Once every year, the Beaumont Clan held a competition to test out their youth. Unlike most clans, they allowed outsiders to enter. Getting into the semi-finals was handsomely rewarded by Lord Beaumont and the finalists got the chance to become a vassal: a noble in all but name.

Adrian was aiming for that spot.

“Are you sure?” asked his father, “I know you’re a Cultivator but I hear the Beaumont lads are on a level of their own. Peerless within their generation, they say.”

They were sitting in a carriage with Adrian to the front. Looking out the windows caused a slight migraine and made him feel his head spin.

“They are,” said Adrian with closed eyes.

“Isn’t it too dangerous?” asked his father. After a slight pause, he added, “If it’s low-level elixirs, I can buy them for you but if it’s a priceless treasure, I’m afraid I can do nothing.”

“My Cultivation cannot be damaged yet, father. Breaking apart a mountain might be difficult but shattering a speck of dust is impossible,” said Adrian with a wide grin on his face.

“If you defeat a single Beaumont, you’ll have earned great fame for your family. Do not push yourself. You’ll only strain yourself and lose precious time,” said his father.

“Understood,” said Adrian, holding back the urge to roll his eyes.

He had to treat his father with respect, even if what he spoke was of no use to him. Recovery was something that only ailed mortals.

It didn’t matter to him now.

“Remember to forfeit if you’re matched with the Demon Twins. They say they’re dangerous,” said his father.

“I know,” grumbled Adrian.

Who did he think he was?

A mortal?

He had the pride of a warrior now and giving up before seeing the extent of his capabilities was not an option.

The carriage slowly came to a halt and the coachman called out with his gruff voice, “We’re outside the Beaumont Estate, Young Master.”

“Thanks for the ride,” said Adrian and gave a nod of approval to his father. Then, he gently opened the door and slid out.

“I wish you luck, Young Master,” said the coachman, which Adrian answered with a thumbs-up.

“Take care,” said his father but this time, Adrian ignored him.

He was sure that the older man wasn’t waiting for an answer.

While the Beaumont Estate was a mile out of Blue Pavilion City, it was bustling now. If a traveler passed by, they’d assume the manor to be the center of the city.

There were a large number of merchants in their caravans lined up along the outer fences of the manor while some of the more prominent ones were allowed inside and lined up the stone road that led to the white marble mansion.

There were carriages of various Noble Houses entering through the open black iron gate. Each bar of the gate resembled a sword with the tip facing toward the ground, contrary to the classic upward-spear design that the fence used.

Two guards adorned in the dark green military uniform of the Empire stood at each end of the gate, both holding spears.

Most days, no mere peasant or even merchant would be allowed into the estate but today was a special day. So was the rest of the week, for the annual Beaumont Festival was happening.

He passed by the guards and the moment he entered the land, Adrian’s nostrils were assailed by the sweet aroma of flowers, kept within the fence by the runes that were engraved into it.

One of the many luxuries that the richest family in the Blue Pavilion City could afford.

The road to the mansion, which had three floors and was long enough to seem like a large shop, was wide enough to fit ten grown men side-to-side so the carriages didn’t take up all of the space.

Adrian had come to the Beaumont Estate several times before. It was one of the greatest times of the year for he could watch the Cultivators fight. It was the only time that he could slip out of mandatory classes that he was forced to take by his father.

“Vassal status, here I come,” Adrian mumbled underneath his breath with closed eyes as he clutched onto the pendant that hung from his neck. It was a silver locket that gleamed magnificently in the sunlight, completely devoid of jewelry or any fancy decorations, “Watch me, mother. Soon, your dream will be fulfilled.”

He looked around, and after seeing that he wasn’t in anyone’s path, he knelt on one knee and placed a finger on one of its petals.

Electricity coursed through Adrian the moment his finger touched it.

It was filled to the brim with Qi.

If normal flowers could be compared to a droplet, this was a lake in comparison. Perhaps that amplified its aroma.

Such a shame that he was not yet at the stage where Qi would be useful to him. If he did and he’d become a vassal, then he would surely be supported by the Beaumont Family.

There were only three experts of the Soul Refinement Stage in the entire city, after all.

“You’re that merchant’s kid,” said a boisterous voice from behind.

“Depends on which one you’re referring to,” said Adrian as he climbed back to his feet.

That voice belonged to Tristan Ulrich, the favorite to win the competition. They said that he was at the Muscle Refinement Layer of the Body Refinement Stage.

That was the fourth one whereas Adrian had struggled to achieve the first.

To reach such a level before the age of twenty was a miracle and he’d achieved that.

“Mr. Anderson, if I recall correctly,” said Tristan loudly.

He had a thick frame. That was the only way to describe him correctly. He wasn’t large but he had the presence of one. If one and a half Adrians were put side-by-side, it’d match Tristan’s frame. He had blond hair that was swept sideways and green eyes.

“Then you would be correct,” he said.

“Ha! I’ve never fought a merchant’s child before,” said Tristan.

“Brother, why are you spouting nonsense?” asked a smaller lass from slightly behind him. She had the same blonde hair that her brother had, which was tied into a neat ponytail that reached the bottom of her neck. Her eyes were of a different color and they were far sharper than that of her brother’s, “Forgive him. He’s too muscle-headed so he may have mistaken you for a fighter.”

If Adrian was correct, she had to be Edna Ulrich, a genius that couldn’t quite qualify as a prodigy like her brother.

“Huh?! He’s clearly a fighter!” shouted out Tristan and then whispered, “Your eyes okay, sis?”

“How do you expect a mortal to fight you? It’s unfair,” Edna mumbled back.

“But he isn’t,” insisted Tristan, still whispering.

“No way. Not a snowball’s chance in Hell. He’s the child of a merchant,” said Edna.

“Actually, I am,” added Adrian.

Edna turned to look at him and peered at him harder than she was before. Maybe she’d just been looking at him before and was only focusing now. Her eyes were intense.

“No way. You’re a first-generation,” she said after careful scrutiny that lasted five seconds.

“More or less,” said Adrian as he scratched his cheek with a finger with a small smile.

“That means your blood is pure,” said Edna and grabbed both of Adrian’s hands with both of hers. With a massive grin, she came closer, her face almost touching his, “What’s your talent? When’d you start? What layer are you at? How tall are your parents?”

Tristan grabbed her face with a hand and pulled her away. His massive hand fully covered the smaller girl’s face.

“Hey! I’m not done yet!” she shouted.

“Sorry bout her. She’s into all this bloodline nonsense. Don’t pay it any mind,” said Tristan, holding her away with an outstretched hand as she struggled to get away.

They were as eccentric as the rumors said, despite being nobles.

“Let’s go. We need to put our names in the brackets,” said Tristan as he dragged her away after placing her on his shoulder. She pounded on his back with her fists as she was taken away.

That reminded him that he had to get registered as well.

Only sixteen were allowed to participate in the competition and if more than sixteen were registered, then a qualifier round in which everyone fought until sixteen were left happened.

This year, it seemed like there’d be more than sixteen.

Adrian chased after the duo.

He wanted to know how they could know that he was a Cultivator. It seemed like it didn’t take much effort either. So far, he was simply going off his knowledge to figure out who was a Cultivator and who wasn’t.

“How’d you do that?” asked Adrian after he caught up.

“Did what?” asked Tristan.

“Realize I was a Cultivator,” he added.

“Just felt like you were,” said Tristan bluntly.

Felt… like he was?

“Fine! I’ll go. I’ll go. Let me down!” grumbled Edna and finally, Tristan did. She placed a hand on her chest and shouted out, “I’m the Young Lady of a Noble House, you know?! I have dignity to uphold and you’re dragging me around like I’m some whore.”

Tristan snorted with a smirk, looking away.

“You wanna fight? Fine! Let’s go at it!” she screamed as she summoned a sword out of nowhere. It seemed to grow out of her hands, forming as motes of blue light as it did.

That was a Spatial Ring.

Adrian had one as well and it could only fit a single weapon inside itself.

The rapier was fancy, with golden embroidery lining the basket handle. The blade was snow-white, which meant it was at least an Aural Item.

It wasn’t that the steel itself was white, but the aura was. Because Adrian and other Cultivators could see Aura, which was Qi in its barest form, they perceived it as white.

Mortals couldn’t see that so to them, it would simply look like a fancy, steel sword.

After becoming a Cultivator, Adrian was filled with amazement and wonder as everything became colorful. The water seemed to glow a soft blue while the grass seemed to glow a dim green.

It was like a luminous fog was resting everywhere.

“I’m afraid that-,” started one of the Demon Twins while the other filled in the rest, “-will not be allowed.”

Both of them were twins in the truest sense, with the exact same appearance and clothing. However, as if to differentiate, both of them had side-swept hairstyles that ended in braids combed to the opposite side.

Despite their title, their appearance was everything but that. They would be what you’d call ‘charming princes’, more beautiful than handsome. It seemed that they took after their mother.

The elder one that wielded the sword had hair that fell to the right and had a grumpier voice whereas the younger one that wielded the sword had hair that fell to the left and a more cheerful tone.

Joshua and Joseph Beaumont, both of them Cultivators.

“It’s fine. She didn’t mean that,” said Tristan after he gave them a wink, which escaped Edna’s eyes.

“I did!” she screamed out.

“She didn’t,” said Tristan.

Edna tried to protest again but Tristan pulled her aside and placed his hand over her mouth, serving to muffle her shouts and screams into something incomprehensible.

“We’ll be fine,” said Tristan, as if to assure the duo. He even added a smile on top of it.

With that, the Demon Twins left. Unlike mortals, they didn’t walk or run. Instead, they jumped up to the roof of the three-story building in one leap.

“You’re gonna register as well, right?” asked Tristan as he turned to Adrian, still holding the wildly protesting Edna with one hand.

It was apparent he was stronger, not because he was a man, but because his Cultivation was on a different level.

Fighting against him would be paramount to suicide and his bones would be turned to dust.

Yet his palms were itchy and his teeth were tingling.