Jared chuckled coldly. “Pride? No—what I saw was blind conceit. Up here, strength rules all. Yet Celestia waves books and etiquette like medals, convinced that reading a few scrolls makes you superior. The reality? Your students lose in cultivation, lose in knowledge, and when cornered, they brandish their so-called 'celestial bloodline' like a shield. That is the mindset of ignorant people.”
His words struck true. Yuliana wanted a rebuttal; none came.
Back in the academy, Jared had quoted heaven and earth laws and cultivation theory with such clarity that even she—an advisor to the king—had felt enlightened.
In contrast, a student of the academy could only recite scripture by rote, then resort to raw cultivation level when their arguments collapsed, and still lost an arm for the effort.
“Ahead lies Myriad Treasures Pavilion,” she said, shifting the subject like turning a page. “Treasures from every corner of the celestial realm rest inside. Your ability is impressive, Mr. Chance, but your cultivation level is still a touch low. You might find some magical items suited to you in there to increase your cultivation level.”
The invitation dripped with courtesy, yet inside she watched keenly.
If powerful patrons backed him, he would show no hunger for magical items. If he were a wandering cultivator, Myriad Treasures Pavilion's trove might light greed in his eyes.
Jared's gaze swept over the white-jade tower in the distance. Luminous Pearls set into the eaves glimmered even in daylight, and two Earthly Immortal Realm Level Eight guards flanked the gate, their aura as steady as anchored mountains.
Plainly, only treasures of the highest order warranted such defense.
“No need. I'm not especially fond of magical items,” Jared said, his tone so mild it bordered on boredom.
She remembered Westley—Earthly Immortal Realm Level Seven—reeling and screaming as Jared's single stroke severed his arm.
She felt again the tremble of her own Earthly Immortal Realm Level Eight core beneath the weight of Jared's aura, fear rising unbidden like frost on winter glass.
“Your point is... persuasive,” she admitted, pride bleeding from her voice. “But within Celestia, cultivation level dictates one's station. Strength without sufficient cultivation level rarely earns respect.”
“That is why Celestia wanes,” Jared replied, voice cool as distant thunder. “You worship facades—bloodline, cultivation level—until you're left with peacocks strutting in borrowed feathers.”

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