until now fogged by thought—moved slowly toward the throne. Kaen still sat in the same posture, as if untouched by the chaos, uninvolved.

Sylphia took a step toward him, straightening her back. Her eyes had changed—no longer full of youthful emotion, but focused and firm, as if the decision had already been made and the questions had only sealed it.

"Become my teacher," she said softly, yet with such certainty that even the echo of the arena heard her.

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