Absolute Cheater

Veyra gave a half-smile but said nothing. She could feel the tension boiling across the stands.

And then it happened.

One figure leapt down into the arena, draped in emerald-scaled robes, his arms tattooed with burning dragon script. "I claim it! Let the fire in my veins rise again!"

But this time, the arena didn't wait long.

Not two, not three—but ten other World Rankers dropped down immediately. A storm of power surged, crashing across the viewing platforms. The barrier between the stands and the arena flared as it struggled to contain the force.

Each of them had some dragonic tie—horns, claws, scales, slitted eyes. Draconic cultivators, highblood beastkin, or legacy warriors seeking to push their evolution further.

A woman clad in black jade armor stepped forward, her wings unfolding. "It belongs to the Black Ash Flight!"

A thunder-lord with molten gold eyes pointed a spear at her. "Not before the Thundering Brood claims it!"

The crowd grew louder, watching with rapt focus.

Asher sighed, bored already. "They're just fighting over scraps."

Valeris rested her chin on her palm. "To them, it's a throne. To us, it's a stepping stone."

Veyra tilted her head. "Still… might be entertaining."

Below, the arena shimmered as the World Heart pulsed stronger, reinforcing the floor and expanding the combat zone.

Then came the chaos.

The battle was unlike the first duel—this wasn't a graceful dance. It was a dragon war in miniature.

Claws met spears, lightning collided with magma breath, and wind howled as winged combatants clashed mid-air. One scaled giant summoned a storm of volcanic flame, only for it to be countered by a cry of thunder that split the sky. Ice-dragon twins unleashed twin spirals of frost breath, freezing two others mid-attack. A silver wyrmkin blinked from shadow to shadow, trying to sneak toward the Heartseed, but was caught in the chest by a golden halberd and hurled back into the ground.

Fangs, fire, roars, and declarations of lineage flew like spells.

Above, the Spiremaster merely watched. This was what the World Auction was built for—ambition made manifest.

It went on for several brutal minutes, and finally, a victor emerged—barely standing, scorched, bloodied, and heaving for breath.

A crimson-scaled woman, one arm hanging limp, planted her foot on her last opponent's back.

"I—claim—it," she rasped.

The Heartseed floated gently into her hand, as the other contenders were pulled away by their companions or left smoldering on the floor.

"Victory: Seraka of the Blazing Coil."

A thunder of energy surged through the auction chamber. Even those who lost stared at her with respect—or burning hatred.

"She'll have a target on her back for decades," Valeris said dryly.

"Or she'll become something worth fearing," Veyra added.

Asher didn't respond. His eyes were already fixed on the Spiremaster, waiting to see what truly valuable item would come next.

Because he knew—these were still just opening acts. The real prizes hadn't even been unveiled yet.

The Spiremaster raised a hand once more.

The air had not yet settled from the last battle when the Spiremaster raised his hand again. The crystal pedestal dimmed momentarily, its glow flickering like the heartbeat of something waiting just beneath the surface.

Then—

A low chime echoed, deeper than before. This time, the pedestal split open, its outer casing peeling back like the petals of a crystal flower. Rising from within was a twisted, multifaceted prism—its surface rippling with darkness, its edges traced with starlight.

The room fell completely silent.

Even the most volatile dragonkin stilled.

Even the victorious Seraka paused in her retreat.

The Spiremaster's voice was calm, but carried weight like a blade drawn slowly across ancient stone.

"Third item: A Void-Linked Astral Core.

Recovered from the ruins of the Abyssal Mirror Realm. Formed at the border of entropy and creation. Said to hold the laws of non-existence."

A hush fell like a shroud.

Even among World Rankers, few dared to meddle in the realms of Void. Those who did either vanished from history… or returned as something no longer entirely mortal.

Asher's eyes narrowed slightly.

Valeris sat up straighter.

Veyra went still, eyes tracking the slow rotations of the dark prism.

A few low murmurs echoed from across the coliseum.

"This item can let you glimpse into the Supreme Law of Nullity," the Spiremaster declared, and at once the atmosphere in the hall changed.

Greed. Raw, unveiled lust for power—no longer restrained—burned in every pair of eyes. Murmurs fell silent. Even the proudest of ancient clan heirs, warlords, soulforged immortals, and secretive sect scions stood up.

And so did Asher.

"Finally… something I want," he said, his voice calm, but beneath it simmered intent like a blade drawing breath. With a single step, he vanished from his seat and dropped into the arena.

He wasn't alone.

Dozens followed—seventy-eight to be exact. One after another, they soared, blinked, shimmered, or thundered into the arena. All bore the might of World Rankers—each one a legend in their own right.

The Spiremaster's smile widened.

"It seems… this item is wanted by everyone," he said.

His voice rang like a gavel striking divine metal. "Then let this be a true contest."

He raised his hand, and the entire arena shifted again.

The World Heart pulsed—once, then three times—BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

The floor cracked apart. Layers of spatial plates unfolded like a blooming dimensional lotus. The arena expanded threefold, becoming a titanic ring suspended mid-air—levitating in a void of glowing lawlines. The air shimmered with raw law essence. The space could now house a war of gods.

"Battle Royale," the Spiremaster declared. "Last one standing… wins."

The silence broke like a dam burst.

A storm of divine spells, laws, and raw might exploded across the coliseum.

—A phoenix-blooded swordsman unleashed a river of fire that sliced through the sky.

—An iron-bodied war maiden slammed her fists down, creating a seismic dome of gravity around ten opponents.

—A spirit monk sang a cursed chant, forcing three nearby cultivators to scream as their own shadows strangled them.

—A swarm of void-born mantis spirits burst forth from a necrotic hive-master's back, tearing at flesh and thought alike.

And through it all, Asher walked.

For a moment, no one noticed him. But he walked forward, calmly, eyes half-lidded, as laws bent around his body.

Three attackers came at him simultaneously.