The God of Nothing.-Chapter 47: The Hidden Star

Too fast.

Too many.

Too close.

Jorun's magma lance led the assault, cutting through the air and leaving a streak of bubbling, seared glass in its wake. A compressed wind-edge followed straight from the front. And from behind — a cone of flame-charged pressure twisted forward like a scythe of heat.

There was no time.

Rejection flickered weakly — instinctive, automatic. Barely a shimmer.

The crowd didn't cry out.

They watched.

Because everyone wanted to know:

Could the one who made the prince bleed survive the weight of expectation?

Caelith's knees faltered.

His blade dipped.

And that was when someone else stepped in.

A figure — slim, smug, cloaked in distortion. The heat from the magma didn't touch him. The wind sheared off his aura like rain on glass.

Farren.

The jellyfish-shaped veil that had once only shimmered faintly was now glowing — threads of invisible mana trailing through the air, pulsing with a quiet, intelligent hum.

Only a few people could see this phenomenon, and Caelith was one of them.

It was as if a mana beast was superimposed upon his friend's figure.

The magma lance vanished the moment it touched the veil — absorbed, unraveled, silenced. The wind-blade shattered into harmless currents. The fire curled aside like it had forgotten its purpose.

Farren stood between Caelith and the horde, arms outstretched as if conducting a symphony of fools.

"Oh, come on," he said cheerfully, his voice cutting through the haze. "Did you all just not hear the prince? He has a seat. That's locked. Go fight amongst each other for your own."

No one laughed.

But they didn't stop either.

The second wave came faster.

More ruthless.

And the jellyfish flared — brighter, broader — ready to show them all why Caelith didn't need to stand alone.

Caelith's knees buckled.

The air around him still shimmered with Rejection's fading heat, but the blaze had dimmed. His lungs dragged in air like gravel. Ashthorn's tip scraped the fractured stone.

He would've fallen.

But someone stepped forward.

Not with force.

With poise.

"Easy there, brother," Farren said, stepping past Caelith's shoulder. "You've had your show-stopping moment. Let me do the encore."

Caelith barely caught the motion — not from exhaustion, but because Farren moved like a ripple on a still lake. Clean. Smooth. Effortless.

The jellyfish was floating now. Fully revealed. It no longer shimmered faintly — it glowed. Tendrils unfurled in the air, long and translucent. They pulsed with threads of mana so fine they blurred the light around them, like heat off obsidian.

Mana tendrils manifested in the air, their imposing shape visible to all.

Caelith's wounds began slowly closing; he wouldn't be fixed up soon, but at least he would recuperate.

And in Farren's eyes, images of the next two minutes shot by like a movie film.

A two starlunged — a dagger aimed for Farren's neck.

It never made it.

Farren tilted his head — half a second before the blade even reached him. The dagger caught air. No — it caught something it couldn't see. One of the jellyfish's tendrils lashed out, invisible, and wrapped around the attacker's wrist.

The man spasmed mid-air.

Then screamed.

A sharp burst of electricity surged down the tendril. Not loud. Not flashy. But efficient. Cruel.

The dagger dropped.

The man collapsed.

Farren didn't even look at him.

Another foe came from the side — wind-forged blade slashing low.

He was three stars, but not on the level of the champions.

Farren leaned back — just slightly. The blade passed beneath his nose.

He countered with two fingers.

Not a strike.

A flick.

Mana surged along an arc — pure pressure. The assailant flew backward as if slammed by an invisible wall.

Farren exhaled through his nose. "Right. Where was I?"

More attacks surged.

A ball of condensed ash. A spear cloaked in lightning. Twin sabers flickering with flame.

Farren's eyes flicked once — left, then right.

Then he moved.

The jellyfish flared — tendrils whipping out in every direction like silk threads dancing on wind. They struck the ash ball first — dispersing it mid-flight. Then tangled the lightning spear mid-throw, wrapping it like rope and pulling it to the ground. One saber-wielder got within two meters — only to trip as a tendril snapped around his ankle and flipped him upside down.

Farren didn't stop moving.

He danced.

Every motion calculated. Every step reactive. Or maybe... pre-emptive.

Because Farren wasn't responding.

He was anticipating.

A shadow dropped from above — blades aimed downward.

Farren's head turned before the man even jumped.

"I saw that coming yesterday."

A twist of his fingers.

Tendrils lashed upward — not to kill. To redirect.

The attacker landed ten meters away, tangled in his own disoriented motion, landing on his back.

Electric pulses snapped outward again — short arcs of lightning cracking between tendrils, catching anyone too bold, too fast, too close.

Farren's voice cut through the storm:

"Ladies, gentlemen, and opportunistic cowards — one at a time."

He pivoted.

Caught a falling sword with a single tendril.

Redirected a fireball with the edge of the jellyfish's field.

Twisted mid-turn and forced another would-be striker's blade into the dirt.

"The prince didn't say murder was the entrance exam."

The jellyfish pulsed behind him.

Its aura was divine.

Not divine in the sacred sense.

Divine in its balance.

Elegant. Alien. Alive.

Tendrils moved like thought. Mana shaped without weight. Light bent around it, giving Farren the presence of someone too serene to be threatened — and too dangerous to ignore.

Caelith blinked.

He was conscious. Barely.

But what he saw...

Farren wasn't just an informant.

Not just a snake with a smirk.

Farren was something else entirely.

He moved with knowledge no one else had. Saw the attacks before they formed. Danced not between steps — but ahead of them.

"...Future sight," Caelith rasped.

Farren's aura shimmered again — catching a trio of arrows in mid-air and bending them aside like reeds in the tide.

Glancing over his shoulder and behind him, he smirked.

"Oh, you noticed," he playfully replied.

Three more charged. This time with more coordination. They fanned out, tried to box him in. One drew a curved blade charged with kinetic force. Another hurled a net of raw mana. The third — a whip of molten iron.

Farren smiled.

Not a smirk.

A grin.

His aura radiated.

It turned out that the young, unassuming Farren of the Plains, was a two-star at an age younger than the heirs of the five major families.

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He whispered something.

And the jellyfish moved.

The curved blade shattered mid-swing. The mana net disintegrated before reaching him. The whip was caught mid-strike and hurled backward — dragging its wielder with it, screaming.

Someone screamed from the edge, "What the hell is that thing?!"

Farren turned his head. "A companion."

Then forward again.

Caelith struggled to rise, but Farren raised a hand without turning. "Not yet. You've done enough. Let me protect our reputation."

"Farren..."

The name stuck on Caelith's tongue.

Because he realized something else.

The jellyfish wasn't just defense.

It was intelligent.

Responding without commands.

Reading the world.

It was like Farren didn't need to fight at all — just interpret.

A tactician with time bent around his instincts.

The chaos slowed.

Only a few remained standing. Even fewer dared approach now.

Farren stood tall, breathing steady. Not a scratch on him.

Not a single fray on his clothes.

He lowered his arms slowly and let the jellyfish float higher — threads still trailing down like the legs of a godless angel.

"Anyone else?"

No one moved.

Not yet.

But the real fight hadn't started.

Because the heirs hadn't entered yet.

And they were watching.

So was Aurex.

And he was smiling again.

Because he knew now — Caelith had more than power.

He had an army of one.

And his name... was Farren.