Marvel's master of cosmic magic

Chapter 579

Three days later, the valley behind the ruins of the old Trinity Sect filled with people.

"I still don’t get why the old man picked this place," Alex Ward muttered while directing company staff to set up folding tables and supplies. "We’re supposed to be here nearly a week. If it rains, there’s nowhere to take cover."

Evan Clarke was standing nearby when a cold drop splashed onto his forehead. He wiped it and sighed. "You just had to say it. It’s already raining."

Caleb Ward glanced at his phone, confused. "The forecast said clear skies."

"When has the forecast ever been right?" Evan said. He looked around for an umbrella, then noticed Fiona Barlow calmly placing a plastic stool upside down on her head. Without hesitation, Evan copied her, crouching beside her with his own improvised rain shield.

He peered toward the mouth of the valley and his expression tightened. "Alex, the Anarchists are here. Think they’ll cause trouble?"

A large group had just entered the valley. These weren’t minor figures. Senior members, long-time enforcers, and several infamous veterans were among them, along with dozens of lesser-known followers.

The valley was already crowded with representatives from established factions and old families. Some of them shared blood-deep grudges with the Anarchists. If tempers flared, this place could turn into a massacre.

"They won’t," Alex said calmly. "Not today."

The Anarchists had survived for centuries for a reason. No one here wanted an all-out brawl. A fight in this valley would spiral out of control, with casualties on both sides. Neither the orthodox factions nor the Anarchist leadership wanted that.

More importantly, today wasn’t about them.

The focus was Martin Gray and Lucan Kade.

Martin Gray was an elder among the Anarchists, a relic from an older era. Very few still alive could even claim seniority over him. Lucan Kade, on the other hand, was a pillar of the modern ability world, a man whose reputation rested on both power and integrity.

Starting a fight here would be an insult to both men, and to the company overseeing the proceedings.

As expected, the hostile stares remained silent. No one provoked anyone else. The Anarchists approached Martin Gray, exchanged a few quiet words, then took their places.

Then someone shouted, "Look! What’s that in the sky?"

A deep, rolling sound echoed overhead. Everyone looked up.

The clouds parted.

Nine colossal golden dragons descended through the sky, their bodies gleaming as if cast from living metal. They moved in perfect unison, pulling an immense floating platform behind them.

For a moment, the valley froze.

The dragons swept lower, clouds scattering under the pressure of their arrival. Sunlight poured down, illuminating every scale, every motion. They didn’t look like illusions. They looked real.

The dragons touched down.

Rowan Mercer stepped forward from the platform, flanked by the ten Nason Guards.

He could have arrived instantly. Instead, he chose spectacle.

Nason Island no longer hid in fear. Its king didn’t need subtlety. Presence alone was a deterrent.

The dragons were constructs shaped by magic, reinforced with layered enchantments and awakened with artificial vitality. Excessive, perhaps. Effective, absolutely.

"It’s Rowan Mercer," someone whispered. "So the rumors were true."

Word of the battle at Nason Island had spread fast. The collapse of Iron Front’s assault, the island’s survival, the stories of warships torn apart and hurled into the void. Many had dismissed it as exaggeration.

Standing beneath nine descending dragons, no one laughed anymore.

"I didn’t expect Nason Island to show up for something like this," someone murmured.

Most people knew Rowan Mercer as the new King of Nason. Very few knew Martin Gray had any connection to the island at all. During the battle, Martin and the Guards had barely been noticed beside Rowan’s overwhelming presence.

"Rowan!" Evan Clarke rushed forward the moment he recovered, rain forgotten. "We saved you a seat. Right up front."

He led Rowan and the Guards to a prepared viewing area with exaggerated familiarity.

Rowan accepted the gesture with a faint smile. "Appreciated."

Then, in a quiet voice meant only for Evan, he added, "If things ever go bad for you at the company, you and Fiona can come to Nason Island. I’ll keep two Guard positions open."

Evan’s eyes lit up. "You’re serious?"

"I don’t joke about that."

Evan grinned wider than the valley itself. He’d always worried about the day Fiona’s immortality became public knowledge. If that day came, even the company might turn on them.

Nason Island was different. Hidden. Untouchable. And ruled by someone who already understood what eternity meant.

The rain continued to fall.

And beneath the open sky, with dragons at their backs and old grudges in the air, the trial was about to begin.