Chapter 150: The Enemy at the Gates


    Thanks to the rising fame of Han Ming and Shang Que, spectators had arrived at the arena early to secure their seats for the day’s match.


    Some had even camped out overnight, waiting until nearly noon just to witness the ultimate showdown—would a water mage prevail, or would fire reign supreme?


    Shang Que, widely recognized as the strongest fire mage of his generation, had already reached the formidable rank of Third Tier, First Stage—Archmage. For someone his age to achieve such heights was unprecedented, bordering on legendary.


    This world was never short of prodigies, but for Shang Que to stand at the pinnacle among his peers across the entire Northern Alliance, even surpassing most middle-aged and elderly mages, the term "genius" no longer sufficed. He was a *monster*—a once-in-a-century talent.


    With such status, youth, and overwhelming power, Shang Que had naturally become the most favored contender in the Tri-Kingdom Tournament.


    As for Han Ming, the tournament’s darkest horse, he had defied all expectations as a supposedly "useless" water mage, charging into the top four and even defeating Huang Ying—a Second Tier, Fifth Stage wind mage ranked among the top three experts of the Monte Empire’s Magic Academy. The impact of his victories had far surpassed even the legendary Green-Robed Elder.


    Objectively speaking, most still didn’t hold high hopes for Han Ming. After all, he was only a Second Tier, Fifth Stage water mage. Though his performances had been stunning, the sheer gap in strength was undeniable.


    What the crowd truly yearned for was the long-awaited clash of elements—fire versus water. Before Han Ming’s meteoric rise, such a duel had seemed impossible. But now that he stood here, the audience was electrified.


    Some even secretly hoped this water mage would deliver another earth-shattering upset—that he might forge a miracle, proving even a "weak" class and lower-tiered mage could triumph.


    This improbable dream became a potent stimulant, fueling the crowd’s fervor and anticipation.


    ---


    Twenty minutes remained before the match.


    Han Ming sat quietly beneath a shade canopy beside the arena, having declined Kulo’s company. He wasn’t entirely sure why—perhaps because, after a night in her arms, his attachment to her had deepened. Her beauty, once something he’d barely noticed, now pricked at his heart like a thorn. Love was blind, narrowing one’s vision, and in this regard, Han Ming was no different from any other man. He had no desire to expose Kulo’s face to hundreds of thousands of spectators, inviting a swarm of unwanted admirers.


    Rather than taking offense, Kulo merely stuck out her tongue and teased, "What’s wrong? Jealous?"


    Seeing Han Ming’s forced indifference, she giggled, her heart brimming with sweetness.


    Across the arena sat Shang Que and Fei’er.


    When Han Ming’s and Shang Que’s eyes met, Shang Que unexpectedly stood and strode toward him under the crowd’s watchful gaze. Fei’er followed, visibly tense, clearly fearing a pre-match confrontation.


    Shang Que stopped before Han Ming, silent and still.


    Han Ming rose calmly, curious about the other’s intentions.


    As Shang Que studied him, Fei’er grew increasingly anxious—until, abruptly, Shang Que’s stern expression softened. To everyone’s surprise, he smiled and extended a hand.


    Han Ming hesitated, then shook it.


    The gesture sent waves of excited murmurs through the stands. What were these two rivals planning?


    "I have to admit," Shang Que said, "your previous matches were… impressive. As much as I hate to say it, you’ve improved—far beyond what I imagined. For that, I respect you."


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Han Ming was taken aback but offered a polite smile.


    Shang Que patted Fei’er’s shoulder reassuringly before continuing, "I used to look down on you. But now, you’ve earned my attention. Honestly? I’m not entirely confident I can win today. Yet your presence has only stoked the fire in me. Whatever grievances we’ve had in the past—let’s set them aside. Fight me seriously, honorably. If I lose, I’ll honor our agreement from two years ago."


    Han Ming’s heart churned. Truthfully, Shang Que hadn’t personally attacked him back then—he’d merely allowed his friends to bully Han Ming. Over the past two years, Shang Que himself hadn’t gone out of his way to make Han Ming’s life difficult; most of the trouble had come from Huang Ying, with Zhan Hu acting as little more than a lackey.


    And Fei’er? Now that Han Ming was in love, he understood Shang Que’s possessiveness. If anyone dared try to steal Kulo from him, he doubted he’d show much restraint either. By not intervening directly, Shang Que had already shown more restraint than most.


    Still, the suffering Han Ming and Li Chengfeng had endured was, objectively, a consequence of Shang Que’s indifference. Yet Han Ming realized now that his hatred for Shang Que stemmed partly from conflating him with Huang Ying—and partly from wounded pride, from being treated like air.


    Shang Que might not have been magnanimous, but his behavior was human. The strong often disdained the weak—that was reality. Han Ming couldn’t demand Shang Que be a saint, treating everyone as equals. As long as he didn’t actively torment the weak like Huang Ying had, he was already behaving decently.


    With this realization, Han Ming exhaled deeply. The knot in his heart, festering for two years, finally loosened. He’d been too consumed by vengeance—how could someone so narrow-minded ever achieve greatness?


    "Let’s scrap that old agreement," Han Ming said, smiling. "How about a new one?"


    Fei’er frowned. Wasn’t Shang Que offering to kneel if he lost enough? What more did Han Ming want?


    Shang Que, however, simply nodded. "Go on."


    "If I win," Han Ming said, "you must promise me one thing: Fight the demonic invaders with everything you have. No matter the circumstances, never betray humanity. Even if it costs you your last breath, stand with us. As for me—win or lose, I’ll do the same. And if *I* lose, you can add any condition you want."


    Shang Que burst into laughter, exclaiming, "Good! *Good!* I misjudged you. I accept your terms. You might see me as a hypocrite—no, don’t deny it, I know. But let me apologize here and now."


    To the shock of hundreds of thousands, Shang Que bowed deeply. "With our enemy at the gates, old grudges mean nothing. To you, and to your brother Li Chengfeng, I offer my sincerest apology. Looking back, I’m ashamed of my actions."


    Han Ming hadn’t expected this. Shang Que, a man who prized his dignity above all, had just publicly humbled himself before him.


    *Yes… with humanity’s survival at stake, personal feuds are trivial.* Shang Que might be petty, but in the face of greater evil, he didn’t cling to pride.


    With a faint smile, Shang Que turned and walked away.


    Fei’er remained, her expression unreadable as she studied the man she’d once been drawn to. She’d misjudged him time and again—even moments ago, she’d assumed he meant to humiliate Shang Que. Yet here he was, proving himself nobler than anyone she knew.


    "Anything else to say?" Han Ming asked.


    She bit her lip, then suddenly laughed. "I wanted to apologize, but I realize now—you don’t need it. And I don’t feel guilty anymore. Because I’m happy. Truly happy. I wasn’t wrong about you. I hope you go far… and achieve everything you dream of."


    With that, she smiled—a radiant, sunlit smile. The weight she’d carried for two years, the tangled emotions over this man, finally lifted. The Fei’er who’d once playfully hooked Han Ming’s chin and said, "Come with me," had returned.


    Watching her leave, Han Ming stretched, feeling lighter than ever.


    Across the stands, Kulo’s enchanting smile met his gaze.


    *I’ve been clinging to hatred… and because of that, Fei’er stayed rooted in my heart. That wasn’t fair to Kulo. But now…*


    Laughing aloud, he blew Kulo a kiss.


    Her eyes sparkled with delight. *This reserved man is finally taking initiative.*


    ---


    The match began.


    Han Ming stepped onto the arena, facing Shang Que. They exchanged a nod.


    "For humanity!"


    "For humanity!"


    The referee raised his hand. "Are both competitors ready?"


    At their affirmations, he declared, "Then—begin!"


    Shang Que leapt forward, two fiery serpents writhing around his arms, their heat distorting the air. With a flick of his wrists, they shot toward Han Ming.


    Han Ming countered, summoning twin ice serpents that collided with the flames in a hissing explosion of steam. The fire serpents darkened, crumbling to ash under the ice’s grip—while the frost serpents, only slightly diminished, surged onward.


    The crowd erupted.


    "*Ice! Ice that even fire can’t melt!*"


    ---


    Outside Feila City, a carriage rolled to a halt at the gates.


    Two burly men stepped out first, followed by an elderly man—and finally, an androgynous youth wreathed in violet energy. Stretching, the youth grinned.


    "Feila City… here I come. Humanity… here I come."


    The other three exchanged uneasy glances. This cheerful-seeming figure was none other than Mo Jie’s Sixth Tier—*Sheng Gui*, the Living Ghost.


    Behind them, the wind howled.


    Dark clouds blotted out the sky.


    The ground trembled as an endless tide of demonic soldiers emerged on the horizon.


    A piercing shriek tore through Feila City’s skies.


    In the palace, Queen Vivian shot to her feet, her face pale.


    Mai Lun scaled the highest tower, his voice trembling. "*The demonic army! How did they get here unnoticed? Where’s our border defense? This isn’t 200,000 troops—it’s over a million!*"