SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS

Immortal Living Pool…

Dawn broke across the horizon like a blade cleaving darkness.

The morning air inside the Living Immortal Pool Academy buzzed with energy as disciples flocked to their routines—alchemy classes, spell formations, artifact refinements. But Kent had only one direction in mind today: the eastern combat grounds.

Following the directions written on the silver-threaded note, he crossed the training courtyard and descended along the sunlit path into a vast open arena, bordered by spirit-stone pillars and shrouded in mild fog. Towering trees circled the ground, their ancient leaves whispering silent tales to the wind. In the middle of the arena stood an elder, his hands behind his back, facing thirteen disciples in neat rows.

Kent arrived and approached quietly, his steps confident but respectful. He bowed with a straight back and steady gaze.

The old man turned. His long white beard swayed with the wind, and his eyes, calm and bottomless like ancient wells, narrowed slightly as he addressed the gathered disciples.

“This is Kent,” the elder said in a voice neither loud nor soft, but one that commanded attention. “From today, he is one of you.”

The disciples turned to study the newcomer. Some smiled politely, others remained indifferent, and a few gave short nods.

“I am Elder Liam,” the old man continued. “My methods are strict, my rewards rare. But the path I walk leads to ascension above realms and tribulations. If you lack patience, leave now. If you doubt, speak now. If you fear, step back.”

No one moved. Elder Liam’s aura alone could silence a mountain storm.

With a nod of approval, he waved his hand.

“Pair up. Dual-duel sparring till the evening bell.”

With that command, the training grounds burst into life.

Kent found a spot near a stone platform and sat down quietly, eyes sharp as he observed the disciples pair off and leap into combat.

Fists clashed with palms. Sword light collided with elemental spells. Spirit beasts were summoned and dismissed. Each match was a dance of refined technique and brutal instinct.

The disciples were strong—clearly far more seasoned than average sect cultivators. Their coordination, use of terrain, and spell timing displayed their elite training. But Kent, even while impressed by their discipline, found himself growing restless.

He watched. And watched. And watched some more.

Time crawled like a tired snail.

Hour after hour passed. Morning gave way to midday, then the golden sheen of the afternoon cast long shadows across the field.

Still, no invitation. No instruction. No sparring match for him.

His fingers twitched. His jaw clenched. Inside, a storm brewed.

He had fought a divine beast. He had clashed with realm disciples. He had survived cursed poison and performed forbidden miracles. Yet today, he was a silent observer—reduced to a watcher of blades, not a wielder.

By the time the sun dipped into the western skies, painting clouds with amber and fire, Kent could barely contain himself.

Elder Liam finally clapped his hands.

“Enough,” the elder declared. “Return to your quarters.”

Then, his eyes drifted to Kent.

“You too, Kent. Come tomorrow.”

Kent stood abruptly, his voice low but firm.

“Master… if I may—”

“Tomorrow,” Elder Liam interrupted calmly, his tone leaving no room for further question. “You’re not ready today.”

“But I—”

The elder turned his back, walking away with hands clasped behind him. His robe fluttered slightly in the wind, a silent dismissal more powerful than any shouted command.

Kent stood frozen for a breath longer, then lowered his head with a bitter exhale.

That night, his room felt unusually still. The spirit energy was dense and rich, but his heart refused to settle. He hadn’t come here to watch. He hadn’t fought poison gods, war beasts, and realm schemes to become a silent student sitting on the sidelines.

He sat cross-legged on his jade platform. The spirit pool energy swirled gently around him, soaking into his pores, soothing his mind.

But he didn’t focus on healing.

He focused on restraint.

On patience.

–

Later that Night…

The night was thick with silence, and the moon barely peeked through the cloudy veil above the Living Immortal Pool Academy. Within the walls of the third-row disciple quarters, Kent sat cross-legged, the essence of spirit energy gently flowing through his meridians like a tranquil stream. His brows were slightly furrowed, as if deep in some ethereal understanding.

Knock. Knock.

The rhythm was soft but firm.

Kent’s eyes snapped open.

The door creaked as Elder Liam stood before him, his long white beard swaying in the wind like a snowy river. The elder’s expression was calm, unreadable.

“Come,” he said simply, before turning and walking away.

Kent rose without hesitation. He didn’t ask questions. When a cultivator as ancient as Elder Liam called in the dead of night, answers lay not in words, but in the path itself.

–

They walked in silence along a hidden path that led behind the combat grounds. The forest thickened, and the faint glow of spirit crystals embedded in the rocks began to pulse. Soon, Kent noticed the shift—each step downward brought a stronger pulse of life, a purer surge of energy. His bones trembled with resonance, his core tightened involuntarily.

As they descended deeper into the heart of the mountain, Kent realized this was no ordinary trail. The path was ancient—each stone carried inscriptions weathered by time, each gust of wind whispered secrets long buried.

Finally, they stopped.

Before them was a wall of thick leafy bushes, the kind even spirit beasts avoided.

Elder Liam lifted his wand, carved with ancient runes. He traced a sigil in the air and whispered something in a language older than realms. The bushes quivered.

Shhhhhkkk!

The greenery parted, revealing a narrow, glowing path lined with floating lotus petals. Beyond it shimmered a scene that stole Kent’s breath.

It was the legendary Immortal Living Pool.

The sacred pool that no disciple was allowed to see. The one said to connect directly with the Heavenly sky Dao itself.

–

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